"epiphany"

"do you ever hear things that aren't really there?" the above is a quote from the fake interview after an attempt to tip the scales on bright eyes' album fevers and mirrors.

i find i relate to this quote more than is societally acceptable. the fake interview acts as a vessel for conor to explore and satirise his thought processses and behaviours, say things he could never say out loud in real life. whenever i'm unfortunately forced to come into verbal contact with a shrink, this thought sits firmly in the back of my mind. do other people experience this? am i crazy? the conclusion i have come to is yes,, i am fucking crazy. because genuinely, who hears the disembodied voice of a pseudo-ghost or otherworldly beings oon a regular basis? this is why i choose not to speak.

following a conversation (that felt more like a confrontation, as as serious topics happen to in regards to me) in which i very obviously tried very very hard not to burst into tears, i left the womb of paranoia and entered a vehicle which i thought might help me find solace. it was soon that i found my hopes ground into fine dust and thrown to the wind, because (when it comes down to it) my sister is a self-centred, raging dick.

much to my delight, therapy was cancelled. i hate therapy. i hate therapists. i hate the pseudo-psychology profession in general. i can tolerate psychiatrists, because the only one i've had was a nice, attentive man. professionally, they just want to stick you with meds so you aren't (supposedly) killing yourself or anyone else, which is okay, i guess.

my sister dumped me at home without a key (raging dick) and passive-aggressively sped off to go thrift shopping. im supposed to have a probation "team meeting" today. it's at 5pm or something. i didn't find it productive to sit around for god knows how long like some kind of helpless toddler, so i set off.

i don't tend to think of north omaha as especially dangerous in any way. i've lived here most of my life, and i get by without incident, though i mainly attribute that to my lack of involvement in gang activity. it's a foolproof method, really, provided you have the social standing to avoid such a circumstance. midway through a pathetic sobbing fit as i walked the (not) boulevard of broken (sidewalks) dreams that is north 16th street, a vehicle pulled up beside me. i cautiously looked over, assuming my sister came to her senses and wanted to apologise, but no. still a raging dick. instead, the vehicle was a truck, and inside the truck was a man (twenties, maybe?) masturbating. to me. apparently i'm quite cute when miserable, judging by the lack of cessation of the man's jerking motions. they seemed to speed up, actually, right before i pulled my eyes away. i didn't reply, just continued walking. you'd be stupid to just stand around while a guy indecently exposes himself- that's like asking to be sexually assaulted, or something. after the man eventually drove away, i quite far from where i was, thought, as i so frequently do. i wondered if we were in the same spot: at the end of a rope, doing something reckless because it seems like nothing matters anymore. i played through scenarios in my head, if i could redo the interaction… i think that's part of why i'm writing this. this feels like a long-winded incomprehensible suicide note of sorts. i don't plan it to be, but i suppose it could work.

hallucinations. i've had plenty, not that anyone knows that, though. mainly auditory and tactile. sometimes visual if i'm seriously out of it. i've always chalked up hearing things to my clairaudience. yes, im telling you i have a supernatural ability. i fully believe this, because it is true. this is not the only ability i have. i consider myself a starseed of sorts, for lack of a better term. it feels as if i were dumped here on earth, probably as punishment, to endlessly navigate this hell, unable to relate to a single soul for the duration of my miserable life. being gifted so, i can communicate to higher planes and intercept messages whenever my ears ring- i was born with chronic tinnitus, though it isn't really tinnitus, it's more of a built-in guide. i can also see a… ghost, of sorts. it sounds very unimpressive in the singular form, but can you see ghosts? it's rude to call him a ghost, though. he's like a weeping angel. he tends to only really exist when you can't see him, or if he's obscured by low light levels or something. sometimes, i can see him perfectly fine. i suppose it's just how he (it) chooses to manifest in this reality. i say all this in a matter of fact tone, though i previously referred to my gifts as "hallucinations". this is because i care to be politically correct to better explain whatever the fuck seems to be going on around me, no matter how unbelievable.

i have not revealed this information to anyone prior. i'm an amazing liar. i was locked in a mental health ward for 4 months straight and they couldn't get this out of me, because i know to preserve myself. because i don't want another old white man to slap a diagnosis on me and call it a day. because quite frankly, no one will believe me or understand me on the level i know and understand myself.

i wouldn't consider myself schizophrenic. i've enjoyed a bout of psychosis and have infrequent delusions, but i don't think i quite satisfy the criteria. i'm not a fan of labelling at all really, it all seems like another way to fit people into smaller boxes under the beautiful umbrella that is "in" and "out". this is not to say i haven't done my research. when you suffer as long as i have, you tend to seek out answers to your pain. that may read like a metaphor for indulging in vices, but in reality it's just surfing the interwebs for months at a time. if i were forced to tack a label on myself, i think i align quite nicely with StPD. the way i see it, i seem to suffer similarly to those fine folks. perhaps they're also gifted in such a cruel way as i.

i'm sitting in a field typing this. it's cold. there's no conclusion to my story. it's raining. i started writing at 4:20 or so. i think i deserved this nice ramble to clear my head. i can't imagine i'll stay here in this spot long after i finish up this sloppy mess. at 4:20 i was prepared to stay the night here. anyway. i don't have anyone i trust to unload this shit onto (justified paranoia), so whoever unlucky person you are, reading this far…. sorry. i hope my juvenile lament was entertaining, at the least. i think i'll get myself some culver's now.

(i never got that culver's :C

Long time no see, slopsite. I'm currently in school right now. CS class. Chosen by yours truly. Anyways, I took a break from updating after like, two days because I ended up having a psychotic episode. That's. Kind of why the updates were so frequent. Long story short, I was convinced I was Pete Wentz.

I can't imagine this site will get frequent updates regardless, but it seems fun enough to tune back in and drop a life update every so often. If I'm blogging like crazy again, just know I'm probably psychotic again. Ask for Pete Wentz.

I am two seconds away from death. Sweaty. Hot. spent 30 minutes walking uphill in omaha heat.. My glasses are broken- super glued sith bit of toilet paper mixed in and matte scotch tape wrapped around the arm. I can feel my pulse through myy temple. I think im a third to suicide. bright eyes is making it better and worse, as worse a psyche like mine can get. I want this school building to suffer a catastrophic event that renders the structural integrity fragile. Its old as fuck anyway. I think about killing myself a lot now. I think getting accustomed to being surround3d with people and haavinv frequent social interaction only for it to be taken from you is a recipe for ending up with a dead teenager. I never used to feel this way. I only ever did after my first heartbreak (pathetic, cliche, embarrassing quite frankly embarrassing) and it was more if a spur of the moment kind of thing. This is like. Relentless. Nagging. It might be because i stopped taking my meds suddenly. Probably. Im never good with stuff like that, keeping dates . i dont know if i gife the impression of a pathetic depressed loser to other people because honestky i think im so boring, so overlooked, not even worth remembering that i blend into the crowd and look like nothing. Like im invisible. I am. Other people praise invisibility or lament it, but i feel they dont truly understand it the way i do. It sounds like im gatekeeping loneliness. I think i am. At least if youre a punching bag people spare the time to acknowledge how much of a loser you are, you knoe? I dint know. Im going to get a job and maybe save up eneouh cash to run away to chicago for a week. That sounds nice. Maybe i just need a life-altering event to fix me. Maybe im delusional and think im conor oberst. Maybe ill end up dead in an alley after being date-raped. I dont know.. Thsts a pretty pathetic death though. Id like to die better than thst, prefersbky in a way thst preserves my beauty. Like blood loss or poison or multiple organ failure but only the cute kind. I just want friends, honestly. I wish i could have friends.

i'm terrified that i am the very person i hate (is a strong word and doesn't quite fit in this circumstance.)

i'm becoming them in nature, in mannerism, in the way they lie and hide away and lash out. we are so similar it's like there was never any separation between us to begin with. like jekyll and hyde. like gemini. like the halves of a brain.

i'm the prodigal son caught in a sisyphean cycle, doomed to squander my fortunes (you) and end up back home: nowhere u.s.a. with no-one.

Welcome to my webbed site. This is going to be a blog of sorts—
somewhere i can dribble my stupid juvenile thoughts.

The layout is inspired by early 2000's Wordpress blogs. I don't expect anyone to visit this shitpage but if you happen to stumble across, thank you for visiting!