Stumbled upon this website. I should be doing other things like cleaning, playing Nancy Drew or making art. Really those are all I have left except for my two ginger cats.
I struggle with reaity...they say I'm schizo-affective, schizophrenic, etc etc, but the truth it I see shit (like demons) and I know shit. I just KNOW it. I don't know how I know it, but I do. Like I met this guy in the loony bin (just got out thanks) and the first time I walked past him I knew he has killed someone. Don't know how I knew it. Didn't stop me from getting to know him...maybe it should have? But these things you might call them a gift but they aren't really because I was never taught natural instincts...and my stranger danger radar is broken. God this sounds so fucking trite.
So I found this website because I was researching my best friend. Yes, I know how sad that is but it is the truth. I promise to speak the truth as much as I can. I question everyone and I TRY to question everything. This is exceptionally hard. I write like a Boxcar Children serial writer. Gross. But I don't give a fuck honestly. I mean nothing. Just another fucker you will pass and either a) think nothing about b) judge me on my sweet diy Night of the demons shirt.
Don't get me wrong I love my best friend more than words can say, but I can't trust anyone. They all make fun of me - all of them. The ones I love especially. I am nothing. I don't identify as anything. I will not be your flag-waving imbecile or your dogmatic martyr. Not writing sorrynotsorry. I do whatever I want moment to moment except when I am trying to please the few people I have left that I care to please. And why do I? They seem to have given up on me.
Maybe that's what enlightenment truly is - what happens when everyone hates you or gives up on you. Hmm....I am curious to know what nationality Izzard is but not curious enough to google it (maybe he's from the west part of Stage). P.S. I tell the worst jokes like dad jokes if dad was the mom from Bobby's World.