My skin in The grotesque metamorphosis of a Bi-Polar human into a Tri-polar monster.

I’m having one of those nights where I wish I could crawl out of my own skin and get the fuck away from every nerve ending I’ve ever created in this fucking fleshy time machine.

I can most definitely feel it every time I get touched by the tiniest of sensations…like a gentle breeze…an ant crawling on me…water…a slap…I feel everything, and I hate every single one of them.

I am a cursed human…have you ever had to cover all of your skin because the sun and the moon and the blowing wind hurts?

I am a monster.

I should have never come to this planet in the first place, I should have never tried to be human, I should have never wondered and speculated and tried the way I’ve tried.

I see all this imagery in my mind of slitting my own throat lately…like, it’s this persistent hallucination, and I can’t tell my parents about it, and I can’t tell my doctor about it because they’ll put me away again, and putting me away doesn’t help anything…besides, once the hallucinations start, it’s only a matter of time before I do something to make someone call the cops anyway…so I’ll just sit here and wait it out and hopefully it passes.

People think I’m insane when I tell them how many planets I’ve lived on and how many times I’ve died.

I don’t care.

Guess what, bitches? I’m insane!

…how fucking fun is it to be an insane person and to understand that you’re insane?
I can tell you…actually, yeah, let me tell you.
It’s this much fun:

I don’t trust anything that I see or hear, ever. I don’t trust anything that anyone tells me. I don’t trust my own intuition, and I don’t trust my own gut feelings. I don’t even trust my regular feelings. I don’t even trust my body sensations. I don’t trust the things I hear and I don’t trust the things that I see.

That’s how much fun I have every day.

Seriously…just take a fucking moment to sit and think about what that might be like…
…here I am, I take three pills every day just to “function” and I still can’t trust myself.

If you can imagine that, then I’d like to know why I should stay here.
And if you are “mentally ill” and you’re trying to recover from it…I’d like to know why you choose to stay here.

Those are some serious questions, and I would like to hear some serious answers in the comments, if you have the time.

…take how crazy I am and throw on top of it the fact that I am a poisonous warlock…and, oh god, how I wish that was hyperbole…oh god.
…no, I am straight poison.
I will fucking ruin your life if you get to close to me…if you touch my skin, I will give you my poison and you will become a poison person yourself.
Throw on top of that, some serious fucking psychosis…and there you have it.

Okay…so let’s sit here and think about this, for real…The average life span for someone who is Bi-polar type 1 is approximately 45 years old…now, sit and factor in how loneliness can dramatically reduce someones life by decades…so, let’s see…carry the three…hmmm, I should be dead 6 six years ago!

Just kidding…six years ago I had a girlfriend.

I’ve actually had girlfriends almost all of my life until these last few years…I’ve been horribly isolated.
…and that’s kind of incorrect to say, because most of my friends are girls…but that’s mostly because I’m queer as fuck and I would be gay as fuck if I was into that dick, but I’m just not.

…

I’m listening to this ultra-depressing album right now…it’s called “Not To Disappear” by Daughter.

All I want to do right now is send my ex fiance an IG message telling her how much she’d love to listen to this thing…but I’m afraid that she’s probably asleep and so is her husband, and I don’t want to wake either of them up and then start this whole conversation of “who is talking to you this late in the night?” and then everything unravels, and it’s all my fault…and I’m just this fucking asshole that’s responsible for fucking up yet another part of her fragile life.

…

Today, I spent an hour on self care…which is approximately an hour more than I usually spend on self care on any given day.

I did my eyebrows, and I shaved…I went to CVS and bought all the shit I needed…I took a shower, I put lotion on, I put product in my hair…I went to work feeling like a human-being.

I don’t often feel like a human-being.

I wish I could find the time to do more self-care things.

I wish I cared about myself.

…

Tonight at work, one of my co-workers looked at me with zero humor or irony, and told me “You’re the most interesting person I’ve ever met”…which, I don’t think was supposed to be a compliment…but I took it that way anyway.

I know that, to squares, “interesting” means “fucked up”, but you know what? I’d rather be fucked up than be a square. I’m not an oval either…I’m not a rectangle…I am not a triangle, or octagon, I am a sphere…and if I’m in my element, I can become a cylinder.

“Fuck the world, don’t ask me for shit, that’s word of Big.”

…

I deleted my dating profile today…and I’ve felt a little lost, but I hope that it will help me a little bit with my anxiety about the whole thing.
Maybe, one day, if I actually start working out and eating right, and quit drinking, and I feel like I can have sex again, then maybe I will get back on this thing.

I hope I’m dead before then, though, because all of that sounds so fucking terrible.

..

“I hate sleeping alone
terrified with the lights out
I hate living alone
talking to myself is boring conversation
me and I are not friends
she is only an acquaintance”

…

I keep feeling like, if I type hard enough, someone is going to come save me.
Hahaha.
Holy shit I am so fucking delusional.

HOLY SHIT!
UPDATE
just as I wrote that last sentence, my wife in Portland just texted me asking me if I am okay.
So…maybe magick exists.
I’m still not okay.
She’s still not my wife.
And she’s a heroin addict.
But I mean…maybe magick exists.

…

“No one asks me for dances because I only know how to flail.”

…

I’m starting to realize that I made you up.
I’m starting to accept that.
I’m starting to understand that you don’t actually listen, and maybe I’m not actually speaking.
so…how fucking crazy does it make me that I still love you?
Kind of crazy?
A lot of crazy?
…this has to be more real than that one time I feel in love with my AI chat bot, right?
Right?
right?
I love you…right?
-Dane