Don't Worry, I'm No American Psycho.

There's some proverb about three masks, and this is my inner-most mask I'm sharing with you. Anonymous, 30-ish years old, and unironically relating to all of the emo songs of the early 2000's.

[myinnermostmask]

Thursday, June 2026

I literally feel so crazy. I love you so much. My sould is bursting from my body in an attempt to hold you in some way. A text is not enough. I must keep you in my pocket physically to see all I see. And I want to be in your pocket to see what you see.

I want to coexist in each other's brains. I want to see your world. I want you to see mine.

I literally am insane about the love I feel for you.

[myinnermostmask]

Sunday, May 2026

I've felt this love before.

After the obsession of consuming every second of being around them has subsided (it has for the most part,) there's still the love.

Time to be insane for a second.

I think of you all the time- to the point where I scared myself. Ive decided that, with most people I become this deeply close with, I need to think of you in such compromising ways. To make sure, because previous comments have made me wonder if i am creeping that intimate threshhold. Like my passed loves ive felt this for, it does NOTHING for me. Thank god. I was scared id have to cut it off if I felt anything. But I didnt! It's so relieving. I cant have sexual attraction to friends. Thank god im built in such a way.

But. The radiance of love i feel for and from you. It's so real. I'm so scared to lose it again. I lost it before. I have been devastated. I hope you dont devastate me. I hope I dont devastate you. It feels like we understand each other, in a way I havent felt really since Star. At least, with Star it's different because I wanted her. Physically as well.

God im so fucking insane.

I love you.

I cant tell you this. I never can. I dont even want Star to see this, and all of the entries. I want something to myself so I can ramble into and get it out.

Anyway. I love you. I want to see you succeed and smile and shine.

Even if our friends think this is weird. I rarely feel something so true... and I want to keep feeling this. Ive lost too many close friends. I want to keep you.

[myinnermostmask]

FRIDAY, APRIL 2026.

I feel like Jamie.

I wont cheat, I dont have anything or anyone I want to even remotely touch that isnt you.

But the fact that nothing is mine, and i am punished for having my own spaces is painful.

How am I always wiping YOUR tears when I was the one who was upset? Woe is me, but that was the point. I was hurt, and i felt abandoned and it made everyone uncomfortable and weird and youre so fucking weird and uncomfortable around people that its so obvious and I'm just left with this void of pain and when I express it, the tables are turned and now I have to comfort you.

It isnt fair.

[myinnermostmask]

Wednesday, April 2026

You see it, don't you? The black marks in my teeth. It isnt food. A floss will not get rid of it.

It's deterioration. My internal agony doesnt rest, and it forces complacent acts of self mutilation. Now, look at me. Look at the black between my teeth. It's hideous, isnt it? It's agonizing to see. Isnt it? ISNT IT!

It's hatred! It's loathing! It's pain! All manifested into what should be my perfect teeth.... I'm disgusting.

[myinnermostmask]

Monday, April 2026.

I'm obsessed with you.

It's mellowing out to a healthy level but it's affecting the others around me. I know they hate to hear about you. I know they say I can freely express how I feel and what I love.

You're all I talk about and think about, and it feels like im in High School again and I've met someone who will match my energy. It's genuinely such a huge serotonin burst... but I neglect others because of it. Crazy, crazy crazy how I have become so obsessed with a human being... the last time I was truly this engulfed in someone was when I met Star.

My beautiful cosmic mess...

And now I'm really obsessed with you. If I use this blog as much as I used to maybe youll get a little code name.

Im just so proud of you. I love you. A lot.

[myinnermostmask]

I wish I could have met you when you were younger.

I wish I could have seen you at your worse.

I want to know what broke you.

Maybe I can help you then.

[myinnermostmask]

Monday, April 2026.

I'm obsessed with you.

It's mellowing out to a healthy level but it's affecting the others around me. I know they hate to hear about you. I know they say I can freely express how I feel and what I love.

You're all I talk about and think about, and it feels like im in High School again and I've met someone who will match my energy. It's genuinely such a huge serotonin burst... but I neglect others because of it. Crazy, crazy crazy how I have become so obsessed with a human being... the last time I was truly this engulfed in someone was when I met Star.

My beautiful cosmic mess...

And now I'm really obsessed with you. If I use this blog as much as I used to maybe youll get a little code name.

Im just so proud of you. I love you. A lot.

[myinnermostmask]

Wednesday, September 2024

I don't try to write unless I have big feelings because just writing the small, one sentence vents have proven to make me more neurotic. I focus too much on what that one sentence meant in the midst of the many and I end up re traumatizing myself like a fucking moron.

So instead I lay in the darkness and shroud myself in music to erase the feelings.

The feelings of uselessness. The feelings of guilt. The feelings of unwantedness. The feelings of self loathing.

Fly said they weren't going to judge me for anything but I know they are. Even if we can live through each other's fun escapades, I just feel like of all people they should be the most shaming but they're not. I'm grateful actually. I know they won't judge me. They love me.

I will be enough one day. I know I will. Fuck, I probably am now. But I don't feel it.

So yeah, I lay sprawled out like a fucking sack of shit and listen to End of All Things by Panic! On repeat until I can gain some semblance of humanity again. I've apperantly deleted all of my sad playlists so I have to curate a good list again. Funny, in my acts of self care I seem to deprive myself of my coping because I think my ass DOESN'T NEED EMO MUSIC to feel better. But it's a cure all. How else can I rise if I don't live vicariously through others sadness in an act of commisery with other tortured souls waaaah.

Boo fucking hoo.

My body hurts. My stomach wants to retch out everything in it. My hands are sore and my nails are scratched and my jaw is tense. Everything is hurting. For what. For fucking what...

Get out of here, depression. No one likes you. Besides, anxiety has the steering wheel. Let's fucking gooooo!

[myinnermostmask]

Friday August 2024

Im trying to sleep but the uselessness of what I am is bogging me down. I close my eyes and the void beckons. The fog is comming and I can't stop it.

I see myself, a 3rd person POV and I see myself operating the electric rigging machine in the Theater Department. Doing the bare minimum because I can't remember knots so I had everyone else rig that while I just press the button and check security. It's the easiest job.

I see myself failing my classes. I was doing so so well. Then I had to go to urgent care nonstop during finals week. Urgent care isnt an excuse it should have been fixed enough but then i was hospitalized for a month a week later. I failed it all. I bled and changed my stupid pads 5 times in a two hour class period of my history final, unknowingly having chronic anemia with a deathly low amount of blood in me. I left all of my electronics on his desk because I told him I'd have to be in and out. I bet he thought I was cheating. But I bled in the seat, an embarassing thing as a 28yold with bloody pants going to my professor who was just 6 years my senior and asking him for cleanjng supplies. I managed to get myself a C, because i couldnt fucking function! I was losing my vision and function but i tried!!!

But my other classes...

My god, why is it I am FATED to fail all school? I don't regret failing when I was 18 because I knew I wasn't cut out to go without a break. I needed the break. Then I failed 2 years before they just put me on probation. Then I came back. Almost 10 years later. And I tried so hard. Fuck, and the unmedicated/untreated ADHD doesn't help at all. I'm a hindrance to myself. I always have been. But I had to push! What else was there to do? I pushed. And then struck down for having a fucked up uterus that won't even give me kids, so why have it?

Will I just forever be nothing without a degree in something? I'm still on probation forever pending whether or not I'm intelligent enough by others standards. I feel stupid. I feel misguided and small. I feel like I'm not worth the money they spend to keep me employed because I have no training.

Wherever I go I am forever stuck with minimum sage. Wherever I go I am reminded I'm not supposed to have a degree in anything. I am not supposed to.

I am the class they step on to ensure there is always a burger flipper to their 5 am McGriddle on the way to the office.

I am useless to them.

I am loved but man, am I so so disappointing as a person. I know that when my mom looks at me she sees all I could be. But doesn't like what I am. And what I've done. I'm just a bitter, small idiot who cries at beautiful movie scores and cares too much about others.

Because folks, I've said it before. I'll say it again.

What is my worth if I can't help others!

This will pass. It just sucks to be up at 3 am and unable to sleep because you're just a useless train of failed education, medical bills, credit debt and personal debt.

[myinnermostmask]

Thursday, August 2024

I don't deserve your sympathies.

I sit at the doctor. The ac is groaning. The papers are in front of me. I'm waiting for the doctor.

They arrive.

I apologize for not getting my labs done. I'm honest about why I'm skipping my medication.

Suddenly they're sympathetic.

They tell me I deserve better because my anxiety and depression survey was too high of a number. They're apologetic that I'm poor. They're kind and want to help and review my safety plan. None of the other specialists here actually ask me this. They just ask how my therapy/psychiatry is going and when I say "infrequent/not well" they give the sympathy shrug.

This person is trying to talk to me.

To sit with me. Look me in the eyes. Tell me that I deserve more than to feel this way.

This is the first time a doctor stopped to ask about my mental health and I'm doing everything in my power to not cry because why extend such kindness. Why tell me you want me to get better and not feel this way. Why ask about the history of it. No one els has. Why are you?

They leave and I have to hold back tears. The sheer attempt at knowing me in a cold, sterile environment is painful.

I don't deserve thjs kindness.

[myinnermostmask]

Tuesday August 2024

You ever rehearse arguments in your head?

I think only people who are neurodivergant do. I ask people and only those with really prominent symptoms, diagnosed or not, can tell me that they argue in their heads.

My arguments aren't bound to happen, I think. I wonder "What would happen if I said this?" Usually the answer is bad because the things I want to say are hard truths of my feelings. Things like why I don't want to get married. Things like why my relationship with one of my best friends would be almost ruined if they get married to their partner. Things like jealousy over something thats never going to be mine or ever happen. I can argue all day and fantasize about losing those I love to circumstances I cannot control.

I can control them.

My control is silence.

My control is forcing a smile.

I just want to disregulate myself.

My meds keep me calm and apathetic and I want to stop taking them. I want to feel again. Feeling rage and sadness and letting the darkness consume me is so much better than living life day to day because I can function. I know I need a talk therapist, but it would be so fucking good to feel what I used to feel for once. To cry would be incredible. I haven't really cried in eons. Small, choked up tears every now and then when emotions are high but nothing like the headache inducing, raw throat breakdowns I used to have. I'm romanticizing the disregulation and the purity of the raw intensity. I know I am. God, do I miss it.

I miss having passion. I miss having obsessions to distract myself. I miss the feeling of completion that something gave me when I knew all about it. The dive into the temporary friends that are all brought together by one subject, only to be my mutuals I never speak to again if it isn't about our shared interest from 3 years ago.

I miss the disaster I used to be because at least I was interesting then, and interested in myself then. I had passion. I had something. Now I have two pills in the morning to keep me up and going. To keep my anxiety down. Two pills at night to make me sleep without anxiety.

The apathy in my day to day life is appalling.

I wish I could feel the intensities of my emotions again.

[myinnermostmask]

Wednesday August 2024

Im still harboring the incessant need to just go off on people. This time, it's coworkers, and their mess I have to clean up. It's rumors spread about me and other performers I can't quite shake.

It's the opinion if ants in my life. To be crushed. And yet they itch. My itch to snap back grows.

I want to tell everyone my exact dissection of them in my head. To show them their mental entrails and say "this is why you're quite possibly the worst." Mostly because as I learned recently the worst thing ine can ever be in their life is a victim. An active, sobbing, sighing, crying victim of themselves.

Things happen to us. We have to overcome. Sometimes you can't but that doesn't mean you shove it upon others.

Gods, do I want to tear them apart.

[myinnermostmask]

Tuesday August 2024

You ever rehearse arguments in your head?

I think only people who are neurodivergant do. I ask people and only those with really prominent symptoms, diagnosed or not, can tell me that they argue in their heads.

My arguments aren't bound to happen, I think. I wonder "What would happen if I said this?" Usually the answer is bad because the things I want to say are hard truths of my feelings. Things like why I don't want to get married. Things like why my relationship with one of my best friends would be almost ruined if they get married to their partner. Things like jealousy over something thats never going to be mine or ever happen. I can argue all day and fantasize about losing those I love to circumstances I cannot control.

I can control them.

My control is silence.

My control is forcing a smile.

I just want to disregulate myself.

My meds keep me calm and apathetic and I want to stop taking them. I want to feel again. Feeling rage and sadness and letting the darkness consume me is so much better than living life day to day because I can function. I know I need a talk therapist, but it would be so fucking good to feel what I used to feel for once. To cry would be incredible. I haven't really cried in eons. Small, choked up tears every now and then when emotions are high but nothing like the headache inducing, raw throat breakdowns I used to have. I'm romanticizing the disregulation and the purity of the raw intensity. I know I am. God, do I miss it.

I miss having passion. I miss having obsessions to distract myself. I miss the feeling of completion that something gave me when I knew all about it. The dive into the temporary friends that are all brought together by one subject, only to be my mutuals I never speak to again if it isn't about our shared interest from 3 years ago.

I miss the disaster I used to be because at least I was interesting then, and interested in myself then. I had passion. I had something. Now I have two pills in the morning to keep me up and going. To keep my anxiety down. Two pills at night to make me sleep without anxiety.

The apathy in my day to day life is appalling.

I wish I could feel the intensities of my emotions again.

[myinnermostmask]

Saturday August 2024

That shower monologuing thing from Orange is the New Black really makes sense. The run down is she feels pure and clean in the shower, it's the safest place, it's such a sacred thing. I wish I felt that way. Showers are a chore.

The last time I showered was Sunday, right before a show. I showered, double shampooed my hair and didn't treat it because as always, I lie to myself saying I'll shower after the show. Lo and behold, I did not. Even after wearing a full costume and wig, sweating my french braid into place. I waited an entire six days before hopping in another shower.

This was different because I was truly alone. Star was out of the house, my friends had all left. I am house sitting for Tux so I had a clean lonely shower to myself. I didn't know what to do. Rarely is it ever just myself and I. I double shampooed. I conditioned. I washed my body of a week's worth of sweat and work and socialization. It was cathartic to be truly alone for just a moment by myself, naked and clean and exposed to no one. I guess this means I should request more alone time, seeing as I was so moved by it. Enjoy the Silence.

I know I need to take care of myself more. I'm going to try. I'll try to start with a twice a week shower schedule. Isn't it crazy that if I told someone I haven't showered for a whole week everyone would judge me and call me disgusting rather than ask if I'm okay? Maybe because it's been one of my burdens for eons, I know what the lack of self care means. It isn't laziness or dirtiness most of the time. It's the fog, or the worms, or something else I can't fathom because I've never had that ailment.

#JustShowerThougts.

[myinnermostmask]

Friday August 2024

Ok Google. How do I start this endeavor: the documentation of myself in an anonymous blog of mental illness and grappling with it. 

Do I just get into It?

Do I introduce myself? 

Do I fall into my rants about the dark fog and the writhing worms that inhabit my brain at all hours? 

You know the meditation trick, the one where you're supposed to not suppress thoughts, but acknowledge them then let them pass? Yeah, this will acknowledge my thoughts then keep them locked in this place like my own little fucked up trinket box. The shoebox of cigarettes and Playboy's and cherry bombs under the bed of a teenage boy (from the fucking 90s. Modern teenagers have THC vapes and incognito mode on Google.) My own shoebox of forbidden fruit was a wallet I kept rubber banded with badly drawn porn (by yours truly) and my own attempt at writing emo ass songs folded and shoved inside. This will be better than that I think. 

For the sake of anonymity I will not introduce myself. I will not reveal much in identity, but I will reveal it all in the decay of my psyche, I guess. I mean, how can someone unironically say that? I just did, but how can it be done without scoffing over my cold cooked fish that my girlfriend made for me? 

Maybe it's my self awareness of the catharsis of the unironic. The awareness of knowing that Amy Lee’s lyrics can flood into my spinal column as she sings about the darkness in her and that I can relate. Despite the religious overtones and undertones of her gothic faith crisis and deliverance in song, I do understand her and the lengths of drama she needs to go through to cope with art. I understand the darkness. The fog that covers it all. I unironically understand the disturbances in the dark artist’s mind that has met me through my headphones. I'm Patrick Bateman, walking through the halls of work while The Open Door laments problems I understand. It's ridiculous to even say that shit out loud. 

I'm word-vomiting some edgelord shit that can't possibly be taken seriously and YET it sits unironically in my head. I'm aware. Self aware of the drama. The theatrics of it all is always so fun, and I'm no stranger to theatrics. If I'm going to suffer, can I at least have fun? 

I snap.

A top hat and cane fly into my hands from stage hands and I do a song and dance about my mental deterioration. Just for all of you. 

Bo Burnam can do it. Why can't I? I won't be as clever as Inside, but I'll do a sort of reprise, a cover of it. The torment I understand. The loneliness, the mental decline, watching the world spiral around me, the realization that all of this is performative.

But is it performative? 

I mean, my genuine joy comes in bursts and waves. Despite being on antidepressants all it really does is make me not kill myself. Which is a big step, but you'd think a little extra serotonin would do something a little more. The energy is back but the decay is there. The fog of depression. The worms of anxiety. Writhing like they've been stabbed on hooks, popping out to scream STOP IT YOU WORTHLESS FUCK whenever I do anything that can be interpreted as wrong. The fog seeps in and reminds me no one is really here. Even when they say they are. 

How can anyone like me, so fogged up and destroyed? 

It's the question I constantly ask, as Star and Fly and Hammer show me support and love all the time. I deny it. I don't deserve it. I spit on it. I have to accept it, they wouldn't waste their time. 

Star makes me dinner, and lunch, and they make sure I have what I need to function. They make me take my pills, and they make sure I'm awake for work, and they love me and hug me and kiss me and make sure I'm here.

Because you can't do it yourself you worthless shit.

But I can! 

But can you?

Fly checks on me and they make sure I'm doing well, despite being states away and having their own problems.

Because you're useless. 

I'm not. 

You are. 

Hammer loves to make me laugh and even if they can't understand fully my mental worms and fog. They listen despite it all. 

I'm so sure they don't actually like you. 

They do, they say they do. 

But they don't. None of them do .

I know they all do. Rationally I know this as a fact but the fog creeps in. The worms poke out from their silly little holes. They screech the above argument. They defy my every bit of sense, and emotion is stronger than rational. The emotion rots me, from the inside, like drinking acid. It burns from my stomach out to my muscles and skin until there's a gaping hole in my torso. The rational tries to stop it. The base to the acid, but there isn't anything strong enough. It's neon Alien blood, from the movies. It's eating through the hull of the ship.

They love me! The base screams. They want this. They chose me everyday!

Yet, I'm rotting. Steaming and crumpling into a mass of blood and ooze and disproportionate measurements of base and acid. The emotion is hard and it controls me the most. Rational is lost as it can not help my destroyed remains. 

At the end of the day I am acknowledging that I am not decaying or burning in a bad movie analogy acid bath.. Physically yes, we all decay, blah blah blah, we're all dying (Get new content, edgelord. You sound like the bum mooching a cigarette off of me at a liquor store at 3 am.), but mentally I can get through this. I've done nearly 30 years of this shit so far, and I've always been sad. Melancholy but outgoing has always been my strong suit. Maybe this'll be the catharsis I need to actually put it down. Stare at it. Acknowledge it. And maybe one day. 

I'll let it pass. 

The above was supposed to be the final line of the first entry, but I will say I just realized I could have made a chest bursting reference to the Alien movies. What can you do, go back and edit it to be more clever? I think not. This is a brain dump, not a graded essay. Cheeky.