JohnnyBGoode
Gestating with all the other rats
- Nov 19, 2025
- 5
I've lost a lot of my feelings for a creator and I'd ultimately consider myself an atheist, but I still have those strange symptoms of belief. For a while, I thought of myself as Buddhist, but it was very contrived and I really only cared for the concept of karma; I don't anymore. There is no omnipotent spectator making sure everyone gets their due.
Was I fated to be this way? I'd really like to believe there is some coherence in my circumstance... If I am a character in a cosmic work greater than myself, then I could feel some solace or acceptance and read my lines, knowing they do have meaning. I just wish my part was one less harrowing to play. I don't know why I was picked to be the broken psychotic with its wires crossed. I don't want to be this thing anymore. Desperately, I need my ending, but I don't need it to be satisfying.
I have too many dreams, but I can't recall any of them. My mind is fatigued, but it still finds the strength to torment me. My medication is doing nothing. I cannot schedule CBT. I have nowhere to go and nobody to talk to. There is no comfort or release, not even in death. I have too many to hurt by hurting myself. I can't take being this burden. I don't know how to express myself. My words are trapped in my throat and they can only leave my mouth silently.
I am an alien from another planet that crash landed on the pale blue marble, and I can barely speak their language. I love these humans, but I cannot relate to them. Their blood is red and they have only one stomach. Their minds work differently from mine. I don't know why I couldn't just live on Mars, but for whatever purpose, I am here, choking on oxygen and burning under the sun.
I wish I was close to at least one other person who could truly understand this feeling and really 'get it'. This fatigue from constantly fighting my unconcious making, feeling alone even in company. This persistent, lingering isolation, being something other than human. Feeling like a straggler, and outsider, stumbling upon an ingroup of infinite proportions. I am nothing to nobody. I mingle as an extra. I am nobody's family, I am nobody's lover, I can be lived with out. I am a detriment.
I have depressive-type schizoaffective disorder. My medication does literally nothing. I feel empty and I hear voices when I'm trying to go to sleep. Nothing feels real, except for the feeling of the world being out to get me. Everyone has a thousand reasons to want me dead. I know this is a delusion. I have nothing to lose, but I hurt so many by killing myself. I cannot hurt anyone anymore.
Destiny has decided that this is what I will be until it decides I can rest.
Was I fated to be this way? I'd really like to believe there is some coherence in my circumstance... If I am a character in a cosmic work greater than myself, then I could feel some solace or acceptance and read my lines, knowing they do have meaning. I just wish my part was one less harrowing to play. I don't know why I was picked to be the broken psychotic with its wires crossed. I don't want to be this thing anymore. Desperately, I need my ending, but I don't need it to be satisfying.
I have too many dreams, but I can't recall any of them. My mind is fatigued, but it still finds the strength to torment me. My medication is doing nothing. I cannot schedule CBT. I have nowhere to go and nobody to talk to. There is no comfort or release, not even in death. I have too many to hurt by hurting myself. I can't take being this burden. I don't know how to express myself. My words are trapped in my throat and they can only leave my mouth silently.
I am an alien from another planet that crash landed on the pale blue marble, and I can barely speak their language. I love these humans, but I cannot relate to them. Their blood is red and they have only one stomach. Their minds work differently from mine. I don't know why I couldn't just live on Mars, but for whatever purpose, I am here, choking on oxygen and burning under the sun.
I wish I was close to at least one other person who could truly understand this feeling and really 'get it'. This fatigue from constantly fighting my unconcious making, feeling alone even in company. This persistent, lingering isolation, being something other than human. Feeling like a straggler, and outsider, stumbling upon an ingroup of infinite proportions. I am nothing to nobody. I mingle as an extra. I am nobody's family, I am nobody's lover, I can be lived with out. I am a detriment.
I have depressive-type schizoaffective disorder. My medication does literally nothing. I feel empty and I hear voices when I'm trying to go to sleep. Nothing feels real, except for the feeling of the world being out to get me. Everyone has a thousand reasons to want me dead. I know this is a delusion. I have nothing to lose, but I hurt so many by killing myself. I cannot hurt anyone anymore.
Destiny has decided that this is what I will be until it decides I can rest.