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Scary Random Confessions Of 'M.G.'

Cogs Of My Cranium

Well-Known Member
This is wrong. There is no way that this should be acceptable. So much noise here. Every room is invasive. He wants drugging and locking up. He wants torturing as long as it doesn't make noise. This situation is untenable. Exploitation. Living in the crumbling castle of someone else's design. My walls are painted red. This does my mood no good. I've forgotten how to write properly. My brain is full of black fumes. I can't see anything in the future but loss. I've thought so much about dying. If I can't connect with people, then a large pillar of meaning and purpose in life is gone. Some would argue all of meaning and purpose is gone. No respect. No recognition. No acknowledgement. I hate the time it takes for it to be socially acceptable to open up to someone. Why can't I talk now? Why can't we get into it now? Why do I feel dread that my views with be spread like a virus to others? I've been thinking about different ways to die. 'He's killed himself.' I hear my family and friends say it in my head. I can also hear myself saying it, my ghost. I can't stop saying it in my head. Over and over and over. Like a spinning blade. I want to affect the world around me in a recognisable, actual way, a way that has a process, an end product. Kill, slash, burn, vandalise. An effect. I light the fire, it spreads, it burns, the building comes down. One state to the next by me, me, me. I want to do something out of the ordinary that doesn't get ignored, debased and torn down by the ones I care about. I don't know why I care about them anymore. Love has turned the wrong way. I'm now a symbol of other people's regrets. Something has changed this year. I am more numb than ever as I feel other people's pain around me. I see it too and I see how they are dealing with it, especially my family. I used to have so much internalised pain that I focused on. This is still there but now this glasshouse and its inhabitants are shooting their pain everywhere. Getting more and more numb. I want to be numb. Oblivion please. Recently I've been buying cans of beer and drinking them on the city streets. I watch how people see the cans in my hand at the top of the street and cross over to the other side. My dog is nice but she barks so much. There's not enough hours in the day to be just me on my own. I'm sick of men's clothes. Men's high-street fashion is so bland and unimaginative. Variations of drones. Shirt and jeans, shirt and jeans. I wish I was a woman quite a lot, I really do for lots of reasons. It's how I feel. I wish I was away from the life I've know so I can be the me I see in myself. I wish I was in a cabin in a dress with visitors of my own choosing. Too much noise. Good people make catastrophic bad people. I'd be happier in a cardboard box. Heatwave is coming apparently. Weather talk, British, so British. I think I'm losing weight and I don't know how. I'll have to put a password on this writing as I don't want family members seeing it on this iPad. This is a block of text, I've just noticed. Sorry paragraphs. I'm writing sentences of my mind. There's an English degree in here somewhere, believe it or not. That was pointless. Education betrayed me. Why am I so static? I'm great at self-sabotage. Fear of love. Fear of intimacy. Fear of rejection. Fear of change. I just don't want to live. It's the ultimate choice, the only choice. Carry on or die. I can't post this on my social media in case people find out.
 
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