Sex at the ICA

Voices say you went to the museum and attempted to have sex with someone on the museum floor but you were kicked out immediately.

I need to hear the facts of these stories from the horses mouth, I.e. yours, but if I can’t get that, for the rest of my life why do I have to live with this for the rest of my life?

they say you did it just to try and feel something, given that in my last blog post we know that you were on SSRI’s so achieving orgasm was either difficult if not impossible.

Regardless, the expectation I feel from the voices, from this new “context” is that you having sex in the museum is what you meant when you said “I’ve seen this before” at the Sheapard Faery exhibit.

I don’t even know if that’s how you spell his fucking name, and I know I shouldn’t believe what the voices are saying, I don’t want to hear anything about you at all but it keeps coming back into my fucking head and you can’t even be fucking brave enough to respond to a fucking email FUCK YOU.

Modern Medicine

The voices are fixated on the hostel. I imagine it’s the one in Boston, they keep bringing up that “you gave them all blowjobs.”

I remember you taking medication. I know SSRI’s interfere with the ability to orgasm, and they say you were taking them a the time. That’s why you thought or wanted to be a lesbian.

These the voices say are just things you can’t explain.

I can’t do it

I can’t force myself to hold it in any longer.

I hate that I feel anything but to pretend that I feel nothing is a grating sensation. As if my skull is being sliced open one small layer at a time and the flood of thoughts about you and anyone else freely enter and exit my mind.

But the point is I hate that I feel anything.

I have all the logical reasons in the world to tell myself I shouldn’t care, that I should go and try to do something to take my mind off of things, but still it all come rushing back, in the dead of night, when I’m alone, trying to sleep and all of a sudden it’s 6AM, I need a few hours of shut eye for work but the voices only want me to stay awake and be tortured by thoughts of you.

Do I love you? Or am I being haunted?

Why can’t we just talk?

We couldn’t we work as friends?

Questions I’ll maybe never get an answer too but what else is there to ask?

I was even asking for much. I just wanted to make it to 19 days, 24 hours past the last time I blogged something of substance, barring my activity on Twitter.

19 days.

But again, I can’t just hold it in.

Which is good in a way, it’s growth, the wiki guess to be vulnerable, to look for solutions, but does it matter who I do this around if it isn’t you?

Do I love you? Or am I insane?

Do I love you? Or am I broken?

Do I love you?

18 Days

18 days since my last post.

Behind closed eyelids I see you kissing or doing something sexual with every male person of color that you come across, or at least I think it’s you.

Could be anyone, you always happen to be a bit blurry, this time you were a bit heavier, and there’s always the idea that your people are like the stereotype of the Chinese: you all look alike. I could be seeing people that look similar to you and aren’t you at all.

Then I think about how in that e-mail, before I went and bought a plane ticket, that you said you didn’t want to “spread racism.”

In these hallucinations you or these women seem like a very forward and eager to be with these extramarital partners, but also like these acts of infidelity are in some secret pocket of space that has a direct link, telepathically to my mind/imagination.

It’s just as tiring to understand as it is to explain.

But it keeps happening, so I suppose instead of ignoring it, I might as well write it down.

Can’t say I feel much of anything.

Can’t say I want those men to be me.

What I want right now is for it all to stop.

And while this ailment might be permanent, then I suppose that ain’t likely either.

13 Days

The time I spend away from this blog grows.

I don’t want to write here, but I will.

I want to extend that time even more, but the voices still plague me.

Voices say you can’t walk.

Voices say you tell yourself “I’m the only one I would want.”

As far as I’ve come along, I should know none of it is true.

But I remember you telling me about some “degenerative bone disease,” And I spiral.

What if it’s true? And now you’re pushing someone else away, and if he’s so wonderful, as you described him, he’d want to offer his aid to you.

Unless he’s wonderful in a way that means he does everything you want, follows your every command.

The scenarios come, and I think or I see these visions of me on the red carpet with my wheelchair bound wife, taking pictures, food for the paparazzi.

They say you’d never want me to “become someone” and then they say “he already was.”

They’ve been saying a lot in these almost two weeks.

But I suppose it matters not.

I spent Saturday in the super market trying to buy every tea imaginable for my girlfriend.

She doesn’t like mint tea though, so I put it back.

She says it reminds her of toothpaste.

There’s a lot that I wish was different about all of this, but I don’t think mentioning it will make it come true.

Sometimes I think, if you committed suicide, or we’re going to, the least you could do or would do is send me one last letter, email, message to remember you by, and eventually discard, forever.

Adieu.

Your Back Hurt

Yes I’m talking about that night in New York.

Voices said something new just now, that you

“wanted to spit in my face, thats how much your back as hurting.”

And I get it, you were pinned against that tree. But a snowball, for revenge?

I don’t know sometimes the voices just make you sound “crazy” and “bi-polar” but I sound the same way when I read back what I write.

Peas in a pod I guess.

Well, I’m the only one hallucinating.

I think.

I have a girlfriend

I thought that would be enough to keep the voices away.

I thought that would make me completely over you.

But here I am again, writing to a ghost.

I am taking my medication, but the voices persist.

They keep telling me about you having sex or being raped because the men/people at the hostel would take your laptop from you.

I’m not upset, but what are the voices trying to do by telling me this? What do they want? Why would I worry?

For as far as I’ve come from these hallucinations, dominating my life, why do I still hear this stuff, although I feel like I’m miles away from the incident?

Hell, even at that time I wouldn’t have minded as much. I just want some honesty, some clarity, to know whether or not this is true, but to be honest I don’t even know if I want that anymore.

My dry spell is over, I have the emotional capacity to consider others, why can’t I just leave you in the past?

What keeps in bringing this back?

That’s what I want to know.

ANOTHER THING!!!

Fucking, voices are saying

“That’s why you don’t want to be ‘the one,’ Howard would find me someone else I’d want to be with”

So what, he’s gay and you’re spineless?

I mean I know your username was “Contently_Unimpressive” but Jesus Christ…

You know what else sucks?

Back when I bought that plane ticket to Norway, back in 2018, I didn’t force my psychosis, my hallucinations evolving.

Now, you’re the prime suspect in a murder plot, my would be assignation by your hands if you had spent the night at my house instead of a hostel.

How did we get here? Where does this winding road lead to next?

I can’t imagine you’d keep the line of communication open with me if I obeyed your ultimatum, and if this was the inevitable end of my madness, or rather, that my madness would go on, changing with no end in sight, would you be there again to comfort my woes or would I have to threaten you again with the idea of showing up in Norway?

Fuck this.

Puns

I’m not awake because I want to be, I’m actually working tonight.

The voices, as they do, come on when I’m awake beyond my bedtime, but they keep saying you “never wanted me to know” all of this, and I think and say

“Did you actually think you could get away with murder?”

How stupid could you be?

Happy Halloween

Voices in my head are talking again. They’re landing on a few things that have me thinking differently.

I don’t exactly know what kind of personality disorder or mental illness you’re suffering from is called/named, but while they were calling to the blowjob queen of Boston, I got to thinking “maybe when they say it was ‘someone else’ they mean she was having an episode from her disorder” but I couldn’t rationalize why this split personality of yours was such a huge slut, especially considering that porn is illegal in your country, so where could you have learned any of this stuff? I mean it’s easy to cross borders in Europe, go places where these things aren’t prohibited, maybe it was that girls trip to Italy, who’s to say…

Next, the voices tell me that you were actively a conspirator trying to get me killed, that there’s more to not wanting to talk to me than I realize. I mean the likelihood of me having a fatal bullet somewhere in my body that night in New York in hindsight, does seem high, but who knows, we don’t, I’m still alive, I’m still breathing, apparently.

Still more than anything I want to be done with you, and while shifting my attention to women that do respond to me has done wonders recently, somehow I find myself back here, speaking to a ghost, a figment of my imagination, a haunting, a hallucination, delusion.

Fitting for Halloween.

Boo!

A Turd

Voices keep saying you’re a “turd.”

Voices say you sucked that guy off at the hostel, not because he tried to take your laptop, but because you wanted to.

I don’t know what to believe, but I do know, I’m not going to debate the past.

I wish you’d talk to me, but you most likely won’t.

I think I’ve accepted that.

Christmas, 2009

Voices are saying you just threw everything away, that I didn’t mean anything to you, even back then.

Don’t know how true any of that is but, had to put it down on the page so I don’t feel like shit on the way home from work.

Sure, I’m a joke, but no ones laughing.