#you'll never guess what's going on in my real life to warrant this drawing

[sceebybeeby]

mikeko is getting old :/

[gerardwritestuff]

May 7th 2018

I wonder what happened that day.

I wrote something in phases.

If you want a written entry on what happened I'll tell you.

But only you, I don't think I can trust anybody with this. Plus, no one wants to help me with it concerning my best interests so there's not much done with it.

Well for starters, you want the truth. Right?

You want the absolute truth but how am I warranted to give it to you? What can you do for me that's not euthanasia or some fucked up solution to helping me? What's your grand scheme that's supposedly shrouded in mystery that you can't tell me?

I don't know where to start.

"I think they can help. No, they can't."

It's a cycle.

This carousel of indecision had me so tied up in my own skin, I couldn't trust a soul. I felt like I was bound to perish and not a single person would help my cause.

You think you can help, but then you're faced with something much bigger than yourself and that's when you'll coward out because no one will ever want to take the stand for someone else.

Because that's love.

And no one's big enough to accept that. We shroud ourselves on the façade of help and care but people only care enough for you to stop being their problem after a while.

Pain is a real motivator; and I mean real, unfiltered, physical, raw pain. And the human body loves routine. So when you make pain a part of your routine your brain gives you an outlet.

And that's exactly what happened.

I lost my goddamn mind, at least I think I did. People love telling you things to shield you. No one wants to tell you the truth. It hurts. I thought I was doing the right thing all this time by telling people what they wanted to hear, but the truth is I only played the role of being this useless pawn in the game of life I've been living.

Now read between the lines.

Oh yeah, I remember, end of my second year of college.

Things were going all right, to say the least, I'd been having a blast and I'd thought I'd been doing alright but then I went to that damn counselor.

He gave me an alternative to religion. Told me that I could pour my heart and soul into this idea that everything around me was a message from God. That God was talking to me through the things around me. What the fuck.

My life changed completely.

People say schizophrenia isn't something that one could call an observable science. You can't make sense of it. Hell, it's been 2000 years and we still haven't made anything of it. Not like we're close to cracking the code to the human genome or anything of the sort.

I don't know what to tell you. I felt scared at the start. It was like the world was a chasm of wrath and evil and that everything around me screamed for an escape. But really, who was to blame? You can't expect one to live their lives normally after the truth comes out.

That's insanity. Isn't it?

There'd been a couple of things to contribute to this episode. I'd become shrouded in the fact that whatever I'd witnessed till now had been an amalgamation of my memories and that my perception wasn't driven by inference but by incredulity. The more I got lost in my thoughts, the farther away my sense of discernment drove me. Until then, I'd only ever seen life through the eyes of a fawn, and in this forest, there hadn't been a lot going on. Well, at least for me, that is.

I looked on with disbelief as everyone around me playing this game of pretense would never read between the lines. I fell to the ground thinking of how much I'd lived through basking in a bath of whim and false security. It suffocated me, pushing hard against my back as I sank face-first into the dirt. Nothing was ever the same, because nothing was ever as it seemed.

We try so hard to forget. It helps us, comforts us. We do it every day, as we see the crippled on the street and pay a deaf ear, to be guiltless about how destitute they seem; it makes us feel powerful, to know that if we never remember the pain we once went through, we'd be okay. We hope we will someday.

But that's not the point I'm ever going to try to make. I'm here to tell you that what happened to me, wasn't an option neither an accident. I'm certain things turned out the way they did because nothing would have given me a way out until I reached that point of utter desperation.

What if they can hear my thoughts?

What if they know exactly how much of a monster I really am?

Once I'd entertained that thought in my head, it fed on my psyche like a virus. I let it get a hold of me and very soon I wasn't acting like myself anymore. I didn't know what to do except paint a picture, a picture that made it seem like I knew what I was doing. Like I knew what I was talking about and had me acting like I knew what I was messing with.

Commence a feeling of awe and daring carefree. Something in me had cracked like a glass rod and my sense of self-preservation hadn’t left. It was more toward being swept under the carpet or shoved in the back of a car.

I was playing spectator now because someone else was at the wheel.

And God did it scare me. It made me a complete fanatic. Buzzing my hair and preaching about shit I had no clue about?! I was way in over my head, acting like a prophet no less, and even after I'd gotten over it, it never really left. I needed the world to know that I was losing it, and that it made me special, and that it drove me to believe things. Things that were driven by my convictions and not my real feelings. I drove my family and friends away, made them afraid of who I’d become, and now, I couldn’t be more sorry for acting so numb.

I really needed a change, I didn’t want this to be a one-off thing. I couldn’t believe anyone. When they told me that they were thinking up a solution that was the best for me, I saw it as a ruse. In my head, they were just pretending to care because they were scared that I’d keep acting crazy and wouldn’t let up until my head had cleared.

But there was some good out of it, I guess. I’m not really sure. I can never really tell with all the castles in the air. But I’m glad this shit has blown over, and I’m better now. I hope I never go back to that holier-than-thou shit. I had a few demons that I’ve fought with. Those monsters are in the past now, they’ll turn up more often than not. But that won’t keep me in a whirl, I won’t let them. The future’s in my hands, the past is how I’ll forget them.

Then and only then will I realize,

That the real monsters never existed under my bed, they never did.

The real monsters exist right inside my feeble mind.

Black and white, followed by a question at the end of the reel.

But they never stop.

Days bleed into each other and the one thing you’re left with is the only place you started from.

To draw a line between determination and desperation.

To be able to feel like you needed something else from the mind-numbing regret that just enveloped you and continues to coalesce your being.

Make it stop.

Please, just make it stop.