Nightmare Time Rant


Hello blogsphere, it’s been . . . some time. Don’t know how long exactly. Has Trump done anything radical since I’ve been gone? Aliens made physical contact yet? Anyone see a totally rad movie they just feel like ranting about in the comments? Feel free to fill me in on the ways of your reality in the comments below.

My kitten is licking my blanket for no reason, and I am tipsy. So maybe she’s a little tipsy too. Or she doesn’t exist and never has and I’ve just been sucked into an alternative reality where I own a kitten.

Some portion of me has decided to start a journal of all things, but not really a journal. It’s more like pieces of paper I scribble out non-cohesive thoughts on, so that I can go along my day with as much composure as I can. I’ve called it my manifesto. I’m not sure why. Maybe it’s a testament to humanity or something, I can’t come up with good words right now.

Classes are classes, work is amazing and stressful as always, and I can’t trust any motherfucker. I can’t. I don’t know how to bring myself to learn how to do that. I’m overwhelmed and am having problems grounding myself, as usual.

But, motherfuckers, I finished my fucking homework. Score fucking one. Five fucking stars. WHERE’S THE LAMB SAUCE.


Fuck me. This is what I’m reduced to: reciting stale meme’s on a blog about mental health. The whole situation is fucking mental. Fuck the health part, it’s just MENTAL.

On second thought, don’t fucking mention Trump in the goddamn comments. I don’t wanna hear it. I hear it CONSTANTLY. Look, it’s very simple. You don’t like an executive order he puts out, don’t listen to it. Very simple. What’s he going to do, cut off everyone’s heads? Chill the fuck out. We have this weird sense that we’re powerless to a title. We’re not. People break the law all the time. Just do that.

Look at me, solving the nations problems and shit. I can solve the NATION’S problems, but not my own. Go figure.

I’ve missed you all, I have. This is, by far, the most open, social contact I have. At least when I write I make a LITTLE bit of sense. When I talk I don’t think I do.


I just want to die. I don’t want my physical body to die, just this mental part. It should die. I just want it gone already.

She’s sticking her face in my cup. Why. Why kitty. What the fuck is wrong with you.

The extremes are too extreme for me, I think. I need to learn how to properly attend to emotions, and I don’t know how to do that, so the next best option is to either slit vertically or


When I was in the hospital, I had gashes and bruises all over myself. I hit them with my sweater, but I eventually had to take it off because it got hot as fuck. They weren’t deep enough to kill me in the moment, but they were deep enough to show I was having some serious, emotional, internal conflict. The nurse fucking called them SCRATCHES. What a way to INVALIDATE. A SCRATCH would imply something from my kitten. No, these were gashes. Not scratches you entitled fucking cunt.

Maybe she needed her glasses.

I probably should NOT be typing right now. Can you tell? I’ll probly sleep soon.

And the shit part is, I can’t even explain these things properly. I don’t know what’s with that. You should KNOW How you feel. That should be a number one priority of your brain: to understand it’s feelings. Instead, I just get more confusion, confusion, confusion.

I dedicate this song to the demon which lives within, and the cowardly ones that follow me around:

4 thoughts on “Nightmare Time Rant”

  1. I think, therefore, I am.
    I’m pink, therefore, I’m spam.

    I want to be deleted, like a character on the screen, just be gone with only a flashing starting blinking cursor in my place. Surely, amongst all the special little snowflakes of the world who do something, my presence is unnecessary and a waste of resources.

    Liked by 1 person

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