weeding-out-the-weaklings

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Truths about myself. Anecdotes of eternal sadness, truths, and maybe a lie or two.

I have been looking for diagnoses in an effort to explain my shortcomings.

I am at the mercy of my one-track mind. I have no control over my thoughts. I am in captivity from free thought. It’s taken a decade to literalize this sentiment.

I feel like my entire life experience is the equivalent as a whole season of COPS. And I’m always the bad guy.

I think my biggest problem is I don’t know the origin story. Spirit, humanity, morality, me. Figure it out stupid.

When I feel the most vulnerable I tend to micromanage words. Because I might be a controller.

I am scared that I am a disingenuous person. Because sometimes I am disingenuous.

I might stretch the truth for the story, to make someone feel something, to perform for their amusement, or tell tall tales. But in a jam, I’ll always tell the truth.

If my brain thinks it’s wrong, I trust my body to make the right call.

I think “know what’s going on” is something only specific people are aware of.

It’s never going to be “just right“. Find an OK zone and stay in it.

Life is a spiral of disease everything starts from the middle. We are in uncharted territory. Sin is the disease.

I am who is left over. I am the dead. Their strongest qualities call out to me and convince me of them over time. - if it’s me there are demons around, if it’s my imagination we are doomed.

THEIR is my favorite word. It’s fun and the vowels are rebellious.

My dog stares at my turtle but refuses to attack. She wants to play with it. But brutal death to the turtle is the same as horsing around the dog. Waylon is a cold blooded reptile. He is fun to watch. Miley is a warm blooded mammal. She cares about me. I have a God complex. Possibly. Probably not.

Criticized and bitter. Only becoming bitterer.

Haven’t tumbled on here in years. Need an outlet.

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Gotta love when you get manic while on meds. Like what even is the fucking point?

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Leavin' Me Alone Lonely bones are shakin and creaking My brain is thinking only of you I get no love from others that need me My only hope rests in your heart too I feel so alone and I can't stop hurting My arms won't even pick up my drink The heart in my chest beats only your name It strains like a heart attack by only in vain I wish you could understand just where I'm coming from I beg of you not to think so little of me Please understand I'm only trying to be painless Everything's changing and I hope you won't leave People around here look at me like scum I never thought that I'd sink this low Life has no meaning and I keep leaning On whiskey and meth and weed and blow Maybe if I just do too much I can flip the light switch and things'll turn black I wanna die because I'm so lonely And now I know that there is no turning back When I meet my maker I'll beg his forgiveness And maybe just maybe he'll welcome me in And if he does, I'll just stay lonely I'll wonder about you and how you have been Sometimes when I think about you I start to breathe really fast and my arms start to shake The sandwhiches we made and coffee we cups we went through It reminds me of the parking lot and candy we ate I will never look at Christmas lights the same And it hurts to see them now When you gave me hugs, it felt so warm I wish your curly red hair was around I'm so sorry for the night that I drunkenly admitted All of my ridiculous feelings for you You were so quiet and understanding That my feelings should have been hidden I think about you from time to time Fuck, I think about you twenty four seven Just about time spent with you And how it was pure heaven I've never had a good relationship since you Either drunk or angry and resentful I wish I could manage to keep someone and make them happy like you But I'm alone for good and I wish it was more simple I wish a hand would just appear out of nowhere and punch him in the face.

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I'm sorry to hear that. I hope things begin to look up for you. (:

So my dad either just left me and my mom, or hes out drinking. But i dont think he needs $500 if hes just drinking

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foodstain:

hamburgermilk:

chocolatequeennk:

afleshjackforblainecharitydrive:

dbvictoria:

25% of the people have a 4th cone and see colors as they are

Given the sudden interest for the color of dresses and vision, here some of the fascinating findings we did recently.

The color nuances we see depend on the number and distribution of cones (=color receptors) in our eye. You can check this rainbow: how many color nuances do you count?

You see less than 20 color nuances: you are a dichromats, like dogs, which means you have 2 types of cones only. You are likely to wear black, beige, and blue. 25% of the population is dichromat.

You see between 20 and 32 color nuances: you are a trichromat, you have 3 types of cones (in the purple/blue, green and red area). You enjoy

different colors as you can appreciate them. 50% of the population is

trichromat.

You see between 33 and 39 colors: you are a

tetrachromat, like bees, and have 4 types of cones (in the purple/blue,

green, red plus yellow area). You are irritated by yellow, so this color

will be nowhere to be found in your wardrobe. 25% of the population is

tetrachromat.

You see more than 39 color nuances: come on, you are

making up things! there are only 39 different colors in the test and

probably only 35 are properly translated by your computer screen anyway

:)

It is highly probable that people who have an additional 4th

cone do not get tricked by blue/black or white/gold dresses, no matter

the background light ;)

(x)

I see 21 colors. I had no idea there are so many more.

I see 35-39 colours, and I hate the colour yellow. That was actually what made me curious enough to stop scrolling and count. Who knew there was a scientific reason behind my colour preferences? So the idea here is that what I see as annoyingly, garishly bright, most people don’t see as clearly, and that’s why it’s “cheerful?” (I’ve never understood that description of yellow.)

I SEE ALL THOSE BITCHES and I have no beef w yeller it just doesnt jive w my skin tone peace

What makes me mad about this is where i know im not picking up hues, the bars are bigger, so im recognizing im a basic ass bitch right before my very own eyes.

Dude I only counted fifteen. )':

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The fact that she's got Black Flag AND fear, I think that's cool.

@thatdame_destiny on Instagram

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Nestor Redondo

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Love this idea for writing prompts!

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Monologue

Monologue I'm laying naked in my bed at 9:54 am, listening to the light raindrops on my window. I think about how badly I want a cigarette; maybe I could use some coffee too. It's a little chilly in my room. I stare at the dark spaces between the slats in my windowsill and they blur and fade into a giant black form in front of my window. It scares me, maybe I'm finally going crazy, but I can still hear the light tapping of rain, the occasional low rumble of thunder so I know it's no nightmare. My thoughts drift to my guitar, still lying on the floor humming where I drunkenly dropped it the night before. My room smells like sex and lime and cilantro even though I haven't had any pussy in weeks. My record is still spinning playing St. James Infirmary by some jazz band I've never listened to, but the music seems to match the droll demeanor of my occupied space. I sit up and stretch and grab for the nearest pants and t-shirt. I stand up and inhale, I think I'll have that coffee and cigarette. I light some candles and undress and slip back into my bed. I'll get my coffee in ten more minutes. Ten minutes pass like seconds. I guess I really should get up. I masturbate and think that wasn't as good as it normally is. I could really use that cigarette. I smoke a cigarette and put the coffee on, listening for chirping birds or laughing children but hear nothing but the static from the television that's been on all night and the annoying buzz made by that damn guitar. My bed is unmade, floor littered with candy wrappers and beer cans. I assess my miserable little hole. Is this really what I've become? I sip my coffee and have another cigarette. That one hit the spot. I start the shower and wait for steam to fill the bathroom. The hot water hits my face and feels good as it starts to run down the rest of my body; a warm sensation, almost reminds me of the cheap whiskey I drink. As I step out of the shower and the fresh, cold air hits my body I notice the goosebumps on my arm. Goddamn, my body is weird. I dress and take a look at the spilled white powder on my writing table. My nose starts to itch. "Quit looking at me", I think. I don't need a line today. I look at the blank page on my daily planner. Well fuck. Maybe when this storm passes I'll go outside and sit in the park so I can keep writing. I think: "this is dumb". I take my clothes off, snort a small line of cocaine and slip back into my bed. Who knows? Maybe they will find me tomorrow, still here in this hole.

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From ‘Buckland’s Complete book of Witchcraft’ by Raymond Buckland

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Life's a trigger man. It's a fuckin trigger.

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Somedays I'm really energetic. I don't take drugs except the ones perscribed to me, but I've been awake for two days. I recently moved to a new state and have only met two people my age that I'd call friends. I've been obsessing over music. My job is only three days a week and I'm halfway through my four day weekend. I know I should be knocked out asleep because I took my 800 milligrams of seroquel, but I feel like I've got ten pots of coffee in me. Maybe I should go running. Fuuuuck. I don't know anyone else that really has bipolar disorder, so I feel like I don't have anyone to connect with on an actual real level.

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I hate hypomania. I hate it more than the depression. I hate it more than not showering for five days. I hate it more than not getting out of bed. I hate it more than not brushing my teeth. It’s presented as great. Even I thought so for a while. You get stuff done. Efficiency. Perfect. But you don’t sleep. And that energy doesn’t wear off. And no one meets your expectations. And you’re all alone. And you could conquer the world. But you can’t conquer your own.

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So i'm taking 800 Milligrams of seroquel and 200 Milligrams of wellbutrin.. Hmm.