“My name is Elohim, and I am come to be your god.”
I got to a point, once, when I was practicing controlling and using my Theta energy, where I could control fire with my breath…and then I got to a point where I could make the flame become as huge as I wanted it to become…and it would dance all night for me…it never died.
I am still inside of this deep depression, and I still can’t see any real way out.
I could sit and list all of the behaviors that I am engaging in that are symptoms and causes of my depression…but I feel like you could just go back through any of my old writing and find the same rambling nonsense…it doesn’t mean anything…it never has and it never will.
No, instead, I am going to force myself to go ride my bike today…that’s my “step” towards bringing myself out of this nonsense.
I feel like it will be good for so many reasons…the main reason? Maybe I will start to not be fat.
…I am so fat right now…like, I mean, I hate saying that because I know there are people who live on this world who actually struggle with being morbidly obese, and then there are people who are just regular obese…and then there are just fat people…and I guess I’m not any of those people.
I’m 6‘1 and I probably weigh somewhere near 190 right now…I’m just guessing because I don’t have a scale, and I don’t want a scale…but when I look in the mirror I gross myself out, and now I feel like the rest of my life is just going to be some battle against my own body.
I’m going to have to work hard for the rest of my life just for my body to not look like a piece of shit.
How fucking stupid is that?
God damn I wanted to be dead so long before this…like, seriously, I always had that same bullshit dream as everyone else of joining the “27 Club” but that was always just a bullshit dream…I really always thought I was going to be dead at 23.
The first time I ever tried to kill myself I was 13…I did about as good of a job as any 13 year old dose of anything.
I mean…it was a real attempt, it’s just funny now.
I was on 4 prescription drugs at the time, and I emptied all four bottles and took every pill I had, and I had some booze that I stole from one of my friends parents, and I drank a bunch of that, and I just remember laying down on my floor (because I thought I would be easier to clean up if I was on the floor and not on my bed) and I sat there with my eyes open for a few moments, just preparing to meet God…and I was going over all of the things I was going to say to it when we came face to face…I was going over all of my excuses for checking out early…and I remember laying down as the drowsiness began to really take hold and thinking to myself, “This is it, Dane, there’s no going back from here…we’re finally leaving this place.”
And I remember a mix of fear and anticipation.
…and I drifted off to sleep…and I didn’t dream that night…and I woke up very sick, and very disappointed…and when my mom found out, she acted indifferent, and my step dad made fun of me for trying to kill myself and failing so spectacularly.
My step dad ruled the household with a single motto: “Show no weakness, for there is no mercy”.
He literally would say that…
He would literally say, “for, there is no mercy.”
Like, those words would leave his mouth…and he would say these things to children.
What a fucking asshat…One of my only goals in this life is to outlive him so I can go to his funeral and talk about what a piece of shit he was.
I am ready to try to kill myself again, but I’m not going to do it for so many reasons, and that is such a bummer.
I guess, maybe I need to know what an entire life lived as a piece of shit feels like.
I guess that’s fair.
That must be fair.
I agree…it’s fair.
I can’t remember what else I’m supposed to be talking about right now…I feel like there was some sort of speech and I had some talking points that I was supposed to hit…and I am not hitting those points.
Holy shit, who ever thought I was suited for this entire affair?
Don’t you know? I must be destroyed.
I just started following this 18 year old Instagram Model…and all she ever does is make me feel creepy.
It’s so weird how getting old works.
Sometimes I wish I was born into a world with like…a hundred people…and we were the only 100 people to have ever been created, and I wish we would just all get old together, and die together, and our memories would all make sense.
…but, what do I care…I’m a dead man anyway…and I’m not even a man…I’m not even human.
I can’t even have sex…so what am I worried about?
I don’t have much, but I would give everything I have to the first person who was willing to murder me.
I love you.