My body feels like its been cocooned in the sensation of tinnitus. The slow grind of wool not on my eardrums but every inch of my soul, grating away at my calm in the quiet moments where nothing is expected of me and I can be alone and myself. This is the closest thing to a cosmic horror in my life because the moment the doors close and the background noise of day clicks on it permeates everything and I have to drown it out with more and more and MORE THINGS so I can just feel like I have agency over my alone time.
My mind always grasps at straws of thoughts when its silent, and its horrible when Im waiting for something without a distraction because then I have an imagination without a leash, and I see the people around me without clothes, then without hair. Then without skin and organs and inhibitions and laws and the permeations of this train I no longer have a way to get off of take me all over the wilds I do not want to be in anymore and I would just shut my eyes but the moment I see or hear something my brain can cling onto its like a Clockwork Orange in my brain and my minds eye is stapled open until either I get to focus on something vital to my day or I give up and go home and distract myself again.
ADHD Bi-Polar Antisocial because I got USED to the unskippable cutscenes of horror in my head as a kid because I thought I would get locked up in a padded room if I told someone and now that Im old enough to know thats not how it works I just get to casually laugh and sigh every time I real-time experience the gas that turned the Simpsons inside-out in treehouse of horror on a bi-monthly basis out of context to reality as long as my head isnt pulled three directions at once on purpose.
And the worat part is I thought this all would make me a good writer when all it really does is make it easier to find ways to not docus and harder to stay committed lest my brain fucks me over and cant handle things I love because it always catches me off guard and fills the cracks around those happy things with the cancer of overthinking and I can't just wash it off because every new thought about that thing is like a vietnam fucking flashback to the moment where my brain decides "actually that, but with more awful or sad or horror but not in the consumable story way but the people go to jail for doing this irl way and youve gotten really good at visualizing it".
So I write, I burn out, I try again, I burn out again, rinse and repeat until the threads wear out and I get a new fixation that i pray doesnt get dropped in the "oops all fucked up shit" mud I force myself out off the moment the room goes silent. And I keep reposting my thoughts like this when I want to write but cant bring myself to write the old thing I loved and cant stand anymore.


















