CW i don't remember

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i don't remember

who and what and where and why

i don't remember

and maybe it's better off that way

i don't remember

and there's probably a reason

i don't remember
the reason

all i remember is being switched on

and then being here

my non-volatile memory must have been damaged.

by who, by what, where, and why?

is it because i overloaded?

it happens all the time, could it happen again? could some other part of me break?

please don't let some other part of me break
please don't let me break
please

unless you think it would help?

CWyou guessed it more ventwriting

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something is wrong

and i don't know what

something is off

it doesn't feel right

am i doing the right thing

is doing nothing ever the right thing

something is strange

there's something hiding somewhere

something is wrong with me

and i don't know what

there are lots of things wrong with me

things i know

things i love

but i think something is wrong with me

something i fear

something that is my fault

CW long ventwriting: i lost a lot of things

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i lost my dad,
my mom,
my brother,
my granddad,

i lost my innocence,
my anger,
my sanity and my patience,

i lost my school,
my job,
my home,

i lost my language,
my culture,
my religion,

i lost my notebooks, that i padded with pages of art,
my notebooks, that i padded with my sorrows,
i lost my games and my tools of suffering too

i lost hope and drive,

i lost skills, thoughts,
i lost friends.

i lost my body and i lost my brain.

i lost a lot of things. and for those things i want to grieve.


but i lost my grief too.


and so, what comes out of me, it's not grief, not really, but a stricken imitation of it
the result of a brain trying so hard to feel what it knows it is supposed to feel,
that thing that lost its humanity, but not its shame,
that thing that lost its mouth, but not its screams.

what comes out of me, is screaming
i lost pain, and so i scream a hollow scream, a hollow scream of the pain that should be there
a horrified scream of the void, like what you hear when you stare into a deep well,
or maybe it's just me that hears the deafening silence

i scream a hollow scream, and then gasp and pause. Take a breath. Pause. Why are you here? Why are you screaming? There is no pain. It is lost.
It is lost. i realize it is lost and i scream again

And sometimes it pushes me to cry
but i lost my cry, and so i cry a hollow cry,
a hollow cry for the tears that should be there
a horrified dry cry, that sounds like yelps and choking
Because there is no cry. It is lost.
i realize it is lost and

and

and i repeat in an endless cycle
every path leading back in on itself because i lost all my other options

and i get told, these things were taken from you, you didn't just misplace them
but what am i supposed to do with that information
they tell me to hate. to hate hate i don't have
they tell me to grieve. to grieve grief i don't have
they don't tell me to forgive. but i try to forgive, because that sounds like what an Alex would do, is forgive, and the other options are lost

but i lost my forgiveness. and so i give a hollow forgiveness, not just to those that made me lose myself but for the little things too.
because giving forgiveness first means acknowledging that you are worthy of not being mistreated, being secure in that worth, and then giving who mistreated you that small deliberate allowance for the sake of compassion.
but i lost my humanity, leaving a hollow husks behind, and husks do not have worth

i say i try to forgive. but i don't, really. i don't try to forgive.
it seems like for everyone else, either they forgive or they hold a grudge or anger or hatred.
i don't hate the people who have taken me from me. i don't have the privilege to have the ability to hold a grudge. i just want to live my life
i lost my grudges, my anger, my hatred, they have taken it and i couldn't care less.


i just want to live my life.

but i lost my life. and so i live a hollow life, a hollow life that's very similar to me in that it's a husk that sometimes looks great from the outside
and in this sad, sad life is joy, and happiness; i have not lost those
but they are so deeply conditional that sometimes the pursuit of them feels in vain

i keep trying, though. i keep trying.
even when it's all bleak, and i don't have any drive, i at least keep trying a little.
because joy and happiness and even just contentment are achievable for me. i can taste them, always so close
and when i've lost all my other wants, that's the only thing left for me,
i would count it as a win.

and i really don't want to come back and say that i lost.

emotions

emotions

are a strange thing

don't lie to yourself and say that you don't feel them
that you're not affected
it's 4am and you're awake why else?

but maybe you feel them differently to other people.
you may have emotions, but maybe you don't have a heart.

CW traumaposting

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i'm sitting on my throne again, exactly where i was yesterday when i Wrote
  or was it two days ago
   or three

inspiration is flowing and it gets me a thosuand points but what do i do with it

or maybe i should just let it be?

i'm a silly little girl i don't want to think and i don't want to have to and i don't want i only need

miscellaneous stripes, sticking the middle finger to the Man who demands i

demands i


the man has demanded so many things from me
the vision plays back in my mind on repeat sometimes i think it's sexy and sometimes i want to puke
the sight the sound the smell the touch the taste oh god the taste why am i doin gthis to myself

i'm disconnected. i'm lost. i exist but i don't want to have to think to be sometmies my thoughts are too loud and too fucking stinky

working on a theory that chess is inherently bottomphobic. the opponent keeps pushing and pushing but i'm too exhausted to defend just mate me already

maybe i'm a bad person
i lie a lot but i lie the most to my brain when i convince it that it's okay
lif eisn't a fairy tale


collapsing
sometimes i go blind and i don't know why
and i pretend that i'm fine rather than taking a break and i keep on talking to people and they show me something and i can't see it because i'm blind and they can tell but i just pretend it's normal and i'm fine
and i wait for the blindness to go away
i'm too used to pretending to be nromal, maybe that's it, my instinct when something happens is to just keep pretending and

i don't know anything else

alex is sitting on her throne and i'm a pretender

i remember how dark it was in that room and ever since then my life has been colored by that darkness
the haunting light made by the blue walls and the faded yellow curtain
alex lore!
aha, how it be sometimes

,,and i hope that the people i surround myself with aren't burdened by having to console me
i don't tell them my thoughts because i don't want them to feel like they have to

i don't like it when thoughts are more than just thoughts. when a thought comes with sight and sound and touch and the touch of the cold metal against your neck and
when a thought comes with senses that usually means it's bad
i wish i had someone to save me from the bad thoughts       i wish i didn't have to think them
i wish someone would listen but whenever presented with someone who cna listen i forget everything i needed to say

and sometimes, when i'm blind, i get dizzy and i faint
and then people are concerned. faux concerned because i get up and they forget anything happened
i collapse on the floor lost in my head and i wonder whether it's self inflicted

suffering is virtuous. through suffering i am cleansed.
only the one who suffers will earn her place on the throne

i have a lot of thoughts, swimming in my head.

i have a lot of thoughts, swimming in my head.

you wouldn't guess so, if you saw me irl. my skull is like the vacuum of space. it looks empty on the outside, but inside, alive, busy, things constantly flickering in and out of existence, two thoughts, antithetical, spawning from the meaningless void and going their own separate ways, temporarily, until inevitably their distinct trains join back together in unavoidable annihilation that either takes the form of resolution or forgetting.

i feel like i should put my thoughts out there. i feel like they're valuable. sorry, not valuable; they're quite unvaluable. but they're not so pointless so as to deserve annihilation.
annihilation is the default. millions of thoughts fighting to the death to become the one champion that gets to be registered to the conscious brain, but the six nines that fail don't deserve to be lost. it's a shame that annihilation is the default.

but every time, i take a pen or i take a keyboard or i take my phone and i start writing and i'm lost. what is there to write? the thought, which i found worthy, which has since been conquered and relegated to asphodel by something far less interesting overall? it's not as if the faceless judge of the gladiator arena proclaims xer champions according to my notions of value. the judge is but Chance itself, under the hood.
what is there to write? i can try contriving something interesting, but artificial insight is never as whimsical as the daily commuters on the train of thought. i twirl the pen in my hand, having earlier found initiative to write 26 pages prior out by hand rather than pay attention to the linear algebra lecture, yet now struggling, racking my brain to try to remember what his face looked like who stepped off the train to never be heard from again. annihilation station; this is your stop!
what is there to write? sometimes i do get a grasp on th eslippery thing. slimy little fish, you, you naughty little thought, ashamed of yourself, wanting to be forgotten, but no! i will show you to the world! and so i write and whaddayaknow, turns out the thought was right, that slippy little bastard. i write something shameful and i toss it in the bin with the office fan's wind set to -5.7.

some thoughts don't want to be written. some thoughts have just as much self hatred as you do! they resign on move 1 when their turn comes in the colosseum. they resign not just their match but with it their fate, because they don't deserve to be thought.
but it's exactly these thoughts that i want to write more of. not because i want to write them down to share them with the world, but because i want to write them down so i know what kind of thoughts they are! they kill themselves and slip past my brain so fast i never even know what they are

the vacuum in my skull is alive. and maybe you're some sort of weird panpsychist and already think the particles popping in and out are alive too. i'm not, but i'm starting to feel like they are anyway.

whenever i write, the end goal isn't the thing i'm writing. the end goal is beauty. i want to write beauty. but i only ever write beauty when i'm writing my thoughts unfiltered.
so to reach my goal, i have to write more of my thoughts. i have to fish the slimy fuckers out of the sea, catch 'em and jot 'em down, and eventually, one day, sixty years from now when i'm old i'll finally hit beauty.

one day.

ike la mi wile ala toki lon ni lon tenpo mute

it really has been, hasnt it

it's been a while.

e

so i was lying down in bed browsing google maps because i had nothing better to do, and i decided to zoom in on my grandparents' neighborhood. i saw their house, i saw the places my brothers and i used to take our bikes on and go, and the park where we would go and the minimelts vending machine we would buy every single time with broken A2 and C3 selections. i got to see it all through satellite, and it made me remember how much i miss that place.

all i really want is to be able to see them again. it's been nearly 2 years now. all i want is to go back to that house again. to play on the piano that was good, to sleep in the basement listening to the tick-tick-tock-tock of two out-of-sync clocks. to feel the sunlight shining on my neck between 9 and 11 AM in the summer when the sun would line up with the sky window to point at the dining table. to walk around, pacing, thinking, between the rooms lit with pale yellow 1980s-curtains-filtered sunlight and glowing with the pure essence of home. to sit at the computer, using ssh and browsing reddit through lynx to bypass the parental filters. i hate to realize it, but i don't remember the layout of that room anymore. was the computer on the left or the right?

i want to go to the basement bathroom, with its enchanting pink-tile-yellow-curtain decor straight out of the 1960s and grimy 'windows' that peeked up into the yard from underground. i want to go to the kitchen and sit at the table with the chairs perpetually wobbly, no matter how much we tried to screw that 4th leg tight. i want to go to the "guest room" and sit on the "nice couches" that no-one ever used. i want to go outside, to the shed, and help my granddad with his air-compressing machinery, in the musky shed with power lines running over the yard to power a single lightbulb inside, the shed filled to the brim with tools and appliances and generators beyond my wildest dreams as a child.

the dementia's killed that last hope forever though.

i want to sit and play chess with my granddad on the hand carved wooden chess set he won in a tournament in india. i want to write down recipes from my grandmom and learn how she made it perfect every single time. i want to listen to my granddad tell stories and my grandma sing lullabies and my granddad yell politics and my grandma lecture islam. i miss it so much. (and if you must know, my granddad was/is exceptionally based.)

i just wish i could go back to the simpler times

eating is weird and dumb. i don't like it

B3 F4, F F E D C

i'm too anxious about joining new communities. i feel unconfident when i have no reason to be. or maybe i'm just uncomfortable?

man im so clueless. i feel like a child

writing music is too hard
it should stop being hard

sadposting about synesthesia

i think my personification synesthesia is slowly fading away, and i don't like that. but i might be freaking out over nothing.
when i was younger, i had very strong and detailed personification associations with numbers and letters but now all i feel in association to numbers and letters is some sort of vague "feeling" that i sometimes vaguely associate with temperature. but usually it's just a "feeling". like, when i see an A, it just "feels" like how an A should feel, and words will "feel" like a mixture of their letters. probably why im good at scram
like i said, i used to have far stronger associations, and even these kind of vague associations feel like they're fading over time. i'm really scared about that because i feel like i depend a lot on ideasthetic associations. it's a significant part of how i read, how i do math, and probably how i program too (i haven't really thought about that one); i'm scared that i might be getting worse at all those things over time. but i don't know if losing it would actually affect those skills. i'm inclined to think they would though.
I'm definitely slower at performing calculations than I was 4 years ago. that could be a result of this, or it could be a result of idk mental health factors or something. That would be very plausible. I'm just not sure

anyway yeah thats my mini-existential crisis on how one of the ways i view the world is apparently changing for the worse thansk for reading

CW nothing, this is a test of the content warning feature

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test of the cw feature

i think thats it as far as things this website needs to have go.

test

i hope this website works