The Reality of Life, Suicide, and Death

So I am single, older, and not rich. I have no children. People wonder why I am two steps from suicide on any given day. Well here it is, I took care of my father as he got old and eventually couldn’t do things for himself. I am currently taking care of my mother as she gets old and can do less for herself. What do you honestly think will happen to me when I get old and can no longer do things for myself?

 

I will end up in an institution because I can’t take care of myself, laying on a mat on the ground because I can no longer stand and am a fall risk, force fed canned, pureed food for the rest of my miserable life, listening to the screams of patients who are at least fortunate enough to have lost their minds. Or is the horror more real to them because they are crazy. This is the reality of what happens to the people who no one wants and my whole life no one has wanted me, I am not deluding myself enough to think my death will be any better.

Ordinarily I at least post a picture but if you don’t know what goes on in low income nursing homes…

Look up pressure sores, elder abuse, and nursing home abuse and switch to images.

Apologies and obscenely happy goats

I am sorry to everyone who follows this blog. I have not posted in a while mostly because I haven’t written anything in a while. It’s funny when life gets in the way of well… life. It is not always easy to write, nor is it always good to. The changes in me caught me by surprise and it took some time to adjust. For those who know me I am still pretty much two steps from self destruction and suicide the crazy has just been calmer the last few days.

The good news is that in the process of adjusting I met someone very close to what and who I am.

The bad news is that in the process of adjusting I met someone very close to what and who I am.

Obviously I haven’t decided whether or not this is a good thing or a bad thing. I think I can only wait and see what happens. It is strange and kind of wonderful to understand someone and I am still not sure that this whole thing is wise.

Hopefully I will be able to pick back up writing, I just can’t seem to find the latch inside my head that lets all of the crazy wander out and onto the page. If anyone has any ideas on how to do this I am up for just about anything.

For those who need it I give you an obscenely happy goat.

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Moral Calculus

It is funny that people respond more to the rehashed photos and sayings that I include rather than what I am actually saying. This happens here as well as in reality. What is really funny about the whole thing is my soul is being flayed alive in a parody of hell on earth. Don’t worry I don’t feel it anymore.

Not even the fact that I went from being relatively OK and dealing with it to a full blown psycho in the space of weeks seems to bother anyone. Maybe that’s because I hide well in every realm but here and the world that used to live inside my head. The true difference between a psychopath and a sociopath is that one doesn’t feel the difference between right and wrong and the other knows the difference and just doesn’t care. Which do you think I am becoming?

How long can a person not feel before they become amoral. Pain teaches us what to avoid or in my case what feels the best. It is how I cope with all of the other stuff sometimes through sex or on the edge of a knife. Without pain we don’t avoid the things we normally would. Yes, I am more than a little bit insane but I am good at seeing things for what they really are. I am above all else honest with myself and others to a fault. It gets me into trouble more often than not.

It is not that I don’t know it hurts others it is I just don’t care. I know that on some level I should and I once did but that was in the endless stretch of time that I fondly classify as before. What is really ironic is the same thing that makes me so ruthless as makes me more capable. Faster, harder, more calculating than I ever was even at my best. Most noticeable is that my aim is better and in speaking, writing, hunting, and fighting I am much sharper and everything is clearer now that I am not fettered by emotion or empathy. I sleep less, eat less, drink less, and am generally vibrating with adrenaline all the time. I can make practical logical choices despite the consequences to other people.

I am finding that there are a lot of things that are unneeded and most people do things that are just contrary all the time. Sometimes what I say is mistaken for malice but for the most part it is because I just don’t understand why it bothers them. I should and I am sure I used to but its just not there anymore. Is this better? If you look at it in terms of efficiency it seems so or would if it were not so very wrong. I could very easily become the killer that I always knew was inside me and is probably buried deep inside us all. I introduced myself to that particular darkness a long time ago. So here is the equation which is greater the need to kill or the fact that I used to think it was wrong even if I knew they deserved to die. Its simple math or it should be. Shouldn’t it?

I am watching, standing back as little bits of my soul are flayed and have long since given up praying for it to stop. I can hear the bits that once made me who I am shrieking in pain as they are torn, shredded and tortured until there is nothing left and I have to admit its beautiful, much like pain is, or the razors edge is.

I know the damage I do to myself is viewed as wrong but I don’t care
I know that I am just wrong and have gone so far from OK that even I can see it but I can’t seem to bring myself to care
I know that what I am thinking probably enough to get me locked up or worse but it doesn’t bother me anymore
It probably should
I know that I am searching for something but I don’t know what or what will happen when I find it
I know I crossed a line somewhere and I did it on purpose and I don’t care that I did
I know after they tried to help I became different, something new and they didn’t care

They played in my head once too often, their own private sandbox, prodding because I am an unusual case, tearing things up with their clumsy fumbling. They thought they were helping, making me face something without realizing that I already had. Never thinking that it would turn me into something dark, desperate, and hungry. It isn’t facing something that’s the issue I already knew what was down there. They just let it out. I would say god help me but god help them is more appropriate.

psychopathy

The Clowns are chewing away in the most painfully unpleasant fashion

A hate has been rising up in me. It started as a slow burn that only twinged a little bit. You know the feeling when you see, do, or have done to you something that is only slightly unjust. It can be pried out of you with a kind word or happy thought. If it is not excised it continues to grow into a burning, a torturous heat with hard edge. It can still be cut from your heart by pure unadulterated lust and the wonderfully rough sex that comes with it. The kind of physical contact that leaves you sore and aching in the morning because you both have taken the hate out on each other and are better for it. This is the kind of fucking that most people only engage in once or twice and think that it is adventurous. The kind where the participants have no idea how close they’ve come to tearing each other apart.

It wandered into the territory of a bright flame as it grew. The hard edge to it becoming a bludgeon working further into my soul. Twisting into it like something wrong and painful. Although much harder to do because the edges of the heart are torn and bruised it can still be torn from the body, but only by using another as you are used in a visceral meeting of the two sexes. The kind of fucking that not many know and others think they’ve gone insane to engage in. The kind where you rip into the other person taking pain and pleasure instead of just giving it.

Then it turned to a roaring fire as it continued to grow. The edge to it is no longer hard but sharp as it shreds the heart piercing the soul before pulling out again only to ram back in. The only way to extinguish it is bloody and painful and kept quiet in the dark.

Finally the flames of the fire turned dark as it consumed me until it wasn’t a fire at all anymore just a burning hatred that echoes up from my eviscerated soul. A wealth of it pours off of me causing even the most oblivious of people to shy away. A darkness so deep and black that to rip it from me would tear apart what little is left. So entwined in what is me it would pull out my very soul. Still it burns deep inside leaving bladed teeth marks wherever it touches.

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Not Me

I have not been myself lately or rather I have been too much myself lately locked inside my own little world begging for escape. I look around at the people with me who don’t know me at all and slip back into an alternate reality that is more real to me than anything I can touch or hold but is infinitely more twisted that anything thought up on this plane.

In my world if something can think to do it, it has been done in technicolor brilliance that can only be accomplished in the mind. Things so twisted that they can only exist inside someone and they can only feast on the light and love in your soul. And feast they do. I am losing it.

I look at others, listen to them, and realize that no one has it worse or better than me because their mind might be doing it to them too. If I can hide it away from everyone but my readers they can hide it from me. Which sparks the thought, as I look at each person in turn, what horrible things is their mind doing to me as we talk. Are they similar things to what my mind is doing to them. Would they cringe away from me in horror if I told them or would they just smile at me knowingly.

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Is that the same hunger or darkness I see behind their eyes? Is it the same blackness that is behind your eyes? I don’t know why you suddenly shift away only that you do. My mind instantly goes to the questions is the darkness showing, radiating off me like some twisted negative lighthouse.  Or is it the blankness, the utter soulless look that is in my eyes. Does it make you think “she’s checked out?” Do you even notice? No one else does…

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Ever wonder why there’s sympathy for the Devil

I don’t own Lucifer nor would I really ever want to… Angel, Morning Star, Prince of Darkness and all.

Lucifer sat staring out over the windswept rock. It was a time of peace for him even after he’d fallen. Breaking dawn had always been his favorite time of day and the rocky Irish coast his favorite place to be. There was something about the spectacular beautiful display of dawn over the staggering gray of the cliffs and the deadly swirling darkness below. This day he arrived here just before dawn a heavy mist clung to the rocky cliff hiding the sharp rocks and swirling water below. He waited peacefully for the dawn chorus to begin. As the first hint of sun hit the horizon he took a breath and began to sing.

While the moon her watch is keeping,

All through the night

While the weary world is sleeping

All through the night

O’er thy spirit gently stealing

Visions of delight revealing

Breathes a pure and holy feeling

All through the night “

He smiled adopting an Irish lilt to his voice as he sang watching the gray start to seep from the sky.

Though I roam a minstrel lonely

All through the night

My true harp shall praise sing only

All through the night

Love’s young dream, alas, is over

Yet my strains of love shall hover

Near the presence of my lover

All through the night”

He closed his eyes enjoying the feeling of the soft breeze and sweet sound of the ocean below, rocking gently in an unheard rhythm.

The girl stared at him. He was the most stunning thing she’d ever seen. Soft black hair hung down just past his shoulders and was tied back with a black ribbon. He seemed to move with the song he sang his voice sending chills through her with its soft beauty. She watched his back expand as his chest rose when he began the next verse. Muscles rippled even through the linen shirt he wore.

Hark, a solemn bell is ringing

Clear through the night

Thou, my love, art heavenward winging

Home through the night

Earthly dust from off thee shaken

Soul immortal shalt thou awaken

With thy last dim journey taken

Home through the night”

She hadn’t realized that she’d moved forward as he sang until she realized she was standing at the edge of the cliff beside where he was sitting. She reached out to touch his cheek to brush away the tear she saw there. Her hand hovered beside his face the strands of black hair that had escaped its tie sliding over it.

“You’re song is beautiful don’t stop singing,” she said quietly as he ended the last note. A soft peaceful smile played against his face.

“There is no more to sing,” She couldn’t help but think that his speaking voice shined as much as his singing voice. Her heart broke at its sound. His eyes still closed he turned toward her voice as she spoke. She wondered if his eyes were as beautiful as the rest of him. She was inexplicably drawn to him. She closed her eyes for a moment attempting to remember how she got there. Why she left her warm home before dawn because of the sound of his voice? She shook her head confused for a moment. He reached out and ran his thumb along her delicate cheek sighing softly as he did. A soft frown flickered over his features as he did the unthinkable. He opened his eyes and she screamed stumbling backward her foot catching on the edge of the cliff.

Lucifer drew in a breath as the catalog of her sins flooded his mind. She was ruined by the shepherd’s kisses and chose to lay with him before she’d been married. She’d done this willingly and over again. A sad smile crossed his lips as he watched the beautiful young girl fall still staring into the endless obsidian pool of his eyes. Only when she disappeared into the mist and the violent waves and rocks below did he close them. For a moment he’d forgotten it had been so long since he sang. He’d forgotten that only sinners could hear him sing and only sinners and demons would be drawn to the sound of his voice.

Tears slipped down his cheeks he’d only wanted a moment’s peace before the fight started. He’d only wanted to relax for just a moment after years in the cage. He sighed again stretching out his black wings. The shining feathers damp with the mist glittered. Strong muscles flexed as he prepared to take flight. The darkness of his position settled around him like a cloak as he took wingLucifer_the___Morningstar___by_dwinbotp (1)

Frustration

I am not sure if everyone is like this or if it is only me but I don’t deal with frustration very well. Allow me to rephrase – I don’t deal with frustration at all, waiting makes me feel as if I am being driven slowly insane by the most diabolical of demons. Most of the tears that I have shed have not been over sadness, joy, or even anger they have been because of frustration.

Like right now my hands twitch with it. It flows through me dancing down my spine and skipping as if it is having fun. It plays with me sending shock waves skipping across my ribs making my heart pound. I have been pacing my cage looking out across the sands watching them build the walls that they think I need. I am aware that my skin doesn’t seem to want to stay on. It slithers and crawls over muscle, bone, and sinew looking for a way to slide off and live on its own.

It pushes aside the darkness which I have become accustom to. Sending it back inside my duplicitous brain. I wonder vaguely if the architects are finished with their twisted spires and rooms that people never come out of. They don’t seem to be building anymore and I wonder if it is safe to go back the the dark pit I call my home. I try the cage door and find it locked. Looking out across the black sand landscape I try to see the one whom I once loved and the one whom I have lost. I wonder if he still lives despite the torture he has endured. There is no way for me to tell.

What I wouldn’t give to have that heart beat against my hand full of life and love. Somehow I think the same slithering things that got me. Parasites that stretch the fabric of reality in their grotesque bodies unnatural for the real world. I wonder vaguely if they will ever break through using my body as a transport device. They skitter along my bones and muscles as if they are restless and waiting to get out. Each day they take more from me and I wonder when they will envelope me causing my personality to die. They have already altered it beyond recognition. I watch the darkness move underneath my skin waiting for me to touch another and infect them so that they can escape the prison I keep them in.

I keep them close to my heart because I have long since started to view them as my darkness but I know they bite, scratch, and claw to infect another. When I touch someone they envelope him corrupting what he feels, who he loves, and any happiness he could bring. It always happens this way, I think this is why I stay away from people. I don’t want to see the my darkness penetrate them like an obscene lover. It fills them up and burrows its way into any cracks so that the person feels the fullness of their presence. Some people cum when they feel it others turn away, still others scream while it pushes too hard against their walls expanding them to the point of a perfect pain. The darkness is good at that. Good at making you feel all those feelings that are considered unnatural, taboo, but oh so good.

Downward Spiral

A unique look at what wanders around in the darkness that is my mind. All of the slithering, slick things that twist and curl their way around important parts, beautiful memories. Corrupting them making them into something as dark and twisted as themselves. Making the pain seem real and the hope nothing but desperation.

The darkness caresses anything that is good and beautiful in my life, wrapping around it like a rapist. Moving against it, sliding, and slipping into the crevices. Its liquid cold pulsing, growing to fit and push against the boundaries of the memory before filling it up and stretching its walls. Soaking it in slippery black before pulling back out again leaving the beauty tainted and dripping with viscous liquid.