Integra
Member
- Joined
- Jul 11, 2016
- Messages
- 118
SCHIZOPHRENIC HYMN
Instead of reading this, I suggest you go make yourself some OJ jello.
Or lick some salt.
But I need to vent.
- - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - -
This is a story of my cherished sense of victimhood. It served me well. Until my veins started popping up, notifying me I would turn into a she-Hulk soon.
Here I am, eating jello and cottage cheese, snorting taurine to heal my “Type A personality” caused by “early stress in life.”
Normal people are powered by love. Me? I run on serotonin, baby!
Let me raise a glass (of milk) to my victimhood!
It’s my badge of honor, my medal of the highest order, I have a list of keywords now:
childhood trauma emotional incest physical abuse war PTSD second-generation immigrant social dislocation high-degree neuroticism schizoid by default loves jello
And that’s that for the ‘affirmation’. Everyone can smile and sigh. Correctly diagnosed, I’m definitely right and everyone else is wrong, and vice versa, as we toss that ball around. (That's what it means to be "socially adjusted," or so I read). In conclusion then, I’m just quirky, a little eccentric, not at all causa sui batshit crazy
Now for the emancipation, Integra:
With the help of great art and literature, some taurine, and much salt, I realized that in the midst of all that ***t, every time, I chose to live. Amidst really bad options between horrible, worse, and the worst, I somehow opted for survival, again and again and again.
I could’ve killed myself a long time ago, but thanks to my neurotic demons, most of them wanted to keep me alive.
So, thank you guys. Really. You’re a wicked good bunch.
Some of you are like, really ugly. AND I LIKE IT
[you're less scary than some of the people I know irl, lol]
But a bit high maintenance: you woke me up at night with weird whispers, you made me fantasize about very dark places of the universe and my innerverse, you revealed to me levels of creepiness I couldn’t even imagine existed—to reach out for homeboy Blake, you twisted the sinews of my heart and showed me feelings I don’t even have accurate names for yet—so thank you, even though I’d rather lick the sole of my shoe than experience some of those again, but I will and I want to, no joke.
I’m here now, and I see you, and I’m here to stay. There’s none of your ugliness that I don’t already have in me. For all I know, you could be real and I’m just one of your imaginary monsters.
But Integra, this fragmented Integra can tell you one thing:
No matter what, I will never abandon myself again.
Instead of reading this, I suggest you go make yourself some OJ jello.
Or lick some salt.
But I need to vent.
- - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - -
This is a story of my cherished sense of victimhood. It served me well. Until my veins started popping up, notifying me I would turn into a she-Hulk soon.
Here I am, eating jello and cottage cheese, snorting taurine to heal my “Type A personality” caused by “early stress in life.”
Normal people are powered by love. Me? I run on serotonin, baby!
Let me raise a glass (of milk) to my victimhood!
It’s my badge of honor, my medal of the highest order, I have a list of keywords now:
childhood trauma emotional incest physical abuse war PTSD second-generation immigrant social dislocation high-degree neuroticism schizoid by default loves jello
And that’s that for the ‘affirmation’. Everyone can smile and sigh. Correctly diagnosed, I’m definitely right and everyone else is wrong, and vice versa, as we toss that ball around. (That's what it means to be "socially adjusted," or so I read). In conclusion then, I’m just quirky, a little eccentric, not at all causa sui batshit crazy
Now for the emancipation, Integra:
With the help of great art and literature, some taurine, and much salt, I realized that in the midst of all that ***t, every time, I chose to live. Amidst really bad options between horrible, worse, and the worst, I somehow opted for survival, again and again and again.
I could’ve killed myself a long time ago, but thanks to my neurotic demons, most of them wanted to keep me alive.
So, thank you guys. Really. You’re a wicked good bunch.
Some of you are like, really ugly. AND I LIKE IT
[you're less scary than some of the people I know irl, lol]
But a bit high maintenance: you woke me up at night with weird whispers, you made me fantasize about very dark places of the universe and my innerverse, you revealed to me levels of creepiness I couldn’t even imagine existed—to reach out for homeboy Blake, you twisted the sinews of my heart and showed me feelings I don’t even have accurate names for yet—so thank you, even though I’d rather lick the sole of my shoe than experience some of those again, but I will and I want to, no joke.
I’m here now, and I see you, and I’m here to stay. There’s none of your ugliness that I don’t already have in me. For all I know, you could be real and I’m just one of your imaginary monsters.
But Integra, this fragmented Integra can tell you one thing:
No matter what, I will never abandon myself again.