livefromprisontorturehell

[livefromprisontorturehell]

I don’t even have words I just feel so bad that my arms are limp and when I tried to write a song about it I just couldn’t and it sounded bad

[livefromprisontorturehell]

I’m hitting a breaking point humiliatingly quickly

[livefromprisontorturehell]

Old Visitor’s Pass zine submission featuring a selection of Magnus Archives haunted artifacts.

[livefromprisontorturehell]

I feel terrible. I have a headache. I have holes in my leg. I have a desperate desire to go home. A stiff wind could knock me over. I might just fall over on my own. I don’t know what is wrong with me. Maybe I mostly do. Maybe it is just all of this futility. And having to wear pants. I feel like I’m on the front lines. Or I was on the front lines. Or I’m maybe alone on a large freight hauling boat, writing in a journal of the weather and my days, wishing there was better food than hardtack on this cold, miserable ship. Sometimes I am on land and there is warmth and spices and tea. But I am on the ship. I am almost always on the ship. I try to force it down and the futility of it breaks my teeth. I swallow the pieces and try not to cough as I look out upon the ocean, even if I know nobody will hear unless I write of it. But I fail, and I let out a couple of choking coughs as I consider the vastness of the swirling waters below me. I consider throwing my journal overboard. I scrawl out my account of the day, addressed to the earth itself, and try not to feel so defeated when I throw the crumpled page into the wind. I try not to feel so ashamed for littering so haplessly. But I do. Of course I do. I try not to cough. Of course I do. I stop writing it down.

[livefromprisontorturehell]

quarantine

[livefromprisontorturehell]

All you can do is force it down and try your best to be solid. I have to be solid. I have to be serious. I have to be good. I have to do good. It doesn’t matter how I feel. I have to be serious. I have responsibilities. I have responsibilities. I have responsibilities

[livefromprisontorturehell]

Why do I feel like this. Why do I feel like this. Why do I feel like this. Why do I feel like this. I feel bad. Why do I feel so bad. Why do I feel bad. Why do my arms feel like weights. Why do I feel bad

[livefromprisontorturehell]

I do love myself in a way. You have to, eventually, genuinely truly care for yourself. No one else can care for you and make you breakfast and hold your hand through the hard things. There is not a single thing on this planet that owes you anything. It’s a beautiful thing really. Despite this the trees hold you. And the wind hugs you. And every star will stand there steadfast and ground you when nothing helps. You will hold yourself up. You will drag yourself along. You will be happy. You will get through the hard things. Or, more likely, you will be deep in it forever. But you will learn to live with it. And you will learn to live with yourself. And you will learn to love yourself and care for yourself. The only person who knows what you’re going through is you. The only person who sees it, entirely, for what it is. And you are the only person on this planet that can make you a cup of tea with the love of someone who understands and cares. There is no reason anything can conceive of for anyone else to care about all this pointless selfful minutiae. And it’s beautiful. Because you’re seeing all of these things around you that no one else will ever see. No one. You’re seeing your cat roll around for you and bite at his feet. You’re seeing your hands. You’re seeing the way the light filters through the branches in your yard. The soap in your shower. No one else will ever witness it. You are so alone. And you are so special because you are witnessing it, and you care. Because the only thing that can care is you. And you will care so deeply that it grips your entire being. And that is so immeasurably beautiful.

[livefromprisontorturehell]

The fact that someone just sat around and wrote the predatory wasp of the palisades is out to get us and it’s the most beautiful heartbreaking song I’ve ever heard in my life

[livefromprisontorturehell]

‪Trying to be happy through it is probably some sort of unequivocally terrible sin‬. It’s torture. You’re supposed to be miserable and destitute. What is all the effort for if you aren’t miserable and destitute? That’s the point. You’re supposed to be suffering

[livefromprisontorturehell]

I think I’m maybe a little bit concerned by my fervent self-loathing

[livefromprisontorturehell]

In moments of fear I try to be comforted by the fact that if I die it would be what I deserve. That is really all the comfort you can have. It will be just and it will be good and as much as I fear it I know it is warranted and I know I will deserve it

[livefromprisontorturehell]

I really do deserve all of the torture I have endured. I deserved every moment of it. I deserved all of the fear and suffering, I deserve all of the grief, and I deserve the powerless dead end of my life. I deserve grasping at straws and gasping for air and begging and begging and begging for peace and comfort. I deserve to beg for peace and be denied it. I deserve to suffer. It is my penance for being alive. My penance for living. My penance for ever finding joy in my life when I was supposed to suffer instead. My penance for all of the time I have spent happy. For all of the overwhelming wrongness of me in all of the different ways I am wrong. It is my punishment and I have always deserved every second of it. It is my punishment and I have always deserved it. I always had it coming. I cannot argue with it. I cannot truly logically wish it was different even when I am desperate to survive and live and be okay and comfortable, even when I wish it was different, because I know I’ve always deserved it. I know it is my fault. I know it is me that is the problem and that I am so overwhelmingly wrong. I know that I am wrong and I will suffer as much as I am supposed to, as much as I deserve, and that is that. I deserve no love or pity or kindness. I deserve the empty, miserable life ahead of me. I deserve nothing but the torture. There is nothing I could do that could ever possibly make up for the wrongness about me. There is nothing that could ever possibly be good about me. I am just wrong and I deserve to suffer for that. Oh, I have, and oh, I will. I will get what I deserve. I know I will get what I deserve. You have to have faith that I will get what I deserve.

[livefromprisontorturehell]

I do love myself in a way. You have to, eventually, genuinely truly care for yourself. No one else can care for you and make you breakfast and hold your hand through the hard things. There is not a single thing on this planet that owes you anything. It’s a beautiful thing really. Despite this the trees hold you. And the wind hugs you. And every star will stand there steadfast and ground you when nothing helps. You will hold yourself up. You will drag yourself along. You will be happy. You will get through the hard things. Or, more likely, you will be deep in it forever. But you will learn to live with it. And you will learn to live with yourself. And you will learn to love yourself and care for yourself. The only person who knows what you’re going through is you. The only person who sees it, entirely, for what it is. And you are the only person on this planet that can make you a cup of tea with the love of someone who understands and cares. There is no reason anything can conceive of for anyone else to care about all this pointless selfful minutiae. And it’s beautiful. Because you’re seeing all of these things around you that no one else will ever see. No one. You’re seeing your cat roll around for you and bite at his feet. You’re seeing your hands. You’re seeing the way the light filters through the branches in your yard. The soap in your shower. No one else will ever witness it. You are so alone. And you are so special because you are witnessing it, and you care. Because the only thing that can care is you. And you will care so deeply that it grips your entire being. And that is so immeasurably beautiful.

[livefromprisontorturehell]

Anything at all would be better than this. I know. I know. It’s okay. I know.

[livefromprisontorturehell]

It’s a little fucked up that you don’t get a “pat on the back for doing the bare minimum and not being a horrible person” award when you tell people you kept being sad to yourself. You can’t say it. Making it known would negate any positive impact it would’ve had on the world. You really just do it because it’s the right thing to do

[livefromprisontorturehell]

You need to stop doing this to people *grips your shoulders and shakes you* oh my god go hide in a corner if you’re sad *shakes you for emphasis with every couple of words* there is literally nothing good about you you can’t afford to be like this to people *gives you a deeply exasperated look* you’re hinging on absolutely nothing to begin with *head in hands, exasperated* your lovability baseline is on the floor to begin with please go hide in a corner please pl