Inaudible Monologue

A & Ω

[post-depravity]

I can't help but become a little bit more and more misanthropic from every audible, irreverent snicker I hear from behind.

[post-depravity]

" - because the bombs you planted inside me were incendiary; and even though I wasn't incinerated from the initial blast, I'm still continually asphyxiated by the smoke. The explosion was large and fiery and created a conflagration contrast to the pitch black canvas of midnight; and whether it's from a reverence or a derision, people just can't look away. "

[post-depravity]

“He walked onward, caring little one way or another, to him the path mattered not, now up , now down. He felt no fatigue, except sometimes it annoyed him that he could not walk on his head.” - Lenz, Büchner

Kind of awkward how I associate heaven with someone that’s above me due to the magnitude and beauty of the celestial bodies - walking on my head would virtually turn into an abyss. It’s like that one rotation renders all the ideals of it being happy, gorgeous, and perfect as antitheses. 

( And now my journal entries have intentioned grammatical errors to reflect the erraticism in my head. I can relate to Lenz so profoundly now during these times. )

[post-depravity]

Sometimes I wish I could articulate with clarity the euphoria associated with this moment, but maybe the vagueness surrounding it will make me fonder and fonder of the memory the more I think back at it.

Plus, I don’t want to write down about how shaky my hands are or how I could barely get any words out or how internally conflicted I am in my thoughts. I’d rather not have that be articulated or written down to where my anxiety is so distinct and readable. I’d much rather shake in your hands than on paper.

[post-depravity]

Maybe it’s a reluctance to develop a victim complex or gullibility, but I feel like “manipulate” has too negative a connotation for what they do to me.

[post-depravity]

I find God in the form of a 40 milligram pill every night at 7:30.

[post-depravity]

I don't have any more capacious room in my emotional capacity to feel any more hysteria. I'll pass out from asphyxiation if I do.

[post-depravity]

Considering my impulsive behavior and my history with pills, I'm probably the worst person to have a prescription of Xanax in my hands. I remember my friend telling me about his intended circumvention through several pharmaceutical prescriptions through his psychiatrist just to get on this pill. Now I have it. The moment I read the paper, I have the most perverse joy inside me than I've ever felt in a life time... I hope I'll still feel the same about you after I take them. I hope I don't become less of a person or a diminished version of myself. I hope that the medication won't make my head foggy to the point that I can't articulate how much I love you at times and how much solace you bring me. I hope it doesn't make me anhedonic to your touch and words. I hope that I'll still feel as wildly infatuated with you as I had been yesterday. I hope that I won't be asleep while you're awake. I hope that it won't make me angry and make you feel alienated from me. I hope that you'll still love me, but I know that's improbable if I end up the way my impulses will bring me. I hope that you'll still see that's it's me under the appearance of dark circles under my eyes, vertical cuts under my wrists, and tubes going through my arms. I hope that I can spend the rest of my life with you. I wish you were here to wipe away all my sadness; but I realize you've done that for so long, so I have to learn to do it myself for now. I wish the warmth of your embrace could stretch miles to me and that your words were audible yards away. I wish a thousand things, some a bit too selfish. I wish you also know that you give me an incentive to live and not break down. You occupy such a larger space than what you can imagine. I would say I'd give the world to you, but I'd be giving you yourself because you are the world to me.

[post-depravity]

I find a perverse solace in the fact that no one reads my blog posts except maybe one of the random porn sites that spam follow everyone.

I relapsed last night and my psychiatrist gave me the option to go back to the hospital or go home. I chose the hospital, but my parents took me home instead.

Even the my own warmth that I feel constrained in a straight jacket would bring me more solace than the same four walls that my mom would constantly attempt to kill herself to garner my dad’s attention.

The doors were locked and my 6 year old self would bang against it in attempt to get her to step.

And I saw the same hysteria parallel years ago to last night when I broke the glass, took every remaining pill of my prescription, and attempted to tear the house down to find my dad’s Metformin.

I guess a weaker part of me didn’t want to die, but I wish I did. Now all the knives are taken away, all the pills are gone, and I’m on watch 24/7.

I understand how extremely selfish I am. I can’t tell whether the sympathy is feigned or genuine when they approach me. I don’t know why they want to keep me alive. I don’t amount to much of anything.

I used to wish someone would hold me and make everything feel better - but I guess the problem is that all they can do is distract from it. I wish they could whisper in a silent, recursive mantra that everything will be okay and that I’m special. I wish they could wrap their arms around me while  I’m shaking and make everything okay, Even if they wanted nothing but to exploit me afterwards, I’d still be fine with it.

But now my mind is foggy and I’m oscillating between consciousness and unconsciousness, constantly pirouetted in-between sleeping and being half-way awake. No one can alleviate that.

[post-depravity]

I literally had the worst panic attack I've ever had, and 150+ band kids along with parents and directors just saw it. I want to sublimate into the air that's asphyxiating me.

[post-depravity]

( If I like random pics, sorry. It was unsolicited, but my fingers shake too much. )

[post-depravity]

Even in a post-modern society that tends to reject the existence of supernatural phenomenon and religion in general, the basic tenets that lead towards the invention of it will still pervade ( e.g.: compassion, acceptance, meaning, community. ) Maybe there’s a certain liberation that can only be achieved by the adoption of nihilism, but there’s been a constant and simultaneous sadness derived from it, also. Sometimes I entertain the idea of reverting back to a child-like sentiment, but I remember that even as a child, I would never entertain so fantasy of an abstraction and so absurd tenets inculcated ad nauseam such as the dogma surrounding Catholicism.

 “ Maybe I was never childish enough. “ - Nietzsche.

[post-depravity]

I feel so egregious for vocally say what’s already been made patent for so long. It’s almost as if it was intentional how people elongate the silence in attempt for them to purposely asphyxiate you to the point where those words are extracted out: “ I don’t feel as if I want to continue speaking to you ” (to ex-friends that purposely made me feel like shit just for the humor of it) Like, yea I’m telling you I’m leaving; but being candid, you left me emotionally years ago.

[post-depravity]

[post-depravity]

You should touch me more often to reassure me you're there - that you're a constant variable in a world so tumultuous and dynamic.

[post-depravity]

End-goal of my artistic ability is to be good enough that my art transfers so rudimentary of sentiments like grief, desire, and attachment to something visually pleasing, rather than just me feeling them to their full magnitude without any aesthetic byproduct to it.

[post-depravity]

( [spoiler] The people who complain that the older man isn't even attractive in Halsey's new Colors video can speak for themselves. )