#this isnt Finished but its finished enough that its coherent i think. how many kicks does it take to get to the center of randys brain 💙

[glsneeg-enthusiast]

how many kicks does it take to get to the center of randys brain

"I can't help if I don't know." That was Maria's favorite phrase now. Randy had heard it one hundred and two times in the month that he had lived with her. And to her credit she did care, it was an improvement from when she had been threatening to kill him twenty-something years ago.

"You haven't given me anything to work with, Randy." Maria's patience was running thin, Randy could hear it in her voice. "I haven't been told anything. Not where either of you have been for two decades, not what happened that day, not why you both were on the verge of dying in the hospital, not why my brother's more delusional than he's ever been, and not why you can't seem to fucking think anymore."

Randy opened his mouth to stutter some excuse, and Maria had started again. "Don't tell me you don't know. I will smack the shit out of you if you tell me you dont know."

It was horribly silent for the next four minutes, Maria let out a sigh and her grip on Randy's shoulder weakened. "Do you think I haven't noticed any of it? The way you knew Henrik was grabbing that knife before he did, after you met Ava? Do you think I haven't heard you throwing up in the middle of the night? Or the things you mumble over and over again, for hours straight if nobody bothers you?" She was barely speaking above a whisper now, her face softened with it and Randy had prayed to Showfall that he would just have a heart attack and die right now.

She chewed on her lip while she looked at the floor, like she was hesitating. A nauseatingly long pause and then, "Randy, you buried my father's body in the backyard. I'm sure nothing you did while you were gone is worse than that."

Randy wished that was still the worst thing he had ever done.

...

This was the first time Randy had done it since he was with Showfall, and he was missing his arm now so he was bound to struggle. He didn't think it would be so hard to carve chunks of his skin out with only one hand.

...

If he had timed it better Beau wouldn't have walked in and saw the blood surrounding his mouth. If he didn't hesitate as long as he did it would've gone the way he wanted and she wouldn't have ever known anything.

She didnt say a word while she wiped the blood off his face and stomach.

...

Beau had always done these little interventions since she met him. He wished he was still mature enough to think it was good.

"I'm mad at you. Randy, I do love you, but if I was smarter you'd be in the psych ward again."

It always hurt, it would never not hurt. She had tried so hard to take care of him and this is how he repaid her, she deserved to say it and it deserved to hurt.

...

Randy had tried very hard to ignore how Henrik had been staring at him for twenty-six minutes, sitting with his back against the wall, knees to his chest, arms crossed over them. They had both come out of Showfall undoubtedly and horrifically changed, but Randy felt the same way he did thirty years ago. If he didn't have worse things on his mind he could go on another tangent in his head about how maybe he and Henrik were living in some horrible purgatory where they were stuck in the same but almost different scenarios over and over and over again, that maybe they really did just die that night and none of this was real.

And Randy had tried very hard to not fall over when Henrik had stood up and kicked him in the back of the leg. He had only stumbled a bit, which was better than fully falling over like he did a week ago. Henrik's pupils weren't dilated, even Randy could make it out with his blurry vision. His pupils weren't dilated which meant he wasn't drugged out of his mind or running on autopilot, which meant that he did remember everything. Nothing ever went well when he could remember.

"I heard Maria yelling at you earlier." Henrik had put his head against Randy's shoulder, much harder than preferred, Randy would probably bruise and Henrik would probably get a headache from it. "You're a fucking coward."

Randy wished the air didn't catch in his throat the way it did, he always hated when Henrik got a reaction out of him. Henrik had stumbled around and rubbed himself against half of Randy's body, the same way he always did, and then he had wrapped his arms around Randy's waist. He could feel Henrik's nails digging into his shirt and his skin underneath. Henrik smiled at him and it made him want to throw up.

For a moment Randy had forgotten everything either of them had done, focused on the fact that it was Henrik and he was touching him, and if he tried hard enough he could just barely make out all the lines in his face, the crookedness in his teeth, how his glasses sat lower on his nose than they were supposed to. For that moment Henrik didn't look like he hated Randy. And then it hit him like a brick that Henrik didn't care about what happened to them anymore, and he wouldn't care about it ever again. Either of them could die right now and he wouldn't care. Randy remembered clear as day how scared Henrik used to be about one of them dying, how he would cry and shake so bad he couldn't breathe. He didn't do that anymore.

Henrik had grabbed Randy's arm and pulled it up to his mouth, bit down on his forearm for at least thirty seconds and then let go. Randy almost wanted him to tear the flesh off. Henrik had smiled at him again. "Remind you of anything?"

Of course it did, Henrik just liked watching the discomfort settle on Randy's face while he thought about it. Randy didnt like thinking of it. Henrik being lucid was almost the worst thing that could happen, nearly mutually assured destruction except Henrik didn't care about what it could lead to. A ticking time bomb before one particularly bad episode and then Henrik spills it all, and all the reassurances and lies that Randy had built up would be gone in seconds.

"You're not any better than me. Randy, you did all the same things I did, but you're the only one that turned kids into cannibals," Henrik was holding his face now and Randy was trying not to throw up, "right?" He had tried to deny it and Henrik cut him off, "You did. You know you did, and I know you did. Do you think Maria wants to know too? Beau? Or is it another little secret like how you like eating people?"

Randy had uselessly been trying to shake his head no the entire time, trying to stutter out some kind of response and only getting out some half-assed and pathetic "stop"s. But maybe that was enough, because Henrik had stopped and pulled away and he almost looked scared.

Henrik didn't say or do anything else, only stared at his hands for maybe a minute and then walked out of the room.

[monzterzack]

Sometimes i remember i drew 300 comic pages just becuase i wanted to tell a story

And then i remember that its been like a year since i posted more and that.... no one really minded

And i get a bit sad, cause my ocs mean the world to me but my brain, my body and depression has gotten to the point where im unnable to work like i used to do and i can barely construct coherent thoughts nowadays

So sometimes i start thinking "how if i quit art and stop feeding myself the delusion that my art is worth enough to keep me alive?, why dont i just grow up and accept my dreams and aspirations are childish as best and a fantasy at worst? Why cant i just act like a normal adult, finish my law degree and work on that field? Sure... i hate law and i hate conflict and i hate everything related to that but its good money, why cant i accept im just a regular person and not someone special and that my talents are mediocre at best?"

And it gets depressing really fast, cause i dont wanna quit art, its the only thing i care enough about to keep doing

So sometimes i write super bummed out, and depressed and just.... ugh it pisses me off, my own sadness pisses me off so much, i really want someone to tell me my art is worth it, i wanna feel its special in a way, even tho i know its not

But also why do i need recognition? Why do i need praise? Cant i just do it cause i want to? Cant i just indulge myself? Why is it so bad to want to do stuff just for myself and why do i get so sad about it not getting recognition?

What is wrong with me?

Why does everything i make have to make others happy?, why cant i just be satisfied with stuff existing because i made it?

I feel something is breaking inside of me, i cant even work in commissions cause i start feeling frustrated cause im working on stuff that isnt for me and i find myself unable to motivate myself, that isnt normal.... that is fucking weird as hell

And i tell my therapist and he doesnt really know what to tell me other than "just sit and do it" and im always wondering if i explain wrong, im not looking for excuses to not do it, im looking for advice to help me motivate myself to work harder, cause it sucks not being able to deliver the best work u could do, just sitting myself and forcing me to do it feels unfair cause the final products are usually not as good as i could had done it had i been motivated

I know im capable of doing fantastic pieces once inspiration kicks in, but i find it more and more hard to even get inspire nowadays

I dont know.... something is not right with me, but im afraid to go to a psychiatrist and have all my issues trivialized, and im afraid of turning into a zombie again, being able to do what everyone expects of me but unable to do what i feel joy with my characters

I think i can only work with extreme emotions now, everything mild, everything that feels "normal" freaks me out and i trigger myself or find ways to get into a fight or to get yelled at

And i know it sounds edgy and stupid "i dont do normal" like if i was a emo riverdale character or some shit, but i really cant work with mild emotions, i cant work with happy feelings or with mild contempt moments, i need to feel so extreme that the emotions overpower me and force me to draw or die

And its not healthy, i have so many white hairs in my head now its unreal, i cant sleep and my pancreas is so done with my levels of stress that it started failing and gave me diabetes

I am so scared of the future, i am so depressed in the present and i feel so nostalgic for the past, cause at least now with perspective i feel like i had a bit more control and at least i feel that i certainly was valid back then, but nowadays i just feel so confused and done with everything im exhausted

Ugh..... i am really losing my mind... its not even quarentine stuff, i guess the fear of death and the fear of the unknown had just amplified this feelings but i been feeling this wack for years now

I am not sure what im doing or what i feel, and im scared that everyone else was right about me and i am wrong about myself

I dont know man, im tired of emotions and feeling like shit