5 shots of Capt. Morgan later…

I didn’t take my meds last night because I had drank so much alcohol, 5 shots of Captain Morgan’s rum.

Ironically, the alcohol I think, worked better than my medication, as I was at least unaware of any voices that had been bothering me for these last few weeks.

It reminded me of my terrible twenties, all the way back to when I was heartbroken that we were separated, and new to psychosis.

I want a beer, but today I bought some cigarettes, the voices last night told me I could smoke weed again, and I haven’t heard them all day today.

Really I just feel like I don’t know what to do, and while it’s necessary to hold space for reality: that we will/may never meet again-

The voices have done immeasurable damage to my imagination, as I think about what I would do if we were to get back together, in Boston, married in court, living in a house in Savin Hill, maybe renting out or making an Airbnb of the other two floors because yes this house is a triple decker for some reason.

And I don’t want to think about it, I don’t sit down and start focusing my thoughts on it, I’m not hoping wishing and praying for it, because in that same imaginary situation, you kill me in my sleep, as if getting back together is just one last troll fr a double murder suicide homicide case, and yeah when you compare apples to apples I guess you can see the juxtaposed love and fear, paranoia and obsession, in doctors terms, that I have bouncing around my mind and driving me even further into the abyss.

I want to be normal but these are the cards I’ve been dealt, unfortunately I suppose…

It’s snowing right now. I went out and sold some tech for extra money and got the groceries… but I could really use a beer… might just order some to the house instead of going out again.

Behind my back

Voices say a lot of things. Voices say the “friend” that I brought to New York to meet you the first time had sex with you too, because you were “turned all the way up.”

I can’t confront him on it, and I already have, and he gave me some story that he was also trying to rizz you up, my question is though, why does everything happen behind my back?

The voices make it sound like no one is honest with me,

that everyone is out to get me,

or they covet what I possess.

why? What did I do to deserve this?

None of the people I’ve confronted have decided to confront me, my “psychic reality” is wholly unfounded, and yet there is some solace happening, some healing some quelling of an unruly spirit, regardless of my own actions.

I hate this.

Lab Experiment/Labeksperiment

Voices say, you have stabbed out both of our eyes, so you can’t read this, or maybe someone can read it to you, if there was anyone like that around.

Someone would have to be around, or you’re in for a terrible fate, not that you aren’t in some way prepared for it I suppose.

As of right now I can’t think of the state you’re in as more than a lab experiment, because the voices say you want to use STEM cells to rebuild and regrow your eyes.

Did I send you an article about something similar? That was so long ago, and I still haven’t gotten through all of those emails.

Anyway, here’s the translation:

Stemmer sier: «Du har stukket ut begge øynene våre, så du kan ikke lese dette, eller kanskje noen kan lese det for deg, hvis det fantes noen slike i nærheten.»

Noen måtte jo være i nærheten, ellers venter deg en forferdelig skjebne, ikke at du ikke på noen måte er forberedt på det, antar jeg.

Akkurat nå kan jeg ikke tenke på tilstanden du er i som mer enn et laboratorieeksperiment, fordi stemmene sier at du vil bruke STEM-celler til å gjenoppbygge og gjenoppbygge øynene dine.

Sendte jeg deg en artikkel om noe lignende? Det var så lenge siden, og jeg har fortsatt ikke kommet meg gjennom alle de e-postene.

Someone else’s sadness

Voices are telling me it was either you or your cousin that sat next to me on the train all those years ago.

Sat next to me and didn’t engage, just looked me in the eye as I walked past her, perturbed.

If it was you why would you choose to toy with and torture me like that?

You have every avenue of communication available to you to tell me if you want to see me and you just “spontaneously” decide to surprise me as I am on my commute to work?

Please grow up, I don’t appreciate it.

Shadow Play

From Wikipedia:

Shadow play, also known as shadow puppetry, is an ancient form of storytelling and entertainment which uses flat articulated cut-out figures (shadow puppets) which are held between a source of light and a translucent screen or scrim. The cut-out shapes of the puppets sometimes include translucent color or other types of detailing. Various effects can be achieved by moving both the puppets and the light source. A skilled puppeteer can make the figures appear to walk, dance, fight, nod and laugh.

There are four different types of performances in shadow play: the actors using their bodies as shadows, puppets where the actors hold them as shadows in the daytime, spatial viewing, and viewing the shadows from both sides of the screen.[1]

Shadow play is popular in various cultures, among both children and adults in many countries around the world. More than 20 countries are known to have shadow show troupes. Shadow play is an old tradition and is listed as a Syrian intangible cultural heritage by UNESCO.[2] It also has a long history in Southeast Asia, especially in Indonesia, Malaysia, Thailand, and Cambodia. It has been an ancient art and a living folk tradition in China, India, Iran and Nepal. It is also known in Egypt, Turkey, Greece, Germany, France, and the United States.[3][4][5][6]

You Jumped!

Well now I feel stupid, I should have kept that photo!

You looked good for someone that had a baby, IF you had a baby.

Voice are telling me all of this, and now they’re saying you have “Sisu.”

So I suppose you’re off to inherit all the powers of the Nordic states,

Like Thanos and the Infinity Stones.

Hahaha.

This is why I wanted to become a joke

If these feelings are artificial

And I’ve done all of this

Only to make a fool of myself

All the more reason to be a joke

Because now I can feel that if we were to

Reunite, and I’d be uninspired to pursue the relationship

We wouldn’t last 2 minutes together

I asked to be a joke first, before I made this blog

Hopefully that’s still on the table

But who knows

Maybe feeling uninspired is artificial too

F*ck this

Voices just said

“That’s why you don’t want to be able to think for yourself she would be effin suicidal”

What problem in the world were you trying to solve and ultimately failed to?!

WTF DO YOU WANT?!

Voices say you want to be “put down” like you’re some rabid animal.

that if I kept that picture I’d screen captures of you on the balcony you would’ve jumped, but somehow you were aware that I deleted it.

What the fuck do you want? If you haven’t killed yourself yet do you even want to?!

And if you’re under the control of someone else is that not their own desire?!

which one of you is the maniac?!

And what the fuck do I have to do with this?!

I’m crazy enough as it is!

New Info

Voices said to me, posing as you:

“You’re doing whatever you want, I’m under somebodies control.”

And this is the first time I’ve heard that.

Reunion

Multiple and various ideas of our reunion flash through my mind.

However, so does the idea of my own untimely death.

Where the voices say you don’t want to live anymore and tell me in that same breath that I’m going to be assassinated, often times I picture you as my assassin, and in a “safe” location, the story breaks, the deception unfolds and in a failed or successful attempt at my slaying all of a sudden I’m the 10’o’clock news.

But from here something doesn’t make sense.

If successful yes, I become the urban hero, the martyr the voices in my head expect me to be, but if unsuccessful, I’m supposed to use my would be killing to pivot into an acting career?

I don’t understand, I don’t see the parallels.

But those are the thoughts in my mind, as unpleasant as they are.

The word “rape” is losing its meaning

But not really.

On top of everything that’s going on in the country regarding the Epstein files-

In my own personal corner of hell I have the voices in my head talking about you, constantly saying “she’s just been raped”

Rape rape rape rape rape rape rapre rapre relapse reps r fuck.

What the fuck am I supposed to do?

I’ve already, multiple times, justified why I have to live, why I have to just keep fucking going, but more and more this feels less like and illness and more like a trial that I have to pass.

There is no reward, and the trial may go on for the rest of my fucking life for all I know but quite literally I am powerless, at least in this state, post workout, YouTube on in the background and ready to rub one out before bed.

Fuck.

Cuerpomatic*

“Eight out of ten Central American women who migrate to the United States are raped en route, according to an investigation by the cable channel Fusion. Before they set off, they equip themselves with contraceptives. When you move countries, your greatest-sometimes only-asset is your body, which also becomes your greatest vulnerability. Sex becomes currency, to be exchanged for protection from the smugglers, the coyotes, or the police. The arrangement is called cuerpomatic-after the Central American credit-card processor Credomatic-because it involves using your body, cuerpo, as currency.”

From the book “This is Our Land” by Suketu Mehta

At least now I have an idea of all this “Rape as currency” talk in my head over and fucking over again. Hell.

Conspiracy theory on White Supremacy

I remember when I sent the xanga message about girls your age being a change in Norwegian culture.

Maybe in that respect it’s just creating distance from the Black Metal phase in the 90’s.

But now what’s floating around in my head is this word, “rape.”

Voices tell me if I hadn’t brought Dashawn with me when I visited you in New York you would’ve given me “vertigo” and raped me. And the idea that follows that is that you get pregnant, carry the child to term and then at some point I suppose the government takes it away/you give it up for adoption.

To what end, though?

The only thing I can foresee is that there’s a small tribe of mixed children that gets spread through Norway, and they have children with other Norwegians until they get to the point where they are too closely related to the population and so they have another international “russfeiring” to harvest more unlike DNA to fuel the Norwegian populations capitalist machine.

What also is bouncing around my brain is that maybe all of these if not most of these women your age were also on SSRI’s, and being unable to enjoy sex recreationally, they then also begin to view themselves as “baby factories/machines” with a high likelihood of either suicide or death during childbirth.

Pretty morbid if you ask me.