Get Free Copy

100 free copies left

This novel is limited to 100 free copies due to its part in Inkitt’s Novel Contest.

0
Free copy left
You can read our best books
Psychotropic Hound would love your feedback! Got a few minutes to write a review?
Write a Review

My Place

By Psychotropic Hound All Rights Reserved ©

Horror / Other

A Personal Commentary on going crazy

I’m a person with schizotypal personality disorder. I decided to document my average Friday night in the form of writing.

I am at a point in time that gives the impression- the illusion, of also being a point in space. It probably only makes sense to me, but I think it’s very important to distinguish between the two. They might seem like the same thing, but you’ll find that one can exist without the other. Going without one of them is a painful , existential amputation.

This is my place. I go through life, seeking new places and experiences to test myself on. Hoping to stumble across something I can be outstanding in, because mediocrity is my greatest dread. But this is a place I always return to; watermarking another round in my performance. I can make friends, survive new misfortunes, and reach further states of enlightenment. But among the bed of chaos, this focal point keeps me centered. IT barely feels like living, actually.

Nobody is thinking of where I am. I’m in my bed, staring at the ceiling, reflecting on my inability. I do some things well, and keep people together. I let people hurt me, and drain me, to convince myself that there is a reason for my emptiness. That, maybe, there really is a state of wholeness and nirvana that one could obtain, if not for the blemishes of the mortal world. A cure to unhappiness. A real, concrete, infallible assurance that you can live in a good way. These things are theoretical. Even then, the assertion of perfection being non-existent is a baseless act of conjecture, searching for an end result.

It makes sense to me. Maybe that’s because I’m having a psychotic episode, here in my room. I bet you want me to describe it. I bet you want to hinge your attention on how vividly I can describe when my brain gets fucked up. You have your idea of what psychosis is like, don’t you? You have expectations about how I express myself to you- because like everyone else, you can tell me how much better you understand my existence than I do. You know all about me, right? I fall under certain statistical averages related to health, gender and age, so you can nail me down with a profile right now. You’re reading this shit with contempt for me, for this monologue of yet another manic depressive, pseudo-schizo fuck who thinks it’s artsy to write sloppily and informally. Well fuck you. You can walk up to me and correct me on what I am, and how I can express coming to terms with it, and scoff at me for being bellow your arrogant, cunty expectations. But I don’t give a fuck. Because I’m in my place.

My place, cut off from humanity. Know the thing about fame becoming some metaphysical currency for how much you get to exist when you’re dead? How to gain ‘life’ in remembrance? Well I can feel that I’m not existing in that way, even now. Nobody in the entire world is directly conceiving of me, thinking of me. If I just vanished from the cosmos at this moment, there’s a certain probability that nothing would have to change as a result. How long would it take, if I dropped dead right now, for my death to have any significance in the external world? I’m not sure. I don’t care to live, or die.

This is my place. The place where I’m alone, invisible, and inconsequential. I obsessively relive my friendships burning, and dear people disowning me, just to know that I still feel at all. I’m frustrated and numb. I’m rushing and skipping over my thoughts, to get to the cathartic confessions. I want to confide myself in something, to shock myself with the sense that my endangering pain is tangible. I devolve into a shaking thing, sobbing and choking. I cry ounces of tears, and nobody can see. People don’t know you’re crying by your tears, but by your expression. And my expression remains dead as those tears pour out, and I chew at my lip. I want to rip my cut open, and taste the blood that tranquilizes me. My blood sloshes over my tongue like heroin over the brain stem. Then I become euphoric, little pieces of me falling away until a joyous little mannequin remains. I grin, gape forward, and salivate. But is there anything inside by then, under that husk? I wonder.

I recall every person who ever made me feel ugly inside, and admit that they are right. Locked in this room, drowning in sadness. I have no purpose.

This is me. This is my place. I’m not alright. I’m not alright, at all. But that’s okay with all of you, because you don’t want me to be alright. You thrive on having a reference for being broken. Something to be thankful you’re not experiencing. Fucker. Here I am, trying to vomit my psychosis out in front of you, trying to give it some fucking worth. Do you like to read to ‘get to know’ the author, hm? You want to know me as a person, through my works? But me? Just me, as I am now? You don’t give a fuck. You want to see what fruit this could bear out- you want me to write fucked up poetry, or some deep subliminal story.

You want to romanticize this. So do I. but I just fucking can’t right now. I’m not eloquent, or sympathetic, or whatever a disorder like mine’s supposed to make you. I’m just a person, dying in the dark. You’ll never see me. You’ll never know me. You might want to know what’s fucked with me, but not what’s just me. Without my great flaw, I’d be nothing. People don’t have any reaction, when I tell them about what I love, fear, or want in life. Know what gets reactions? Telling people how I see things that aren’t there. Spiders, scorpions and centipedes coursing through the dark, or nipping at my heels. Faces in the dark. Telling people how I have debilitating panic attacks, or that I’ve put a fucking gun in my mouth. So I hate this shit with a passion, but what would I be without it? Nothing lends me significance more than my illness, so what’s the point of getting better? Would it really be better?

This is my place. My special place… Time and time again… You can’t fallow me here. IF you can understand it, you’re probably the kind of person that put me here. Cut off. Losing my tiny mind, going through my entire one-man-show on this stage without an audience. You can’t think of me now, even if you try. You can just recognize this klusterfuck of emotions and complaints, but you can’t see the real me. You can’t see through this static, you condescending prick. You can’t see how much I love and hate. You can’t see how I experience this world, constantly overstimulated and morbidly hopeful. This is my documentation of a psychotic episode, for your voyeuristic, fetishizing pleasure. That’s hopefully how the arrangement works, right? You get to violate my personal headspace, and I get a fucking soap box for five minutes. Now start forgetting everything you’ve read. Let me fade out of your memory, like I’m bound to. Let me infect you with whatever emotions I can provoke, with the knowledge that that part of me in you, will die. Like being cannibalized. You’re a cannibal. You’re eating a batch of my cloned flesh, careless of the lack of sustenance, just fucking chewing me. I fucking dare you to try and swallow me. Reality itself, is spitting me out.

Write a Review Did you enjoy my story? Please let me know what you think by leaving a review! Thanks, Psychotropic Hound
Continue Reading
Further Recommendations

AnnaLucia: This fanfiction has an amazing plot. It's very different from the books, yet the author still managed to keep the personalities the characters had in the books. Your Alec and Magnus still are themselves, even though you created a different plot where Bane had to seduce Lightwood to get informati...

mrh: This interesting take on the Harry Potter series fascinated me from line one on. I am in love with this tale and its characters and cannot wait to read the next chapter. I look forward to more soon.When can I expect the next chapter? I am so excited to read it!

dd1226: I love reading about other countries and I think this story about Cambodia after Polpot creates awareness of the tragedy that happened there and the actions of the U.N. to hold elections. The heroine of the story is easy to relate to, a modern, middleaged woman looking for an adventure, wanting t...

Evelyn Alonzo: I was up till three in the morning just so I could finish the story! It just really grabs your attention and you can't stop reading it at all! Lol great job, Nick! Can't wait to read your other stories!

C J Lawson: Nicely done. Good story with good characters, as well. I was very entertained by the story line, from beginning to end. I would definitely read more of this author's work.

Deleted User: This is a very clever story in the style of 19th century (and turn of the century) Gothic writing, very reminiscent of Stevenson's The Body Snatchers or even of Dr. Jekyll and Mr. Hyde (less so of Frankenstein itself, since the author is more minimalist than Shelley's florid, Romantic rhetoric). ...

drainwater411: such a great read for me. I loved how you had to figure out who everyone was and kind of got a sense of who they were throughout the book instead of just telling all about the characters in the beginning, it helped you really get to know them and grow a connection with them. the relationships bet...

Animeviewer: It is one of the best stories I've ever read. This story will have you riding a roller coaster of emotions and nearly dying to know what happens next.You will get very attached to the characters and in my case I relate well with some of their very traumatic or emotional experiences, Just Juliet f...

Brie Lundy: I have never read a story like this before. It was riveting. It kept me captive. Once I started it I couldn't stop until it was finished. 10/10. I need more of this book. They need to find the Wizard!!

More Recommendations

Lydia Sherrer: I first read The Speaker almost a decade ago when I first discovered author Sandra Leigh. I loved it then, and I still love it now. It is a simple, easy read, yet deep in meaning and rich in storyline. I do not know what kind of research or prior knowledge Leigh has of First Nation tribes, but sh...

This story wasn't for you ?
Look at our most viral stories!
King's Lament

FreakyPoet: "you made me laugh, made me cry, both are hard to do. I spent most of the night reading your story, captivated. This is why you get full stars from me. Thanks for the great story!"

The Cyneweard

Sara Joy Bailey: "Full of depth and life. The plot was thrilling. The author's style flows naturally and the reader can easily slip into the pages of the story. Very well done."

This story wasn't for you ?
Look at our most viral story!
Spectra

Ro-Ange Olson: "Loved it and couldn't put it down. I really hope there is a sequel. Well written and the plot really moves forward."