My Life

It is approximately 12 am as I begin to write this and my general discontent has spread to most parts of my life, making me a manic depressive, anxious, erratic and suicidal mess of a human being. The one thing I have going for me though is my writing. I've been writing since I was 10 and doing it seriously since I was 14 and found my genre at 17. Despite my years of writing experience I still have no fucking idea what I am doing. I have begun to suspect that I will never know, as learning is a life long endeavor and I am not close to old age. The most fascinating thing is talking to a middle aged man such as my father and him emphasizing over and over again that he has not found the key to life. Writing is apart of life. Writing is MY life. So why shouldn't it come as easy as a healthy individual can breathe? I search left and right for some damn meaning but it slips between my ever-failing fingers.

Aside from murderous, violent thoughts (the ones which fuel my work), I am a normal ass individual. Living the most mundane, snooze inducing life. Sure, things could be worse, I could be trafficked,abused or poor and impoverished. But the sense of fulfilment has yet to reach me. And the itch for meaning continues to haunt me. I consider myself a poet yet nothing in my life screams poetic. I guess you don't need to have a traumatic life to be a poet, a writer. But it sure as hell helps.

The soundtrack of todays and probably the next several writing sessions is "Unknown/Nth" by Hozier. Nothing more to note there, it just gives some idea of what to listen to I guess. The song itself is very poetic so it's suiting. Music fuels my life, it stopped me from committing suicide on several occasions. I honestly don't know what I'd do without it. Probably nothing because I'd be dead.

Someone once said hell is other people and I hold by that as a person with anti-social tendencies. The idea that there is a constant appeal for interaction with beings that will just abuse you is something that as an autistic person, I will never understand. You probably read that and were like "damn who hurt you?". It's really complicated. And yes, the quote "hell is other people" is misinterpreted but I think I may be using it correctly in this specific circumstance. How I see others reflects my relationships with them. Yes, I have a borderline misanthropic view of society and humans in general but they did shitty things that caused me to have that view. It's not like I took one look at the world and decided that all humans are inherently idiots just by one glance. No, actually, it built up over time. Combined with trauma induced paranoia and the vigor of a frayed rope, I trek through the world like an animal dosed with too many amphetamines. The spiritual presence of toxic drugs really take a toll on the mind and body, like a placebo with reverse effect but undeniably worse. Nothing really fucked me up more than my Post Exertional Malaise combined with my first paranoid delusion episode. Feeling like I was dying from exhaustion while being convinced like hell that everyone secretly hated me and were just being nice to me out of respect. I am also greatly suspicious that I am experiencing low to mid grade psychosis because why the fuck else would I be this paranoid, angry, distant and delusional. I experience also, periodic auditory hallucinations which is fun.

I wrote this whole fucking thing in one sitting so well, that's an achievement.

I will update whenever I care enough to try.

Cheers Sluts,

Miles