30.8.25

Reality

I have been diagnosed with chronic schizophrenia with social anxious dependence disorder. Life with permanent cannabis induced psychosis can be extremely challenging for me.
One of my early psychotic symptoms was actually induced by an old manga cartoon. I would smoke my marijuana and watch it over, and over in my psychotic state 



I couldn't interact with anyone. Words had 'double meanings', or alternate meanings. I would run out of the house and hide down the road whenever my mother and her partner would come around out of panic.
The language complex had a rebound effect on my mother's partner at the time, he would understand "come" or "come here", as "cum", as in "cum here."

As a misophonia sufferer, other's noise sends shockwaves of anxious panic through my entire body, but I feel it mostly in my throat, like my throat is sinking because of the feeling of dread. 

This is one of many accompanying psychotic conditions.

I saw a girl and looked her in the eyes. Her appearance was like cracks in a muddy dried up desert. This is hell on earth.

10.8.25

My constant companion

I live in a self fulfilling prophecy where karma works against me. Every interaction I have is a bad experience. I'm completely isolated because of my allergy to everyone that exists
I fail at everything I attempt. Life is a "cunt"

I use the word "cunt" but there's no word in known language that fits it. It is as evil as evil can get. This is hell on earth.

I'm in a constant state of dread because of the fear and hate I have for what I have to live with. I am invalidated by everyone. I'm in a constant state of disempowerment.

I can't kill myself because the psychosis is too extreme. The only possible escape is death. Even then, I believe the powers to be will still torture me, and when it stops it is gathering it's strength so it can wipe me out in my process of dying, the kind of hell no creation would ever deserve, but that is what's in store for me.


20.7.25

Melancholia

There’s a certain kind of sadness that doesn’t shout. It doesn’t scream or cry out for help. It’s the kind of sadness that sits beside you like an old, familiar friend, whispering nothing at all. The pit of despair, where no one can hear you scream.

The untouched coffee.
The unwashed hair.
That sinking feeling caught in the pit of your chest and throat.

It’s waking up and immediately yearning to go back to sleep, not out of tiredness, but because consciousness feels like a burden. It’s the aching quiet of being alone

Melancholia doesn’t come with reasons that make sense. It drifts in on a cloudy morning, settles like dust on your things. It makes everything feel boring. Like the colors have dulled. Like your memories are wrapped in fog. Even joy feels like it’s echoing from a place too far away to reach.

You won’t stay here forever. The sky does clear. It always will


"In that dark place, there's no such thing as optimism."




31.3.25

The ugly truth

I refuse to accept life or death as they are presented. I will not be a part of the unjust system that underlies our existence. I stand against the limits and harsh consequences that confine creativity and impose pain, causing us to focus more on what we cannot do rather than what we can achieve.

I recognize two fundamental forces that transcend life: right and wrong. The widespread injustice occurring right now places life squarely on the wrong side of these forces.

Pain knows no bounds. No matter how dire circumstances may become for any being, life can always worsen. By conforming to and obeying these "rules," we may only suffer a little less. However, by facing the brutal truth that life is merciless, unforgiving, and unjust, we begin to assert our superiority over it. The circumstances we endure do not justify the consequences we face.

23.3.25

Destined to fail - the lower end of the food chain




Feeling belittled is like standing at the edge of a crowded room, unseen and unheard. It's that silent whisper of insignificance, reminding us that perhaps we don't matter as much as we'd hoped.

When we're treated as if we're excluded or unimportant, our inner voice becomes harsher, more critical, reinforcing the belief that we occupy a low rung on some invisible social ladder.

Being labeled as low priority makes us question our worth, reinforcing feelings of inadequacy and helplessness. Much like a tiny link at the bottom of the food chain, we start to see ourselves as easily overlooked and easily replaced.

Social status shouldn't define our self-worth, yet it so often does. In a world obsessed with rankings and visibility, feeling small and unnoticed can become overwhelming, eating away at our self-esteem bit by bit. Anxiety grows, depression deepens, and isolation feels increasingly justified.


Reality

I have been diagnosed with chronic schizophrenia with social anxious dependence disorder. Life with permanent cannabis induced psychosis can...