I'm at a point where I'm speechless and overwhelmed with my madness, I don't trust language anymore. And yet I'm writing here. A place where I cannot see myself as a human being. I've got no right to say the word "I". Contradictions - I'm full of them. I'm so done with this world, I lost all of my words and thoughts - yet I'm thinking a lot. I'm so down, but my antidepressant (Bupropion, which is closely related to amphetamine) gives me hard moodswings. I feel like a sad clown, who is deeply depressed, but acts like he's happy. I'm artificially wired or hyped. But It 's kind of the best AD, I've ever taken.
I l've always been misanthropic and kept distance to all human beings. I haven't been touched in my life before, except on birthdays (which makes them even worse). I'm lonesome, but I don't feel lonely. But sometimes I wish someone, maybe a ghost, would take my hand and lead me far away, living undisturbed, freed from all troubles.
A writer, Robert Walser, lived 30 years, until his death, in a psychiatry, he first didn't want to join it, but then he didn't want to leave. I was in a psychiatry, where I felt comfortable. Of course they set you limits, restrict your freedom, give you pills, tell you when to sleep and tell you what to eat. I don't want to be safed, I don't want to live anymore (again the contradictions, I feel so confused). Even the most gruesome death is better than the happiest life.
Continuous self-talk, out of zopiclon, tinnitus got louder, out of benzodiazepines, horrible insomnia, no power to contact my psychiatrist - next appointment in november, afraid of just taking the trash out. And that are the better parts of my life.
I don't want to aestheticize myself and don't want to sound sentimental or melodramatic, but I sincerely claim, that I'm not an entity. Again, it is hard for me to write "I".
I don't know why I write this, but it feels relieving, I hope you don't mind.
The verdict for me is suicide, and no lawyer in the world could change that. I don't know when it shall be executed.
In the end of this year, I'll either be in a psychiatry or under the ground.
Hang Me, Oh Hang Me:
I l've always been misanthropic and kept distance to all human beings. I haven't been touched in my life before, except on birthdays (which makes them even worse). I'm lonesome, but I don't feel lonely. But sometimes I wish someone, maybe a ghost, would take my hand and lead me far away, living undisturbed, freed from all troubles.
A writer, Robert Walser, lived 30 years, until his death, in a psychiatry, he first didn't want to join it, but then he didn't want to leave. I was in a psychiatry, where I felt comfortable. Of course they set you limits, restrict your freedom, give you pills, tell you when to sleep and tell you what to eat. I don't want to be safed, I don't want to live anymore (again the contradictions, I feel so confused). Even the most gruesome death is better than the happiest life.
Continuous self-talk, out of zopiclon, tinnitus got louder, out of benzodiazepines, horrible insomnia, no power to contact my psychiatrist - next appointment in november, afraid of just taking the trash out. And that are the better parts of my life.
I don't want to aestheticize myself and don't want to sound sentimental or melodramatic, but I sincerely claim, that I'm not an entity. Again, it is hard for me to write "I".
I don't know why I write this, but it feels relieving, I hope you don't mind.
The verdict for me is suicide, and no lawyer in the world could change that. I don't know when it shall be executed.
In the end of this year, I'll either be in a psychiatry or under the ground.
Hang Me, Oh Hang Me:
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