Derealization Mature content No. 322 Published Independence Day 2022 9:35am pdt read ( words) Past entries "I am in the worst mood of my life. 1700 on the same Friday. Nothing exciting. I never went to the cigarette store. Cocktail next to me because I can. Metathesis is one of my specialties. The paragraph sits there and stares back. I wrote it, which means I felt it. Today I am realizing that despite my strong need for help, seeking the same may never occur. I just don’t fucking see it. Beyond this piece of property is something I understand less and less, but not to the point of hitting the title. It is more closely related to culture than the entire world. The term helps, though. It helps me to put the paragraph into perspective, somewhat. The rest is up to me, unfortunately, and like the ‘help’, none of it may ever come to pass. This is a very bad situation. I don’t know if I can swap the tables in the office. Looking at the space a while ago reminded me that the mattress is standing on end behind what is to be my desk, and if I switch the tables, my space at the desk may be very limited. The tables used to be on opposite walls. I can’t do that now because of the mattress, nor have I come up with another location for something so large. This kind of sucks right now. I have ideas for improvement but cannot carry them out much of the time. 0659 on Saturday. I have much more time this morning than the typical weekday. My schedule shall remain as such for the next week. Mornings will be long and quiet, leading to the routine a little later than when I am alone. The quiet during the early hours makes it all worthwhile. This morning I dreamed that I was important and a part of something both large and powerful. Some of it faded, unfortunately. What remains is rather disjointed, although I retained a few still images from a connection I badly needed in life. I don’t know if there is enough information for me to build a synopsis, however. I’ll keep thinking about it because during the dream I had the sensation of being necessary and vital, whereas during each day here at home I feel quite the opposite. The dream was unlike my work for the space program, as well. I felt important over there and each day I walked a bit taller as a result. The power in the dream was different. Of course, there was a woman involved. I’m not going into it. This is the fourth day in a row sans flags. The morning precipitation is beginning to irritate me. I have coffee and my fourth show in its seventh season. One of the cats flipped his lid for a little while but I think he has now calmed. That was noisy. This time of the day I really need some solace for thinking. The gray of reality is a condition about which I wrote many years ago, perhaps back during the turmoil of zero three. The gray is here right now, this morning. As I sit and ponder the day behind and the day ahead, I see it all around me. The gray is in the walls and will not leave me. It is also in my head; a good portion of the reasoning behind my fall from where I have been. I am disconnected from the outside world to a dramatic degree and have no intention of becoming a part of that machine in the future. Between this condition and situation as surrounded by the gray and the idea of merging myself with a way of life with which I can no longer identify, well... The gray it is. My circle. Maybe I need to make my own power and attempt to mimic a segment of the dream from this morning. Maybe. The gray of reality. All around, not just the sky and its ever-lowering effect during the mornings. Every single aspect of being, from waking in the morning and taking care of business to building something of which I become very proud and then dropping off to sleep much later, has been taken into the gray. Call it the forest or the evil, if you wish. I'm certain all these entries have become convoluted to the point of leaving a reader without a clue as to what I've been trying to say (often without saying anything at all). Or try calling it the evil forest, a place in which I can either rise to the occasion or die, disregarded and small. So far, I have tried to embrace the ideals over and over, sometimes succeeding and other times falling flat on my face. The gray pays no mind to who or what I am. It simply awaits a threshold which can lift my head from this place it has inhabited far too long. The gray of reality shows me the gradient between my life and all that is taking place beyond the property lines. Six thousand square feet of 'world', outside of which lies everything to which I no longer have any desire to be connected. This is the gray, but perhaps not derealization. I'm close, though. More than two years of being here and slowly withdrawing from 'norms' has left me understanding that my time out there among the sheep and the shit may have ended. 'Those people' used to have dual meanings when I lived in Dublin, maybe also prior to that era. The term changed, too, and became something I despised every day as I moved in and around society. The second meaning was a type of person I did not understand, yet strongly wished to emulate. Here in the gray of reality, neither meaning can hold true. The fact is I have grown into the idea that the separation I always felt while around other people was only the infantile beginning to a much deeper and more important condition, and one I am now within. There can be no reversing this. Today is a beginning. Derealization is different, yet when I heard the term within a program yesterday as attached to another word, the meaning rang so true within me that it is now THE definition for this way of life. Period. The term is not fictional, either. Derealization is a condition defined by the AMA. All I've done is created a subterm in order to more closely define the way I feel and then put it into words. My gray is a freeing feeling of sorts, yet I already know anything which can bring me a smile or a sliver of joy is going to be accompanied by some measure of shit, be it inside me or from an external source. I'll have to remain vigilant. External shit is caused by people. Less contact equals less chance. There is only so much room in here anyway. Perhaps my reality is vastly different than that of those people. 0825. Still the fourth show is up there and I have a little coffee left. Once it is gone, I'll care for half the routine and ensure the house remains quiet. I may end up in the garage for a while. Yesterday I formulated a plan for further organization of the office, as well as an idea for the mattress. I'd love to have my old desktop setup back in operation, though greatly updated and more powerful. I used to believe that the portable method was the way to go just in case of a scrape, but recently I've felt that scrape or otherwise, I am here for the long haul (as long as the haul lasts, anyway). I used to sit there and feel that the desk was a control center of sorts. It was very comfortable for a while. Now that the old table is in the garage for good, I'll use the other big table which previously resided in the dining room. It is enormous and should provide plenty of room for twin monitors and everything else related to a desktop computer. Along those lines, I will also grab a set of speakers slightly upgraded from the last. Those drivers were really nice and did not cost very much. When I begin my work today I'll be chipping away at this project. The more I think about it, the more I like it. Give me a month and all will be in place. That was where I sat when crafting stories of the past and the gray of reality. I need it back. I need it very badly. I don't believe I can adequately describe the feeling of sitting at that desk during the early morning and working at the editor. The time was wondrous and full of possibility, although every bit of it was also spent alone. Dead... In the gray I am still writing the story which can never be published. Not even a hint. It is always backed up on the server, meaning some enterprising young person may find a way to access the content, and I cannot have eyes on those words. Another gorgeous, uncredited actor standing there, all dark and mysterious. No name, no nothing. My day will begin soon, I guess. I'd like to get some of the routine out of the way so I can fall back into the gray and make plans. And speaking of the word 'fall', the weather these last few days has resembled the fourth season. If not for so much daylight, I'd think we advanced four months on the calendar overnight. Heh. Very cool and wet out there. I used to dream of fall when living in the valley due to the summer heat. Now I live in a place which is much cooler all year long. 0911. Bad number. 0954 and I have yet to do anything productive. I need to maintain quiet in the house so she can sleep. We are on very different schedules, meaning she is up late and I am asleep much earlier each night. Her quiet time is at night, while mine is right now. I wouldn’t have it any other way. I need the mornings for consideration of life. The other story is haunting me on a daily basis. I pop into it here and there to add thoughts or details, afterward realizing that much has been forcibly removed from my existence. This is not good. I have begun to embrace the gray more and more as a result of feeling that everything has become dire. My work today will be slow and determined. I am reminded of working in the space program due to the pace. We had a very structured and specific set of routines because of the hazardous nature of operating the facilities. Explosives, compressed gases, and cryogenics were just a few of the processes we handled almost daily. I will try to operate my routine and other work at such a pace. The tasks and ideas I have for organization and improvement may help to extricate the story from my head today. It’s an idea, anyway. At least I am trying to help myself sometimes. Better than nothing. My head is all fucked up this morning. I need help, but none is available. No one is listening. The gray of reality is being violated by derealization. Think about that. My existence has for many years been dictated by fear, be it within my mind or out there in society. There has been far too much fear and seemingly nothing I can do about it. The gray may help me stand upright and become more forthright. The more I write about feeling fearful, the more determination creeps into my head, believe it or not. I have yet to actually push, though. Two years ago I mentioned that having all this free time was good for my need for clear thinking. As of yet, such thinking has been derailed by obsession and other problems. I can’t seem to break out of this circle. Anger also keeps me on those very same rails. Maybe if I can separate the anger from the gray I’ll be able to rise enough to desire remaining in this world for a very long time. Derealization, even in small doses, can be very detrimental to that desire. I must be careful. 1048 and cocktail time has arrived. A nice, cold glass of whiskey to smooth the edges for a little while. The house is still very quiet, the second show is up there on my big television, and I completed half of the routine. Cleaning the kitchen will be too noisy right now. The weather outside remains unchanged, all drizzly and cold. Again, I’m thinking of the fall. My head is still all fucked up as a result of the story, that fucking paragraph spinning patterns of pain inside, and the fact that the damaging dream continues to plague me even while watching television. Honestly, the dream has affected the way I watch some programs or movies. I can’t get that fucking shit out of my mind sometimes. I’ll have to try and remain upright throughout this day despite those issues taking hold. This is a bad situation, and I may have mentioned that before. I have to leave detail out of so much content that sometimes within a few days I don’t even remember what the fuck I was saying. This is ridiculous. I have clear steps in mind for reconfiguring the office. I have to move a ton of crap from one place to another, meaning the process will likely be very slow. Eh... I don’t care. All the time in the world these days. That was a run-on sentence. My twelfth grade English teacher would be screaming. Anyway, these days any steps taken toward a larger image are important, small or otherwise. In spite of my issues, I have yet to regress other than in my mind. The house always improves, even if just a little bit. Never backwards. Holy shit does Julie look delicious in this episode. Yummy. If I could just... Ugh. Damn it. Some people say dreams are like emotions, neither good nor bad. They just exist. Well, my dreams are often very bad. Believe it. I was talking about the office work and became distracted by a cute face and lovely hair. Such is my life. And this is the second scene with an uncredited fucking goddess in the background. Fucking gorgeous, that girl. There I go again. There may be no fixing this... A road with no turns. Miles needs to stop kayaking on the Holodeck. In this series as well as the next, he's always messing up his shoulder. Heh. The forest images are representative of the gray of reality. Enjoy them. This road may have zero turns, but it does have a buffer stop. Be it far off in the distance or right around the corner, there is an end. I fucking know it by rote. The time is now after eleven and I am feeling antsy. Maybe I’ll go to the garage and work on something. This morning quiet business is important, yet sometimes goes on far too long. Good thing I have the fucking whiskey. Damn that story, anyway. Just... Damn it. I can’t even edit the fucking thing without having problems. Like the other paragraph, there had been a compulsion against which I was helpless to offer resistance. Now I’m all fucked up over it but cannot remove the information. The words came straight from the heart and must remain where they are regardless of the fucking damage. This is a very bad situation. 1210 and I am still spinning my wheels, freely. I showered, though. Whenever the time comes for us to go out shopping for food and fireworks, I am ready. That time is unknown even at this late hour. During the weekdays, I try to go out before lunch, but alas the trip timing is not up to me today. The second half of my routine remains untouched. If too much more time passes, I am not going anywhere. She will be forced to do the shopping alone. I have enough on my mind already and do not need to be out there when the streets and stores are busier. The weather remains as it was five hours ago. Gray. The color of the sky is perfect for my mood. The gray of reality and the hint of derealization. Two images which define me, wholly. Extrication is no longer possible. The story cuts me, the damaging dream cuts me, and no one is listening. The resulting mood is quite negative. I just added a sectionn of the story and have become very angry as a result of such wonder and joy having disappeared from life. My mood is deteriorating quickly. If we are to go shopping, it had better be very soon. I am feeling a sense of loud music in the garage approaching at breakneck speed. 1229. My world seems to be coming to a painful end. Dead... In the gray 0657 on Sunday, one day from the loud holiday. Coffee, fourth show, cats fed, no flags yet again due to the drizzle. This will be a long morning, thank the maker. We shopped yesterday for an hour and I saw nothing. Wonderful. The previous trip was very difficult because I am a basket case and weaker than a wet toothpick in a cyclone. This is not fun. Anyway, I cruised the aisles like a champ and took care of business. I normally don’t like to go out during the afternoon, but that was the choice. Everything was fine. The concern for being within society only created issues of other types, not the obvious. Today is going to be a motherfucker, if my early feelings are any indication. I can’t seem to push that story away right now. Lots of difficulty sitting here thinking about everything that has transpired in the nearly two decades since the first time I tried to find something far from home. I found it, and my head turned around forever. Later, that escape bonded itself to the mere appearance of a form and I ended up flying all over the fucking place in search of the rarest and most elusive type of comfort imaginable. All those events are sitting directly on top of my head this morning. At some point, I must complete my work and care for the garbage without falling down and failing. I also must chop more of the greenery in the back to further that project while I have room in the green can. If I end up all pissed off, the work will end up minimized and I’ll feel like shit tomorrow. I can’t have that right now. Those little feelings of pride in what I am doing must continue. Between the paragraph I wrote and the story to which I add a few lines per day, my brain can take little more before I need to forcefully empty the fucking thing. Bad situation. I say that every day, too. 0742. My head is worse in one way, better in another. I actually sat here for a little while and watched the show without typing or doing anything else on the computer. The entire time had me pushing myself out of the bad thinking and into something more productive. I hope it can last a while because I really don’t need any more daydreaming or pain. Back to the title. My societal detachment took an apparent backward step when I did the little experiment on social media. I think I mentioned that I logged into the application after deleting my account more than two years ago to see if my information was actually removed. Nope. Everything is still there. Anyway, since there are a few individuals with whom I don’t otherwise have a connection, I contacted my cousin and one other person to ensure they are well. That means I branched out from my existence as cut off from most of society. It was initially just a test, but then I figured there is nothing evil about my account remaining available. I suppose that despite the test failing, part of me had been curious about older content within my account that I do not have on this machine or the RAID. Indeed, I went back into the archives and located some images of the Slipper which I then saved to the laptop. Good thing I tried the experiment, too, because I had been searching for more imagery throughout the last several weeks. So, if using the application and accessing my old account changes the category of my being, so be it. Fuck off. I need to preserve some of my most beloved history. If it is a step backward, I shall look upon it as a necessary step. So, does that mean my derealization has lessened? Not at all. Don’t disagree with me, either. My cousin is important to me and I don’t have much family left in the world, plus the Slipper continues to be a source of wonder and bad moods, meaning I need all the fucking material I can gather in order to maintain a connection with that precious machine. The world has not yet ended, so perhaps at some time in the future I acquire another. Yes, I know that sounds crazy. I think about such things daily. The social media experiment just happened to bear unexpected fruit. I am still very much separated from the world around me. The only issue is that I do not believe the core of the term, and that is that the world may not be real. I just can’t wrap my head around that one. Much of the way I feel has grown out of disdain and anger due to the stupidity and rampant power corruption in the world which seems to trickle down to the average person on the fucking freeway (one can read into many personality traits all from doing nothing more than watching a person drive in public). Believe me when I say that if I could further detach myself, I would be doing it right now. 0812 and I am feeling a touch antsy again. Usually around this time of day is when I think about transitioning into the routine or whatever else I may accomplish while ensuring quiet inside the house. Maybe I’ll just head out to the garage and take a break with the big door open so I can look at the same view I’ve been seeing for more than two years. Or the backyard. I noticed this morning that the palm tree on the next block which usually displays the American flag up high is now displaying the NASCAR flag, likely due to Sunday being race day during the season. I never noticed before that the resident changes the flag on this day. I just put that fact together a little while ago. Heh. Anyway, as for this morning, I have less of a kitchen to clean, so there is ample time for me to point myself toward whatever seems most productive, like tossing more crap in the trash. That’s always enjoyable. For whatever reason, I successfully extracted and pushed away the damaging thoughts this morning. I’m still pretty fucking pissed off at those responsible, yet I apparently have the power to removed the difficulty when absolutely necessary. I think when I publish this most important of entries, I'm going to pare the rest of the site down to the same. Cutting everything off is almost as enjoyable as throwing shit away on Sundays. The types of feelings I’ve been experiencing for years are exactly what drove me into a series of bad decisions and very destructive, damaging behavior, the kind that can ruin lives. Right now I do not have the resources to travel across the street, let alone to another state, and such a situation only serves to inflame my needs. I forced the issue years ago and caused more trouble than others deserved at the time. But now? With zero options? I feel much worse. I suppose the lack of resources is saving me from myself, as well as those close to me. That is good, yet inside I am still all fucked up with nowhere to turn. Too much has been forcibly removed. 0839 and the garage is open for business. At some point I’ll shut this down and work on the routine. I have one cup of coffee left. I tried some time ago. I'll have to find images from a job so I can pin down the year and month. I tried very hard to be nice and respectful, but the truth is my head was already all the way through any research and heading at breakneck speed toward bad things. I now believe that was the motivation in the first place and I had been swimming in that big river of deceit. There can be no denying the facts, especially after finally admitting that the pool girl was the object of desire, not simply lines or her form. Tons of desire. The hopeful nature of the situation years earlier likely would have gone in a very negative direction for one of two reasons. First, I could have lost myself in the moment and displayed a facet of my personality better left under wraps, or second, I could have destroyed any chance of continuing to live in this town. But? I tried anyway due to a compulsion that cannot be squashed by any means. I believe my condition as ruined by other people and exacerbated by society is a good portion of this dark beginning of derealization. I really do. The work was becoming very difficult for me and I dreamed all the time about leaving that job, soon to learn that I could. That bore much free time for writing and other projects as a massive upside. Unfortunately, all that thinking buried me in the soil. I am desperate and weak, cannot speak to another soul about either, sit here day in and day out dreaming of impossible circumstances, write about all of it, and then nothing happens. I do it all over again. No wonder I need to be separated from the fucking stupid mass. The gray of reality is literally inside me. Dead... In the gray Tomorrow is the holiday. I'm going to drag the barbecue to the driveway and set up some chairs. This year will be small, perhaps the two of us along with a short visit from her dad. I'm curious to see his reaction to all the Satanic imagery in the garage. Heh. No one seems to care, although I've seen several individuals walking by and staring into the space with a blank expression. I'm sure they are not accustomed to such elaborate displays of irreligion. Eh... I don't care. I'm not changing anything for anyone. The plan is to grill hot dogs like I usually do, possibly some corn as well, with bit of music in the background for posterity. This holiday is important to the nation, but not the biggest deal for me. This section of town is well known for becoming a literal war zone with respect to the fireworks, illegal or otherwise. The authorities continue to spell out and ramp up punishment for possession or lighting of those big devices, yet each year the neighborhood continues to light up like Disneyland. I enjoy it partly due to the colors and sounds, and partly due to not having to worry about trouble. I just keep a bucket of water and the garden hose nearby in case someone else's fun lands in our yard. Safety first. Beer, too. I may complete a bit of setup today in and around my housework. I like the garage to be neat and orderly anytime there is a chance of a visitor. I wish I could be understood. Ashley planted superlatives and certainties into my weakened brain, none of which I am able to either deny or brush aside for living more comfortably. Her views were unique. I shall never look upon her like again. The doll of the universe, sweeter than pure sugar, and more intelligent than she had a right to be at twenty-one years of age. I still miss talking with her. The whole world can fuck off. The time is now 1150 and my routine is finished. I also cleaned out the refrigerator a bit because it’s garbage day. I still have several items on my list, but right now I need to take a break and get off my feet for a little while. The house is all mine for the next several hours and the cats are fast asleep, bless them. I had to place an Amazon order for household items, and in typical fashion I piggybacked some sockets to bolster my ever-expanding set of tools. Moreover, I have some connectors and solder coming so I can continue with the lighted ornament work. I am beginning to feel fairly accomplished today, and I have to keep moving forward with other work so that the house is ready for the holiday. Not a moment has passed without my dreaming of Ashley and her immortal words. I dreamed of other aspects of our connection, too. The issues never go away. I’ve been dreaming of something else, too, but I cannot say a fucking word about it. Oh, yes... And a third subject which must also remain internal. This is fucking ridiculous. Wow. Here I sit at 0643 on Monday with coffee and the second show because the other one ended last night. I say wow because yesterday was both very good and very fucking bad. The day became quite productive early on because I was determined to have things organized and looking neat for the holiday. In that, I succeeded. I also filled the green can with more of the backyard shrub. That project is now three weeks and looking promising. The garage is nice and clean, too. I made sure to put everything in its place and maximize the garbage space. The cans are at the curb right now. All in all, I did very well yesterday... Except for an issue I only suspected some weeks ago. The work progressed most likely due to my anger and the need to do anything to keep busy and reduce the amount of sheer disgust at this current shit situation. I pretty much forced the issue or I would have accomplished nothing. The morning still has me beyond sixes and sevens over this crap. I really don’t fucking need more problems, especially now. I suppose one could look at all of the work I finished as a positive, but honestly such a fact does not make me feel any better. So far this morning, I am ok. Once again I need to keep the house nice and quiet. I plan to take it easy for a while before attacking anything else. There simply must be some time dedicated to learning why this newest issue has arisen, and if this is something about which I need to be concerned heading into the future. If there is nothing I can do about it, well, I'm going to alter the way I speak to people and deal with the house. Some of the most important aspects of life have already disappeared, meaning just one more will send me over the edge. Roughly two hours from now I’ll begin my routine, and then move into the garage to set up my typical holiday shitaree. Ah, yes. The knowledge that though part of this is my fault also indicates that part of it is NOT. I know the reason why my head just exploded over the ponytail dangling behind the tapered back of some uncredited actor in the background is due to so much having disappeared. I would like to demonstrate to those responsible just how upset I have become, and how many of my waking hours are devoted to pain and heartache. Unfortunately, right now I feel utterly powerless, so nothing can be done at the present time. In the future, however, such a state may change and allow me to make the point so clear that people will never wish to have anything to do with me again... Ever. Nothing. I can be pretty fucking harsh. Lately I've been saving it up in order to unload on whomever happens to be standing before me when circumstances change. I am looking forward to a large display of emotion. The part that is not my fault has been destroyed by those closest. I can only say so much. Fifteen years is a long time for carrying a massive misunderstanding. It is also a time period littered with holes, some of which have spoken to me here and there. Holes. My regard for society is diminishing at a tremendous rate; most notably a select few individuals. I remember being led around. The knowledge that I had been coerced to the point of damned-near jumping of the Gate upon command was embedded and allowed the shit to continue. All that time, too. I was right there due to years of my own mistakes, yet the situation was not the type for allowing two-way understanding. And believe me, I know that there were problems before me over which I had no sway, but that is not an excuse for watching me degrade into a whining little whelp and continuing to hang that beautiful carrot just beyond my weakened reach. Fuck off. I didn't deserve that type of behavior. I wish I could destroy the source, but alas I am far too nice a person to actually harm anyone or anything. All I have is this. The point is I became desperate and then angry, with both amplifying more recently and leaving me to worry about my mental state every fucking day. And then yesterday... The cherry on top of a fucking bomb-sundae. I didn't need that. God help the person on the receiving end if and when I finally speak my mind. The time has come to cool off and head back over to the derealization issue (as if there were not already enough OTHER fucking issues). Some asshole on the word game tried to tell me that I should not worry about my problems because everyone has problems. Well, are their problems my fault? I thought so. Leave me the fuck alone and never, ever employ the word 'should' when it comes to me. Jesus fucking hell, anyway, what is it with people? Dumb fucks. I have not the time nor the inclination to be concerned with those fucking people, just as I would expect them to ignore my shit. Figure it out, dipshit. The fucking paragraph again. I believe the subject and subsequent issues I had with trying to work out that equation are directly responsible for a good portion of the derealization. I just couldn’t see through to another person being involved in this, decided it was time to shut everything off, and then remain closed and hidden away to deal with everything alone. No one can do a fucking thing, anyway. Wait a minute... Yes there is something, although the odds are better that I will grow a rocket-powered backpack from my skin and be able to fly to the moon without oxygen. The one item which could alter much of my thinking right now and ease a measure of pain and heartache is possibly out there somewhere inside a person I do not know. Unfortunately, I will probably never know. I’m already tired of searching for something with a snowflake’s chance in hell. The paragraph will remain because I must remember no matter how difficult the words are to consider. I have to remember what drove me to Vegas on all those occasions, why I desperately tried to reach to those I did not know and hand them business cards, and the reason I still strongly desire the fucking girl in the fucking thong. She was a symbol. And I am beyond repair. That fucking paragraph has to stay there until such time as I can truthfully and faithfully deal with the realization. Dead... In the gray 0739 and I am no better off than yesterday at this time. I am simultaneously ashamed of myself and longing to repeat some of the past. Ashamed of things I've done to others, mostly decisions and more coldness than any individual should be required to endure. Yep, I've done all that, and for years. But keep in mind that I am not a balanced, mentally healthy individual, and sometimes my brain computes a path out of sheer survival and dire need. And then things go awry. Well, I suppose this current period is indicative of an idea I published many months ago. I may be paying the tab for all the pain and difficulty I've caused others. If so, I am squarely where I ought to be. Full of torment and heartache with nowhere to turn. If this is payment, so be it. The past will not let go of me, nor will the paragraph I wrote knowing full well that answers are impossible. Ashamed, angry, alone. And no one is listening. My brain is fucking smashed to oblivion. The situation is debilitating, for sure. I don’t even know how I lived this long. Yesterday’s trouble is beginning to look like a cake walk. I opened the garage and will get to the routine very soon because otherwise I’ll lose it completely. I keep seeing the closet doors, the snow outside the window, and those life events all being ripped and torn away with great force. I sit here now completely empty, void of hope. This is not fucking good and I am fucking sick of typing those words. Sick of it. I can honestly say that I have never been so angry. The work of the day and the holiday goings on had better prove pretty damned rewarding or I’m going to do something unconscionable, I swear to the universe. Beauty be damned right now. Just... DAMNED. I did not do all of this, and no one is listening. 0852 and one of the smiling faces is holding me tight and precluding clear thought. I cannot unsee her, damn it. Maybe if I walk out to the garage and strike the side of my head with a framing hammer she will disappear. I feel like hiring a button man to shoot me in the throat. There are too many reasons why I am feeling the derealization. Too many to list. The above paragraph is one, though. I see her. I see it. I remember everything. I looked to the closet door and saw something more wondrous than I had ever imagined. And then another fucking door. And the snow outside the window. All gone. The gray of reality has taken me from a place of prowess and dignity and leveraged my being into a small space void of joy. I cannot escape no matter the effort or intent. No one is listening. I am completely alone in this place full of dreams and emptied of everything real. Today is the fourth of July and I can't give a shit. Oh, don't get me wrong... I have great respect for the people who built this great nation. I am only referring to whatever we have done to celebrate independence. The barbecue on the driveway, fireworks awaiting nightfall, and tons of beer I will likely swill not due to the holiday, but for the sole reason of attempting to numb my brain and cloud the thinking. Calming nerves, as it were. That is all. I will not be all smiles and fun. Not even close. The ideas in my head run the gamut this morning, from everything missing to my desperate need to completely and permanently separate myself from the rest of the world. There is only one way to accomplish that last part, and I am not ready yet. I suppose such a statement means I still have hope. Honestly, I don't know what keeps me going. I will roll the grill out to the driveway and set up three chairs, get all the fireworks out and displayed, and then later I'll set up the ladders with a platform between so the fountains are elevated. I perform these actions every fucking year in the hope that we can have fun, marvel at the colors and sounds, and eat some good, summer foods. Last year we had two guests (one of which became almost completely despondent for reasons of which we are still unaware) and everything went fine. I still felt the sting of loss, however, yet it was minuscule when held against the condition of my head just one year later. If this current period is taking place and ruining me because I am indeed 'paying' for the past, well... I may not have the funding. It is a huge bill. Today will play out as it will. I will go through the motions like every year, yet I will also be exactly the same coming out the other side. I am in a horrible mood right now and will be in a horrible mood tomorrow at this same time. There is nothing which can be done. And? NO ONE IS FUCKING LISTENING. I could quite literally blow my fucking head off right now and not miss a damned thing. Not even the grilled hot dogs. Laugh it up, motherfuckers. 'Whipping up a flurry; dominating fury... Weak are ripped and torn away.' I wish I had an ounce of power. 0917 and I am still fucking sitting here with the last of the coffee and my loved ones on the television. I'll have to break away very soon or my head will worsen. The first order of business will be the little things in the house, and then outside to do whatever seems best (if there is anything appealing aside from drinking beer). I don't know if the television or music will follow along. I always have music at a decent volume out there during the fireworks, but honestly some of the big stuff drowns out even my huge audio system. Maybe as the noise level in this area rised, I'll back the volume down and save myself some frustration. Right now I couldn't give half a blue fuck in the wind about the celebration, to be sure. Bigger fish to fry? Well, I've been attempting to fry a fish larger than the solar system for several fucking years. Nothing can come close, not even overpowering explosions in the sky. Anyway, I am hoping that the beer will help me relax about everything and leave my head in a null space rather than uptight and angry. I guess time will tell. There will be no morning cocktail to accompany the kitchen cleaning because of the later activities. I don't want to end up feeling like crap. My body has a tolerance and is more sensitive to routine changes than in the past. At least I've learned something there. I may be a fucking alcoholic, but I'm not an idiot. Most of the time what I choose to do during a given day doesn't matter anyway. Nothing seems to matter. It's just a series of distractions until death. Nice, huh? The mood dictates all. Enough of this for now. Where is the girl when I need her? Is there such a thing? Or am I insane? Don't know; nope; probably. There is only one thing I can say about where I am right now... Dead... In the gray." Copyright ©2002-2024 comainterrupted.com All rights reserved All other trademarks, logos and graphics are the property of their respective owners Created by Brandywine Engineering using Microsoft Visual Studio 2022 and .NET Framework 4.8 Questions? Comments? Anything? Gather your thoughts and compose a message to the psychos in charge
Derealization Mature content No. 322 Published Independence Day 2022 9:35am pdt read ( words) Past entries "I am in the worst mood of my life. 1700 on the same Friday. Nothing exciting. I never went to the cigarette store. Cocktail next to me because I can. Metathesis is one of my specialties. The paragraph sits there and stares back. I wrote it, which means I felt it. Today I am realizing that despite my strong need for help, seeking the same may never occur. I just don’t fucking see it. Beyond this piece of property is something I understand less and less, but not to the point of hitting the title. It is more closely related to culture than the entire world. The term helps, though. It helps me to put the paragraph into perspective, somewhat. The rest is up to me, unfortunately, and like the ‘help’, none of it may ever come to pass. This is a very bad situation. I don’t know if I can swap the tables in the office. Looking at the space a while ago reminded me that the mattress is standing on end behind what is to be my desk, and if I switch the tables, my space at the desk may be very limited. The tables used to be on opposite walls. I can’t do that now because of the mattress, nor have I come up with another location for something so large. This kind of sucks right now. I have ideas for improvement but cannot carry them out much of the time. 0659 on Saturday. I have much more time this morning than the typical weekday. My schedule shall remain as such for the next week. Mornings will be long and quiet, leading to the routine a little later than when I am alone. The quiet during the early hours makes it all worthwhile. This morning I dreamed that I was important and a part of something both large and powerful. Some of it faded, unfortunately. What remains is rather disjointed, although I retained a few still images from a connection I badly needed in life. I don’t know if there is enough information for me to build a synopsis, however. I’ll keep thinking about it because during the dream I had the sensation of being necessary and vital, whereas during each day here at home I feel quite the opposite. The dream was unlike my work for the space program, as well. I felt important over there and each day I walked a bit taller as a result. The power in the dream was different. Of course, there was a woman involved. I’m not going into it. This is the fourth day in a row sans flags. The morning precipitation is beginning to irritate me. I have coffee and my fourth show in its seventh season. One of the cats flipped his lid for a little while but I think he has now calmed. That was noisy. This time of the day I really need some solace for thinking. The gray of reality is a condition about which I wrote many years ago, perhaps back during the turmoil of zero three. The gray is here right now, this morning. As I sit and ponder the day behind and the day ahead, I see it all around me. The gray is in the walls and will not leave me. It is also in my head; a good portion of the reasoning behind my fall from where I have been. I am disconnected from the outside world to a dramatic degree and have no intention of becoming a part of that machine in the future. Between this condition and situation as surrounded by the gray and the idea of merging myself with a way of life with which I can no longer identify, well... The gray it is. My circle. Maybe I need to make my own power and attempt to mimic a segment of the dream from this morning. Maybe. The gray of reality. All around, not just the sky and its ever-lowering effect during the mornings. Every single aspect of being, from waking in the morning and taking care of business to building something of which I become very proud and then dropping off to sleep much later, has been taken into the gray. Call it the forest or the evil, if you wish. I'm certain all these entries have become convoluted to the point of leaving a reader without a clue as to what I've been trying to say (often without saying anything at all). Or try calling it the evil forest, a place in which I can either rise to the occasion or die, disregarded and small. So far, I have tried to embrace the ideals over and over, sometimes succeeding and other times falling flat on my face. The gray pays no mind to who or what I am. It simply awaits a threshold which can lift my head from this place it has inhabited far too long. The gray of reality shows me the gradient between my life and all that is taking place beyond the property lines. Six thousand square feet of 'world', outside of which lies everything to which I no longer have any desire to be connected. This is the gray, but perhaps not derealization. I'm close, though. More than two years of being here and slowly withdrawing from 'norms' has left me understanding that my time out there among the sheep and the shit may have ended. 'Those people' used to have dual meanings when I lived in Dublin, maybe also prior to that era. The term changed, too, and became something I despised every day as I moved in and around society. The second meaning was a type of person I did not understand, yet strongly wished to emulate. Here in the gray of reality, neither meaning can hold true. The fact is I have grown into the idea that the separation I always felt while around other people was only the infantile beginning to a much deeper and more important condition, and one I am now within. There can be no reversing this. Today is a beginning. Derealization is different, yet when I heard the term within a program yesterday as attached to another word, the meaning rang so true within me that it is now THE definition for this way of life. Period. The term is not fictional, either. Derealization is a condition defined by the AMA. All I've done is created a subterm in order to more closely define the way I feel and then put it into words. My gray is a freeing feeling of sorts, yet I already know anything which can bring me a smile or a sliver of joy is going to be accompanied by some measure of shit, be it inside me or from an external source. I'll have to remain vigilant. External shit is caused by people. Less contact equals less chance. There is only so much room in here anyway. Perhaps my reality is vastly different than that of those people. 0825. Still the fourth show is up there and I have a little coffee left. Once it is gone, I'll care for half the routine and ensure the house remains quiet. I may end up in the garage for a while. Yesterday I formulated a plan for further organization of the office, as well as an idea for the mattress. I'd love to have my old desktop setup back in operation, though greatly updated and more powerful. I used to believe that the portable method was the way to go just in case of a scrape, but recently I've felt that scrape or otherwise, I am here for the long haul (as long as the haul lasts, anyway). I used to sit there and feel that the desk was a control center of sorts. It was very comfortable for a while. Now that the old table is in the garage for good, I'll use the other big table which previously resided in the dining room. It is enormous and should provide plenty of room for twin monitors and everything else related to a desktop computer. Along those lines, I will also grab a set of speakers slightly upgraded from the last. Those drivers were really nice and did not cost very much. When I begin my work today I'll be chipping away at this project. The more I think about it, the more I like it. Give me a month and all will be in place. That was where I sat when crafting stories of the past and the gray of reality. I need it back. I need it very badly. I don't believe I can adequately describe the feeling of sitting at that desk during the early morning and working at the editor. The time was wondrous and full of possibility, although every bit of it was also spent alone. Dead... In the gray I am still writing the story which can never be published. Not even a hint. It is always backed up on the server, meaning some enterprising young person may find a way to access the content, and I cannot have eyes on those words. Another gorgeous, uncredited actor standing there, all dark and mysterious. No name, no nothing. My day will begin soon, I guess. I'd like to get some of the routine out of the way so I can fall back into the gray and make plans. And speaking of the word 'fall', the weather these last few days has resembled the fourth season. If not for so much daylight, I'd think we advanced four months on the calendar overnight. Heh. Very cool and wet out there. I used to dream of fall when living in the valley due to the summer heat. Now I live in a place which is much cooler all year long. 0911. Bad number. 0954 and I have yet to do anything productive. I need to maintain quiet in the house so she can sleep. We are on very different schedules, meaning she is up late and I am asleep much earlier each night. Her quiet time is at night, while mine is right now. I wouldn’t have it any other way. I need the mornings for consideration of life. The other story is haunting me on a daily basis. I pop into it here and there to add thoughts or details, afterward realizing that much has been forcibly removed from my existence. This is not good. I have begun to embrace the gray more and more as a result of feeling that everything has become dire. My work today will be slow and determined. I am reminded of working in the space program due to the pace. We had a very structured and specific set of routines because of the hazardous nature of operating the facilities. Explosives, compressed gases, and cryogenics were just a few of the processes we handled almost daily. I will try to operate my routine and other work at such a pace. The tasks and ideas I have for organization and improvement may help to extricate the story from my head today. It’s an idea, anyway. At least I am trying to help myself sometimes. Better than nothing. My head is all fucked up this morning. I need help, but none is available. No one is listening. The gray of reality is being violated by derealization. Think about that. My existence has for many years been dictated by fear, be it within my mind or out there in society. There has been far too much fear and seemingly nothing I can do about it. The gray may help me stand upright and become more forthright. The more I write about feeling fearful, the more determination creeps into my head, believe it or not. I have yet to actually push, though. Two years ago I mentioned that having all this free time was good for my need for clear thinking. As of yet, such thinking has been derailed by obsession and other problems. I can’t seem to break out of this circle. Anger also keeps me on those very same rails. Maybe if I can separate the anger from the gray I’ll be able to rise enough to desire remaining in this world for a very long time. Derealization, even in small doses, can be very detrimental to that desire. I must be careful. 1048 and cocktail time has arrived. A nice, cold glass of whiskey to smooth the edges for a little while. The house is still very quiet, the second show is up there on my big television, and I completed half of the routine. Cleaning the kitchen will be too noisy right now. The weather outside remains unchanged, all drizzly and cold. Again, I’m thinking of the fall. My head is still all fucked up as a result of the story, that fucking paragraph spinning patterns of pain inside, and the fact that the damaging dream continues to plague me even while watching television. Honestly, the dream has affected the way I watch some programs or movies. I can’t get that fucking shit out of my mind sometimes. I’ll have to try and remain upright throughout this day despite those issues taking hold. This is a bad situation, and I may have mentioned that before. I have to leave detail out of so much content that sometimes within a few days I don’t even remember what the fuck I was saying. This is ridiculous. I have clear steps in mind for reconfiguring the office. I have to move a ton of crap from one place to another, meaning the process will likely be very slow. Eh... I don’t care. All the time in the world these days. That was a run-on sentence. My twelfth grade English teacher would be screaming. Anyway, these days any steps taken toward a larger image are important, small or otherwise. In spite of my issues, I have yet to regress other than in my mind. The house always improves, even if just a little bit. Never backwards. Holy shit does Julie look delicious in this episode. Yummy. If I could just... Ugh. Damn it. Some people say dreams are like emotions, neither good nor bad. They just exist. Well, my dreams are often very bad. Believe it. I was talking about the office work and became distracted by a cute face and lovely hair. Such is my life. And this is the second scene with an uncredited fucking goddess in the background. Fucking gorgeous, that girl. There I go again. There may be no fixing this... A road with no turns. Miles needs to stop kayaking on the Holodeck. In this series as well as the next, he's always messing up his shoulder. Heh. The forest images are representative of the gray of reality. Enjoy them. This road may have zero turns, but it does have a buffer stop. Be it far off in the distance or right around the corner, there is an end. I fucking know it by rote. The time is now after eleven and I am feeling antsy. Maybe I’ll go to the garage and work on something. This morning quiet business is important, yet sometimes goes on far too long. Good thing I have the fucking whiskey. Damn that story, anyway. Just... Damn it. I can’t even edit the fucking thing without having problems. Like the other paragraph, there had been a compulsion against which I was helpless to offer resistance. Now I’m all fucked up over it but cannot remove the information. The words came straight from the heart and must remain where they are regardless of the fucking damage. This is a very bad situation. 1210 and I am still spinning my wheels, freely. I showered, though. Whenever the time comes for us to go out shopping for food and fireworks, I am ready. That time is unknown even at this late hour. During the weekdays, I try to go out before lunch, but alas the trip timing is not up to me today. The second half of my routine remains untouched. If too much more time passes, I am not going anywhere. She will be forced to do the shopping alone. I have enough on my mind already and do not need to be out there when the streets and stores are busier. The weather remains as it was five hours ago. Gray. The color of the sky is perfect for my mood. The gray of reality and the hint of derealization. Two images which define me, wholly. Extrication is no longer possible. The story cuts me, the damaging dream cuts me, and no one is listening. The resulting mood is quite negative. I just added a sectionn of the story and have become very angry as a result of such wonder and joy having disappeared from life. My mood is deteriorating quickly. If we are to go shopping, it had better be very soon. I am feeling a sense of loud music in the garage approaching at breakneck speed. 1229. My world seems to be coming to a painful end. Dead... In the gray 0657 on Sunday, one day from the loud holiday. Coffee, fourth show, cats fed, no flags yet again due to the drizzle. This will be a long morning, thank the maker. We shopped yesterday for an hour and I saw nothing. Wonderful. The previous trip was very difficult because I am a basket case and weaker than a wet toothpick in a cyclone. This is not fun. Anyway, I cruised the aisles like a champ and took care of business. I normally don’t like to go out during the afternoon, but that was the choice. Everything was fine. The concern for being within society only created issues of other types, not the obvious. Today is going to be a motherfucker, if my early feelings are any indication. I can’t seem to push that story away right now. Lots of difficulty sitting here thinking about everything that has transpired in the nearly two decades since the first time I tried to find something far from home. I found it, and my head turned around forever. Later, that escape bonded itself to the mere appearance of a form and I ended up flying all over the fucking place in search of the rarest and most elusive type of comfort imaginable. All those events are sitting directly on top of my head this morning. At some point, I must complete my work and care for the garbage without falling down and failing. I also must chop more of the greenery in the back to further that project while I have room in the green can. If I end up all pissed off, the work will end up minimized and I’ll feel like shit tomorrow. I can’t have that right now. Those little feelings of pride in what I am doing must continue. Between the paragraph I wrote and the story to which I add a few lines per day, my brain can take little more before I need to forcefully empty the fucking thing. Bad situation. I say that every day, too. 0742. My head is worse in one way, better in another. I actually sat here for a little while and watched the show without typing or doing anything else on the computer. The entire time had me pushing myself out of the bad thinking and into something more productive. I hope it can last a while because I really don’t need any more daydreaming or pain. Back to the title. My societal detachment took an apparent backward step when I did the little experiment on social media. I think I mentioned that I logged into the application after deleting my account more than two years ago to see if my information was actually removed. Nope. Everything is still there. Anyway, since there are a few individuals with whom I don’t otherwise have a connection, I contacted my cousin and one other person to ensure they are well. That means I branched out from my existence as cut off from most of society. It was initially just a test, but then I figured there is nothing evil about my account remaining available. I suppose that despite the test failing, part of me had been curious about older content within my account that I do not have on this machine or the RAID. Indeed, I went back into the archives and located some images of the Slipper which I then saved to the laptop. Good thing I tried the experiment, too, because I had been searching for more imagery throughout the last several weeks. So, if using the application and accessing my old account changes the category of my being, so be it. Fuck off. I need to preserve some of my most beloved history. If it is a step backward, I shall look upon it as a necessary step. So, does that mean my derealization has lessened? Not at all. Don’t disagree with me, either. My cousin is important to me and I don’t have much family left in the world, plus the Slipper continues to be a source of wonder and bad moods, meaning I need all the fucking material I can gather in order to maintain a connection with that precious machine. The world has not yet ended, so perhaps at some time in the future I acquire another. Yes, I know that sounds crazy. I think about such things daily. The social media experiment just happened to bear unexpected fruit. I am still very much separated from the world around me. The only issue is that I do not believe the core of the term, and that is that the world may not be real. I just can’t wrap my head around that one. Much of the way I feel has grown out of disdain and anger due to the stupidity and rampant power corruption in the world which seems to trickle down to the average person on the fucking freeway (one can read into many personality traits all from doing nothing more than watching a person drive in public). Believe me when I say that if I could further detach myself, I would be doing it right now. 0812 and I am feeling a touch antsy again. Usually around this time of day is when I think about transitioning into the routine or whatever else I may accomplish while ensuring quiet inside the house. Maybe I’ll just head out to the garage and take a break with the big door open so I can look at the same view I’ve been seeing for more than two years. Or the backyard. I noticed this morning that the palm tree on the next block which usually displays the American flag up high is now displaying the NASCAR flag, likely due to Sunday being race day during the season. I never noticed before that the resident changes the flag on this day. I just put that fact together a little while ago. Heh. Anyway, as for this morning, I have less of a kitchen to clean, so there is ample time for me to point myself toward whatever seems most productive, like tossing more crap in the trash. That’s always enjoyable. For whatever reason, I successfully extracted and pushed away the damaging thoughts this morning. I’m still pretty fucking pissed off at those responsible, yet I apparently have the power to removed the difficulty when absolutely necessary. I think when I publish this most important of entries, I'm going to pare the rest of the site down to the same. Cutting everything off is almost as enjoyable as throwing shit away on Sundays. The types of feelings I’ve been experiencing for years are exactly what drove me into a series of bad decisions and very destructive, damaging behavior, the kind that can ruin lives. Right now I do not have the resources to travel across the street, let alone to another state, and such a situation only serves to inflame my needs. I forced the issue years ago and caused more trouble than others deserved at the time. But now? With zero options? I feel much worse. I suppose the lack of resources is saving me from myself, as well as those close to me. That is good, yet inside I am still all fucked up with nowhere to turn. Too much has been forcibly removed. 0839 and the garage is open for business. At some point I’ll shut this down and work on the routine. I have one cup of coffee left. I tried some time ago. I'll have to find images from a job so I can pin down the year and month. I tried very hard to be nice and respectful, but the truth is my head was already all the way through any research and heading at breakneck speed toward bad things. I now believe that was the motivation in the first place and I had been swimming in that big river of deceit. There can be no denying the facts, especially after finally admitting that the pool girl was the object of desire, not simply lines or her form. Tons of desire. The hopeful nature of the situation years earlier likely would have gone in a very negative direction for one of two reasons. First, I could have lost myself in the moment and displayed a facet of my personality better left under wraps, or second, I could have destroyed any chance of continuing to live in this town. But? I tried anyway due to a compulsion that cannot be squashed by any means. I believe my condition as ruined by other people and exacerbated by society is a good portion of this dark beginning of derealization. I really do. The work was becoming very difficult for me and I dreamed all the time about leaving that job, soon to learn that I could. That bore much free time for writing and other projects as a massive upside. Unfortunately, all that thinking buried me in the soil. I am desperate and weak, cannot speak to another soul about either, sit here day in and day out dreaming of impossible circumstances, write about all of it, and then nothing happens. I do it all over again. No wonder I need to be separated from the fucking stupid mass. The gray of reality is literally inside me. Dead... In the gray Tomorrow is the holiday. I'm going to drag the barbecue to the driveway and set up some chairs. This year will be small, perhaps the two of us along with a short visit from her dad. I'm curious to see his reaction to all the Satanic imagery in the garage. Heh. No one seems to care, although I've seen several individuals walking by and staring into the space with a blank expression. I'm sure they are not accustomed to such elaborate displays of irreligion. Eh... I don't care. I'm not changing anything for anyone. The plan is to grill hot dogs like I usually do, possibly some corn as well, with bit of music in the background for posterity. This holiday is important to the nation, but not the biggest deal for me. This section of town is well known for becoming a literal war zone with respect to the fireworks, illegal or otherwise. The authorities continue to spell out and ramp up punishment for possession or lighting of those big devices, yet each year the neighborhood continues to light up like Disneyland. I enjoy it partly due to the colors and sounds, and partly due to not having to worry about trouble. I just keep a bucket of water and the garden hose nearby in case someone else's fun lands in our yard. Safety first. Beer, too. I may complete a bit of setup today in and around my housework. I like the garage to be neat and orderly anytime there is a chance of a visitor. I wish I could be understood. Ashley planted superlatives and certainties into my weakened brain, none of which I am able to either deny or brush aside for living more comfortably. Her views were unique. I shall never look upon her like again. The doll of the universe, sweeter than pure sugar, and more intelligent than she had a right to be at twenty-one years of age. I still miss talking with her. The whole world can fuck off. The time is now 1150 and my routine is finished. I also cleaned out the refrigerator a bit because it’s garbage day. I still have several items on my list, but right now I need to take a break and get off my feet for a little while. The house is all mine for the next several hours and the cats are fast asleep, bless them. I had to place an Amazon order for household items, and in typical fashion I piggybacked some sockets to bolster my ever-expanding set of tools. Moreover, I have some connectors and solder coming so I can continue with the lighted ornament work. I am beginning to feel fairly accomplished today, and I have to keep moving forward with other work so that the house is ready for the holiday. Not a moment has passed without my dreaming of Ashley and her immortal words. I dreamed of other aspects of our connection, too. The issues never go away. I’ve been dreaming of something else, too, but I cannot say a fucking word about it. Oh, yes... And a third subject which must also remain internal. This is fucking ridiculous. Wow. Here I sit at 0643 on Monday with coffee and the second show because the other one ended last night. I say wow because yesterday was both very good and very fucking bad. The day became quite productive early on because I was determined to have things organized and looking neat for the holiday. In that, I succeeded. I also filled the green can with more of the backyard shrub. That project is now three weeks and looking promising. The garage is nice and clean, too. I made sure to put everything in its place and maximize the garbage space. The cans are at the curb right now. All in all, I did very well yesterday... Except for an issue I only suspected some weeks ago. The work progressed most likely due to my anger and the need to do anything to keep busy and reduce the amount of sheer disgust at this current shit situation. I pretty much forced the issue or I would have accomplished nothing. The morning still has me beyond sixes and sevens over this crap. I really don’t fucking need more problems, especially now. I suppose one could look at all of the work I finished as a positive, but honestly such a fact does not make me feel any better. So far this morning, I am ok. Once again I need to keep the house nice and quiet. I plan to take it easy for a while before attacking anything else. There simply must be some time dedicated to learning why this newest issue has arisen, and if this is something about which I need to be concerned heading into the future. If there is nothing I can do about it, well, I'm going to alter the way I speak to people and deal with the house. Some of the most important aspects of life have already disappeared, meaning just one more will send me over the edge. Roughly two hours from now I’ll begin my routine, and then move into the garage to set up my typical holiday shitaree. Ah, yes. The knowledge that though part of this is my fault also indicates that part of it is NOT. I know the reason why my head just exploded over the ponytail dangling behind the tapered back of some uncredited actor in the background is due to so much having disappeared. I would like to demonstrate to those responsible just how upset I have become, and how many of my waking hours are devoted to pain and heartache. Unfortunately, right now I feel utterly powerless, so nothing can be done at the present time. In the future, however, such a state may change and allow me to make the point so clear that people will never wish to have anything to do with me again... Ever. Nothing. I can be pretty fucking harsh. Lately I've been saving it up in order to unload on whomever happens to be standing before me when circumstances change. I am looking forward to a large display of emotion. The part that is not my fault has been destroyed by those closest. I can only say so much. Fifteen years is a long time for carrying a massive misunderstanding. It is also a time period littered with holes, some of which have spoken to me here and there. Holes. My regard for society is diminishing at a tremendous rate; most notably a select few individuals. I remember being led around. The knowledge that I had been coerced to the point of damned-near jumping of the Gate upon command was embedded and allowed the shit to continue. All that time, too. I was right there due to years of my own mistakes, yet the situation was not the type for allowing two-way understanding. And believe me, I know that there were problems before me over which I had no sway, but that is not an excuse for watching me degrade into a whining little whelp and continuing to hang that beautiful carrot just beyond my weakened reach. Fuck off. I didn't deserve that type of behavior. I wish I could destroy the source, but alas I am far too nice a person to actually harm anyone or anything. All I have is this. The point is I became desperate and then angry, with both amplifying more recently and leaving me to worry about my mental state every fucking day. And then yesterday... The cherry on top of a fucking bomb-sundae. I didn't need that. God help the person on the receiving end if and when I finally speak my mind. The time has come to cool off and head back over to the derealization issue (as if there were not already enough OTHER fucking issues). Some asshole on the word game tried to tell me that I should not worry about my problems because everyone has problems. Well, are their problems my fault? I thought so. Leave me the fuck alone and never, ever employ the word 'should' when it comes to me. Jesus fucking hell, anyway, what is it with people? Dumb fucks. I have not the time nor the inclination to be concerned with those fucking people, just as I would expect them to ignore my shit. Figure it out, dipshit. The fucking paragraph again. I believe the subject and subsequent issues I had with trying to work out that equation are directly responsible for a good portion of the derealization. I just couldn’t see through to another person being involved in this, decided it was time to shut everything off, and then remain closed and hidden away to deal with everything alone. No one can do a fucking thing, anyway. Wait a minute... Yes there is something, although the odds are better that I will grow a rocket-powered backpack from my skin and be able to fly to the moon without oxygen. The one item which could alter much of my thinking right now and ease a measure of pain and heartache is possibly out there somewhere inside a person I do not know. Unfortunately, I will probably never know. I’m already tired of searching for something with a snowflake’s chance in hell. The paragraph will remain because I must remember no matter how difficult the words are to consider. I have to remember what drove me to Vegas on all those occasions, why I desperately tried to reach to those I did not know and hand them business cards, and the reason I still strongly desire the fucking girl in the fucking thong. She was a symbol. And I am beyond repair. That fucking paragraph has to stay there until such time as I can truthfully and faithfully deal with the realization. Dead... In the gray 0739 and I am no better off than yesterday at this time. I am simultaneously ashamed of myself and longing to repeat some of the past. Ashamed of things I've done to others, mostly decisions and more coldness than any individual should be required to endure. Yep, I've done all that, and for years. But keep in mind that I am not a balanced, mentally healthy individual, and sometimes my brain computes a path out of sheer survival and dire need. And then things go awry. Well, I suppose this current period is indicative of an idea I published many months ago. I may be paying the tab for all the pain and difficulty I've caused others. If so, I am squarely where I ought to be. Full of torment and heartache with nowhere to turn. If this is payment, so be it. The past will not let go of me, nor will the paragraph I wrote knowing full well that answers are impossible. Ashamed, angry, alone. And no one is listening. My brain is fucking smashed to oblivion. The situation is debilitating, for sure. I don’t even know how I lived this long. Yesterday’s trouble is beginning to look like a cake walk. I opened the garage and will get to the routine very soon because otherwise I’ll lose it completely. I keep seeing the closet doors, the snow outside the window, and those life events all being ripped and torn away with great force. I sit here now completely empty, void of hope. This is not fucking good and I am fucking sick of typing those words. Sick of it. I can honestly say that I have never been so angry. The work of the day and the holiday goings on had better prove pretty damned rewarding or I’m going to do something unconscionable, I swear to the universe. Beauty be damned right now. Just... DAMNED. I did not do all of this, and no one is listening. 0852 and one of the smiling faces is holding me tight and precluding clear thought. I cannot unsee her, damn it. Maybe if I walk out to the garage and strike the side of my head with a framing hammer she will disappear. I feel like hiring a button man to shoot me in the throat. There are too many reasons why I am feeling the derealization. Too many to list. The above paragraph is one, though. I see her. I see it. I remember everything. I looked to the closet door and saw something more wondrous than I had ever imagined. And then another fucking door. And the snow outside the window. All gone. The gray of reality has taken me from a place of prowess and dignity and leveraged my being into a small space void of joy. I cannot escape no matter the effort or intent. No one is listening. I am completely alone in this place full of dreams and emptied of everything real. Today is the fourth of July and I can't give a shit. Oh, don't get me wrong... I have great respect for the people who built this great nation. I am only referring to whatever we have done to celebrate independence. The barbecue on the driveway, fireworks awaiting nightfall, and tons of beer I will likely swill not due to the holiday, but for the sole reason of attempting to numb my brain and cloud the thinking. Calming nerves, as it were. That is all. I will not be all smiles and fun. Not even close. The ideas in my head run the gamut this morning, from everything missing to my desperate need to completely and permanently separate myself from the rest of the world. There is only one way to accomplish that last part, and I am not ready yet. I suppose such a statement means I still have hope. Honestly, I don't know what keeps me going. I will roll the grill out to the driveway and set up three chairs, get all the fireworks out and displayed, and then later I'll set up the ladders with a platform between so the fountains are elevated. I perform these actions every fucking year in the hope that we can have fun, marvel at the colors and sounds, and eat some good, summer foods. Last year we had two guests (one of which became almost completely despondent for reasons of which we are still unaware) and everything went fine. I still felt the sting of loss, however, yet it was minuscule when held against the condition of my head just one year later. If this current period is taking place and ruining me because I am indeed 'paying' for the past, well... I may not have the funding. It is a huge bill. Today will play out as it will. I will go through the motions like every year, yet I will also be exactly the same coming out the other side. I am in a horrible mood right now and will be in a horrible mood tomorrow at this same time. There is nothing which can be done. And? NO ONE IS FUCKING LISTENING. I could quite literally blow my fucking head off right now and not miss a damned thing. Not even the grilled hot dogs. Laugh it up, motherfuckers. 'Whipping up a flurry; dominating fury... Weak are ripped and torn away.' I wish I had an ounce of power. 0917 and I am still fucking sitting here with the last of the coffee and my loved ones on the television. I'll have to break away very soon or my head will worsen. The first order of business will be the little things in the house, and then outside to do whatever seems best (if there is anything appealing aside from drinking beer). I don't know if the television or music will follow along. I always have music at a decent volume out there during the fireworks, but honestly some of the big stuff drowns out even my huge audio system. Maybe as the noise level in this area rised, I'll back the volume down and save myself some frustration. Right now I couldn't give half a blue fuck in the wind about the celebration, to be sure. Bigger fish to fry? Well, I've been attempting to fry a fish larger than the solar system for several fucking years. Nothing can come close, not even overpowering explosions in the sky. Anyway, I am hoping that the beer will help me relax about everything and leave my head in a null space rather than uptight and angry. I guess time will tell. There will be no morning cocktail to accompany the kitchen cleaning because of the later activities. I don't want to end up feeling like crap. My body has a tolerance and is more sensitive to routine changes than in the past. At least I've learned something there. I may be a fucking alcoholic, but I'm not an idiot. Most of the time what I choose to do during a given day doesn't matter anyway. Nothing seems to matter. It's just a series of distractions until death. Nice, huh? The mood dictates all. Enough of this for now. Where is the girl when I need her? Is there such a thing? Or am I insane? Don't know; nope; probably. There is only one thing I can say about where I am right now... Dead... In the gray."
Derealization
Mature content No. 322 Published Independence Day 2022 9:35am pdt read ( words) Past entries
"I am in the worst mood of my life. 1700 on the same Friday. Nothing exciting. I never went to the cigarette store. Cocktail next to me because I can. Metathesis is one of my specialties. The paragraph sits there and stares back. I wrote it, which means I felt it. Today I am realizing that despite my strong need for help, seeking the same may never occur. I just don’t fucking see it. Beyond this piece of property is something I understand less and less, but not to the point of hitting the title. It is more closely related to culture than the entire world. The term helps, though. It helps me to put the paragraph into perspective, somewhat. The rest is up to me, unfortunately, and like the ‘help’, none of it may ever come to pass. This is a very bad situation. I don’t know if I can swap the tables in the office. Looking at the space a while ago reminded me that the mattress is standing on end behind what is to be my desk, and if I switch the tables, my space at the desk may be very limited. The tables used to be on opposite walls. I can’t do that now because of the mattress, nor have I come up with another location for something so large. This kind of sucks right now. I have ideas for improvement but cannot carry them out much of the time. 0659 on Saturday. I have much more time this morning than the typical weekday. My schedule shall remain as such for the next week. Mornings will be long and quiet, leading to the routine a little later than when I am alone. The quiet during the early hours makes it all worthwhile. This morning I dreamed that I was important and a part of something both large and powerful. Some of it faded, unfortunately. What remains is rather disjointed, although I retained a few still images from a connection I badly needed in life. I don’t know if there is enough information for me to build a synopsis, however. I’ll keep thinking about it because during the dream I had the sensation of being necessary and vital, whereas during each day here at home I feel quite the opposite. The dream was unlike my work for the space program, as well. I felt important over there and each day I walked a bit taller as a result. The power in the dream was different. Of course, there was a woman involved. I’m not going into it. This is the fourth day in a row sans flags. The morning precipitation is beginning to irritate me. I have coffee and my fourth show in its seventh season. One of the cats flipped his lid for a little while but I think he has now calmed. That was noisy. This time of the day I really need some solace for thinking. The gray of reality is a condition about which I wrote many years ago, perhaps back during the turmoil of zero three. The gray is here right now, this morning. As I sit and ponder the day behind and the day ahead, I see it all around me. The gray is in the walls and will not leave me. It is also in my head; a good portion of the reasoning behind my fall from where I have been. I am disconnected from the outside world to a dramatic degree and have no intention of becoming a part of that machine in the future. Between this condition and situation as surrounded by the gray and the idea of merging myself with a way of life with which I can no longer identify, well... The gray it is. My circle. Maybe I need to make my own power and attempt to mimic a segment of the dream from this morning. Maybe. The gray of reality. All around, not just the sky and its ever-lowering effect during the mornings. Every single aspect of being, from waking in the morning and taking care of business to building something of which I become very proud and then dropping off to sleep much later, has been taken into the gray. Call it the forest or the evil, if you wish. I'm certain all these entries have become convoluted to the point of leaving a reader without a clue as to what I've been trying to say (often without saying anything at all). Or try calling it the evil forest, a place in which I can either rise to the occasion or die, disregarded and small. So far, I have tried to embrace the ideals over and over, sometimes succeeding and other times falling flat on my face. The gray pays no mind to who or what I am. It simply awaits a threshold which can lift my head from this place it has inhabited far too long. The gray of reality shows me the gradient between my life and all that is taking place beyond the property lines. Six thousand square feet of 'world', outside of which lies everything to which I no longer have any desire to be connected. This is the gray, but perhaps not derealization. I'm close, though. More than two years of being here and slowly withdrawing from 'norms' has left me understanding that my time out there among the sheep and the shit may have ended. 'Those people' used to have dual meanings when I lived in Dublin, maybe also prior to that era. The term changed, too, and became something I despised every day as I moved in and around society. The second meaning was a type of person I did not understand, yet strongly wished to emulate. Here in the gray of reality, neither meaning can hold true. The fact is I have grown into the idea that the separation I always felt while around other people was only the infantile beginning to a much deeper and more important condition, and one I am now within. There can be no reversing this. Today is a beginning. Derealization is different, yet when I heard the term within a program yesterday as attached to another word, the meaning rang so true within me that it is now THE definition for this way of life. Period. The term is not fictional, either. Derealization is a condition defined by the AMA. All I've done is created a subterm in order to more closely define the way I feel and then put it into words. My gray is a freeing feeling of sorts, yet I already know anything which can bring me a smile or a sliver of joy is going to be accompanied by some measure of shit, be it inside me or from an external source. I'll have to remain vigilant. External shit is caused by people. Less contact equals less chance. There is only so much room in here anyway. Perhaps my reality is vastly different than that of those people. 0825. Still the fourth show is up there and I have a little coffee left. Once it is gone, I'll care for half the routine and ensure the house remains quiet. I may end up in the garage for a while. Yesterday I formulated a plan for further organization of the office, as well as an idea for the mattress. I'd love to have my old desktop setup back in operation, though greatly updated and more powerful. I used to believe that the portable method was the way to go just in case of a scrape, but recently I've felt that scrape or otherwise, I am here for the long haul (as long as the haul lasts, anyway). I used to sit there and feel that the desk was a control center of sorts. It was very comfortable for a while. Now that the old table is in the garage for good, I'll use the other big table which previously resided in the dining room. It is enormous and should provide plenty of room for twin monitors and everything else related to a desktop computer. Along those lines, I will also grab a set of speakers slightly upgraded from the last. Those drivers were really nice and did not cost very much. When I begin my work today I'll be chipping away at this project. The more I think about it, the more I like it. Give me a month and all will be in place. That was where I sat when crafting stories of the past and the gray of reality. I need it back. I need it very badly. I don't believe I can adequately describe the feeling of sitting at that desk during the early morning and working at the editor. The time was wondrous and full of possibility, although every bit of it was also spent alone.
Dead... In the gray
I am still writing the story which can never be published. Not even a hint. It is always backed up on the server, meaning some enterprising young person may find a way to access the content, and I cannot have eyes on those words. Another gorgeous, uncredited actor standing there, all dark and mysterious. No name, no nothing. My day will begin soon, I guess. I'd like to get some of the routine out of the way so I can fall back into the gray and make plans. And speaking of the word 'fall', the weather these last few days has resembled the fourth season. If not for so much daylight, I'd think we advanced four months on the calendar overnight. Heh. Very cool and wet out there. I used to dream of fall when living in the valley due to the summer heat. Now I live in a place which is much cooler all year long. 0911. Bad number. 0954 and I have yet to do anything productive. I need to maintain quiet in the house so she can sleep. We are on very different schedules, meaning she is up late and I am asleep much earlier each night. Her quiet time is at night, while mine is right now. I wouldn’t have it any other way. I need the mornings for consideration of life. The other story is haunting me on a daily basis. I pop into it here and there to add thoughts or details, afterward realizing that much has been forcibly removed from my existence. This is not good. I have begun to embrace the gray more and more as a result of feeling that everything has become dire. My work today will be slow and determined. I am reminded of working in the space program due to the pace. We had a very structured and specific set of routines because of the hazardous nature of operating the facilities. Explosives, compressed gases, and cryogenics were just a few of the processes we handled almost daily. I will try to operate my routine and other work at such a pace. The tasks and ideas I have for organization and improvement may help to extricate the story from my head today. It’s an idea, anyway. At least I am trying to help myself sometimes. Better than nothing. My head is all fucked up this morning. I need help, but none is available. No one is listening. The gray of reality is being violated by derealization. Think about that. My existence has for many years been dictated by fear, be it within my mind or out there in society. There has been far too much fear and seemingly nothing I can do about it. The gray may help me stand upright and become more forthright. The more I write about feeling fearful, the more determination creeps into my head, believe it or not. I have yet to actually push, though. Two years ago I mentioned that having all this free time was good for my need for clear thinking. As of yet, such thinking has been derailed by obsession and other problems. I can’t seem to break out of this circle. Anger also keeps me on those very same rails. Maybe if I can separate the anger from the gray I’ll be able to rise enough to desire remaining in this world for a very long time. Derealization, even in small doses, can be very detrimental to that desire. I must be careful. 1048 and cocktail time has arrived. A nice, cold glass of whiskey to smooth the edges for a little while. The house is still very quiet, the second show is up there on my big television, and I completed half of the routine. Cleaning the kitchen will be too noisy right now. The weather outside remains unchanged, all drizzly and cold. Again, I’m thinking of the fall. My head is still all fucked up as a result of the story, that fucking paragraph spinning patterns of pain inside, and the fact that the damaging dream continues to plague me even while watching television. Honestly, the dream has affected the way I watch some programs or movies. I can’t get that fucking shit out of my mind sometimes. I’ll have to try and remain upright throughout this day despite those issues taking hold. This is a bad situation, and I may have mentioned that before. I have to leave detail out of so much content that sometimes within a few days I don’t even remember what the fuck I was saying. This is ridiculous. I have clear steps in mind for reconfiguring the office. I have to move a ton of crap from one place to another, meaning the process will likely be very slow. Eh... I don’t care. All the time in the world these days. That was a run-on sentence. My twelfth grade English teacher would be screaming. Anyway, these days any steps taken toward a larger image are important, small or otherwise. In spite of my issues, I have yet to regress other than in my mind. The house always improves, even if just a little bit. Never backwards. Holy shit does Julie look delicious in this episode. Yummy. If I could just... Ugh. Damn it. Some people say dreams are like emotions, neither good nor bad. They just exist. Well, my dreams are often very bad. Believe it. I was talking about the office work and became distracted by a cute face and lovely hair. Such is my life. And this is the second scene with an uncredited fucking goddess in the background. Fucking gorgeous, that girl. There I go again. There may be no fixing this... A road with no turns. Miles needs to stop kayaking on the Holodeck. In this series as well as the next, he's always messing up his shoulder. Heh. The forest images are representative of the gray of reality. Enjoy them. This road may have zero turns, but it does have a buffer stop. Be it far off in the distance or right around the corner, there is an end. I fucking know it by rote. The time is now after eleven and I am feeling antsy. Maybe I’ll go to the garage and work on something. This morning quiet business is important, yet sometimes goes on far too long. Good thing I have the fucking whiskey. Damn that story, anyway. Just... Damn it. I can’t even edit the fucking thing without having problems. Like the other paragraph, there had been a compulsion against which I was helpless to offer resistance. Now I’m all fucked up over it but cannot remove the information. The words came straight from the heart and must remain where they are regardless of the fucking damage. This is a very bad situation. 1210 and I am still spinning my wheels, freely. I showered, though. Whenever the time comes for us to go out shopping for food and fireworks, I am ready. That time is unknown even at this late hour. During the weekdays, I try to go out before lunch, but alas the trip timing is not up to me today. The second half of my routine remains untouched. If too much more time passes, I am not going anywhere. She will be forced to do the shopping alone. I have enough on my mind already and do not need to be out there when the streets and stores are busier. The weather remains as it was five hours ago. Gray. The color of the sky is perfect for my mood. The gray of reality and the hint of derealization. Two images which define me, wholly. Extrication is no longer possible. The story cuts me, the damaging dream cuts me, and no one is listening. The resulting mood is quite negative. I just added a sectionn of the story and have become very angry as a result of such wonder and joy having disappeared from life. My mood is deteriorating quickly. If we are to go shopping, it had better be very soon. I am feeling a sense of loud music in the garage approaching at breakneck speed. 1229. My world seems to be coming to a painful end.
0657 on Sunday, one day from the loud holiday. Coffee, fourth show, cats fed, no flags yet again due to the drizzle. This will be a long morning, thank the maker. We shopped yesterday for an hour and I saw nothing. Wonderful. The previous trip was very difficult because I am a basket case and weaker than a wet toothpick in a cyclone. This is not fun. Anyway, I cruised the aisles like a champ and took care of business. I normally don’t like to go out during the afternoon, but that was the choice. Everything was fine. The concern for being within society only created issues of other types, not the obvious. Today is going to be a motherfucker, if my early feelings are any indication. I can’t seem to push that story away right now. Lots of difficulty sitting here thinking about everything that has transpired in the nearly two decades since the first time I tried to find something far from home. I found it, and my head turned around forever. Later, that escape bonded itself to the mere appearance of a form and I ended up flying all over the fucking place in search of the rarest and most elusive type of comfort imaginable. All those events are sitting directly on top of my head this morning. At some point, I must complete my work and care for the garbage without falling down and failing. I also must chop more of the greenery in the back to further that project while I have room in the green can. If I end up all pissed off, the work will end up minimized and I’ll feel like shit tomorrow. I can’t have that right now. Those little feelings of pride in what I am doing must continue. Between the paragraph I wrote and the story to which I add a few lines per day, my brain can take little more before I need to forcefully empty the fucking thing. Bad situation. I say that every day, too. 0742. My head is worse in one way, better in another. I actually sat here for a little while and watched the show without typing or doing anything else on the computer. The entire time had me pushing myself out of the bad thinking and into something more productive. I hope it can last a while because I really don’t need any more daydreaming or pain. Back to the title. My societal detachment took an apparent backward step when I did the little experiment on social media. I think I mentioned that I logged into the application after deleting my account more than two years ago to see if my information was actually removed. Nope. Everything is still there. Anyway, since there are a few individuals with whom I don’t otherwise have a connection, I contacted my cousin and one other person to ensure they are well. That means I branched out from my existence as cut off from most of society. It was initially just a test, but then I figured there is nothing evil about my account remaining available. I suppose that despite the test failing, part of me had been curious about older content within my account that I do not have on this machine or the RAID. Indeed, I went back into the archives and located some images of the Slipper which I then saved to the laptop. Good thing I tried the experiment, too, because I had been searching for more imagery throughout the last several weeks. So, if using the application and accessing my old account changes the category of my being, so be it. Fuck off. I need to preserve some of my most beloved history. If it is a step backward, I shall look upon it as a necessary step. So, does that mean my derealization has lessened? Not at all. Don’t disagree with me, either. My cousin is important to me and I don’t have much family left in the world, plus the Slipper continues to be a source of wonder and bad moods, meaning I need all the fucking material I can gather in order to maintain a connection with that precious machine. The world has not yet ended, so perhaps at some time in the future I acquire another. Yes, I know that sounds crazy. I think about such things daily. The social media experiment just happened to bear unexpected fruit. I am still very much separated from the world around me. The only issue is that I do not believe the core of the term, and that is that the world may not be real. I just can’t wrap my head around that one. Much of the way I feel has grown out of disdain and anger due to the stupidity and rampant power corruption in the world which seems to trickle down to the average person on the fucking freeway (one can read into many personality traits all from doing nothing more than watching a person drive in public). Believe me when I say that if I could further detach myself, I would be doing it right now. 0812 and I am feeling a touch antsy again. Usually around this time of day is when I think about transitioning into the routine or whatever else I may accomplish while ensuring quiet inside the house. Maybe I’ll just head out to the garage and take a break with the big door open so I can look at the same view I’ve been seeing for more than two years. Or the backyard. I noticed this morning that the palm tree on the next block which usually displays the American flag up high is now displaying the NASCAR flag, likely due to Sunday being race day during the season. I never noticed before that the resident changes the flag on this day. I just put that fact together a little while ago. Heh. Anyway, as for this morning, I have less of a kitchen to clean, so there is ample time for me to point myself toward whatever seems most productive, like tossing more crap in the trash. That’s always enjoyable. For whatever reason, I successfully extracted and pushed away the damaging thoughts this morning. I’m still pretty fucking pissed off at those responsible, yet I apparently have the power to removed the difficulty when absolutely necessary. I think when I publish this most important of entries, I'm going to pare the rest of the site down to the same. Cutting everything off is almost as enjoyable as throwing shit away on Sundays. The types of feelings I’ve been experiencing for years are exactly what drove me into a series of bad decisions and very destructive, damaging behavior, the kind that can ruin lives. Right now I do not have the resources to travel across the street, let alone to another state, and such a situation only serves to inflame my needs. I forced the issue years ago and caused more trouble than others deserved at the time. But now? With zero options? I feel much worse. I suppose the lack of resources is saving me from myself, as well as those close to me. That is good, yet inside I am still all fucked up with nowhere to turn. Too much has been forcibly removed. 0839 and the garage is open for business. At some point I’ll shut this down and work on the routine. I have one cup of coffee left. I tried some time ago. I'll have to find images from a job so I can pin down the year and month. I tried very hard to be nice and respectful, but the truth is my head was already all the way through any research and heading at breakneck speed toward bad things. I now believe that was the motivation in the first place and I had been swimming in that big river of deceit. There can be no denying the facts, especially after finally admitting that the pool girl was the object of desire, not simply lines or her form. Tons of desire. The hopeful nature of the situation years earlier likely would have gone in a very negative direction for one of two reasons. First, I could have lost myself in the moment and displayed a facet of my personality better left under wraps, or second, I could have destroyed any chance of continuing to live in this town. But? I tried anyway due to a compulsion that cannot be squashed by any means. I believe my condition as ruined by other people and exacerbated by society is a good portion of this dark beginning of derealization. I really do. The work was becoming very difficult for me and I dreamed all the time about leaving that job, soon to learn that I could. That bore much free time for writing and other projects as a massive upside. Unfortunately, all that thinking buried me in the soil. I am desperate and weak, cannot speak to another soul about either, sit here day in and day out dreaming of impossible circumstances, write about all of it, and then nothing happens. I do it all over again. No wonder I need to be separated from the fucking stupid mass. The gray of reality is literally inside me.
Tomorrow is the holiday. I'm going to drag the barbecue to the driveway and set up some chairs. This year will be small, perhaps the two of us along with a short visit from her dad. I'm curious to see his reaction to all the Satanic imagery in the garage. Heh. No one seems to care, although I've seen several individuals walking by and staring into the space with a blank expression. I'm sure they are not accustomed to such elaborate displays of irreligion. Eh... I don't care. I'm not changing anything for anyone. The plan is to grill hot dogs like I usually do, possibly some corn as well, with bit of music in the background for posterity. This holiday is important to the nation, but not the biggest deal for me. This section of town is well known for becoming a literal war zone with respect to the fireworks, illegal or otherwise. The authorities continue to spell out and ramp up punishment for possession or lighting of those big devices, yet each year the neighborhood continues to light up like Disneyland. I enjoy it partly due to the colors and sounds, and partly due to not having to worry about trouble. I just keep a bucket of water and the garden hose nearby in case someone else's fun lands in our yard. Safety first. Beer, too. I may complete a bit of setup today in and around my housework. I like the garage to be neat and orderly anytime there is a chance of a visitor. I wish I could be understood. Ashley planted superlatives and certainties into my weakened brain, none of which I am able to either deny or brush aside for living more comfortably. Her views were unique. I shall never look upon her like again. The doll of the universe, sweeter than pure sugar, and more intelligent than she had a right to be at twenty-one years of age. I still miss talking with her. The whole world can fuck off. The time is now 1150 and my routine is finished. I also cleaned out the refrigerator a bit because it’s garbage day. I still have several items on my list, but right now I need to take a break and get off my feet for a little while. The house is all mine for the next several hours and the cats are fast asleep, bless them. I had to place an Amazon order for household items, and in typical fashion I piggybacked some sockets to bolster my ever-expanding set of tools. Moreover, I have some connectors and solder coming so I can continue with the lighted ornament work. I am beginning to feel fairly accomplished today, and I have to keep moving forward with other work so that the house is ready for the holiday. Not a moment has passed without my dreaming of Ashley and her immortal words. I dreamed of other aspects of our connection, too. The issues never go away. I’ve been dreaming of something else, too, but I cannot say a fucking word about it. Oh, yes... And a third subject which must also remain internal. This is fucking ridiculous. Wow. Here I sit at 0643 on Monday with coffee and the second show because the other one ended last night. I say wow because yesterday was both very good and very fucking bad. The day became quite productive early on because I was determined to have things organized and looking neat for the holiday. In that, I succeeded. I also filled the green can with more of the backyard shrub. That project is now three weeks and looking promising. The garage is nice and clean, too. I made sure to put everything in its place and maximize the garbage space. The cans are at the curb right now. All in all, I did very well yesterday... Except for an issue I only suspected some weeks ago. The work progressed most likely due to my anger and the need to do anything to keep busy and reduce the amount of sheer disgust at this current shit situation. I pretty much forced the issue or I would have accomplished nothing. The morning still has me beyond sixes and sevens over this crap. I really don’t fucking need more problems, especially now. I suppose one could look at all of the work I finished as a positive, but honestly such a fact does not make me feel any better. So far this morning, I am ok. Once again I need to keep the house nice and quiet. I plan to take it easy for a while before attacking anything else. There simply must be some time dedicated to learning why this newest issue has arisen, and if this is something about which I need to be concerned heading into the future. If there is nothing I can do about it, well, I'm going to alter the way I speak to people and deal with the house. Some of the most important aspects of life have already disappeared, meaning just one more will send me over the edge. Roughly two hours from now I’ll begin my routine, and then move into the garage to set up my typical holiday shitaree. Ah, yes. The knowledge that though part of this is my fault also indicates that part of it is NOT. I know the reason why my head just exploded over the ponytail dangling behind the tapered back of some uncredited actor in the background is due to so much having disappeared. I would like to demonstrate to those responsible just how upset I have become, and how many of my waking hours are devoted to pain and heartache. Unfortunately, right now I feel utterly powerless, so nothing can be done at the present time. In the future, however, such a state may change and allow me to make the point so clear that people will never wish to have anything to do with me again... Ever. Nothing. I can be pretty fucking harsh. Lately I've been saving it up in order to unload on whomever happens to be standing before me when circumstances change. I am looking forward to a large display of emotion. The part that is not my fault has been destroyed by those closest. I can only say so much. Fifteen years is a long time for carrying a massive misunderstanding. It is also a time period littered with holes, some of which have spoken to me here and there. Holes. My regard for society is diminishing at a tremendous rate; most notably a select few individuals. I remember being led around. The knowledge that I had been coerced to the point of damned-near jumping of the Gate upon command was embedded and allowed the shit to continue. All that time, too. I was right there due to years of my own mistakes, yet the situation was not the type for allowing two-way understanding. And believe me, I know that there were problems before me over which I had no sway, but that is not an excuse for watching me degrade into a whining little whelp and continuing to hang that beautiful carrot just beyond my weakened reach. Fuck off. I didn't deserve that type of behavior. I wish I could destroy the source, but alas I am far too nice a person to actually harm anyone or anything. All I have is this. The point is I became desperate and then angry, with both amplifying more recently and leaving me to worry about my mental state every fucking day. And then yesterday... The cherry on top of a fucking bomb-sundae. I didn't need that. God help the person on the receiving end if and when I finally speak my mind. The time has come to cool off and head back over to the derealization issue (as if there were not already enough OTHER fucking issues). Some asshole on the word game tried to tell me that I should not worry about my problems because everyone has problems. Well, are their problems my fault? I thought so. Leave me the fuck alone and never, ever employ the word 'should' when it comes to me. Jesus fucking hell, anyway, what is it with people? Dumb fucks. I have not the time nor the inclination to be concerned with those fucking people, just as I would expect them to ignore my shit. Figure it out, dipshit. The fucking paragraph again. I believe the subject and subsequent issues I had with trying to work out that equation are directly responsible for a good portion of the derealization. I just couldn’t see through to another person being involved in this, decided it was time to shut everything off, and then remain closed and hidden away to deal with everything alone. No one can do a fucking thing, anyway. Wait a minute... Yes there is something, although the odds are better that I will grow a rocket-powered backpack from my skin and be able to fly to the moon without oxygen. The one item which could alter much of my thinking right now and ease a measure of pain and heartache is possibly out there somewhere inside a person I do not know. Unfortunately, I will probably never know. I’m already tired of searching for something with a snowflake’s chance in hell. The paragraph will remain because I must remember no matter how difficult the words are to consider. I have to remember what drove me to Vegas on all those occasions, why I desperately tried to reach to those I did not know and hand them business cards, and the reason I still strongly desire the fucking girl in the fucking thong. She was a symbol. And I am beyond repair. That fucking paragraph has to stay there until such time as I can truthfully and faithfully deal with the realization.
0739 and I am no better off than yesterday at this time. I am simultaneously ashamed of myself and longing to repeat some of the past. Ashamed of things I've done to others, mostly decisions and more coldness than any individual should be required to endure. Yep, I've done all that, and for years. But keep in mind that I am not a balanced, mentally healthy individual, and sometimes my brain computes a path out of sheer survival and dire need. And then things go awry. Well, I suppose this current period is indicative of an idea I published many months ago. I may be paying the tab for all the pain and difficulty I've caused others. If so, I am squarely where I ought to be. Full of torment and heartache with nowhere to turn. If this is payment, so be it. The past will not let go of me, nor will the paragraph I wrote knowing full well that answers are impossible. Ashamed, angry, alone. And no one is listening. My brain is fucking smashed to oblivion. The situation is debilitating, for sure. I don’t even know how I lived this long. Yesterday’s trouble is beginning to look like a cake walk. I opened the garage and will get to the routine very soon because otherwise I’ll lose it completely. I keep seeing the closet doors, the snow outside the window, and those life events all being ripped and torn away with great force. I sit here now completely empty, void of hope. This is not fucking good and I am fucking sick of typing those words. Sick of it. I can honestly say that I have never been so angry. The work of the day and the holiday goings on had better prove pretty damned rewarding or I’m going to do something unconscionable, I swear to the universe. Beauty be damned right now. Just... DAMNED. I did not do all of this, and no one is listening. 0852 and one of the smiling faces is holding me tight and precluding clear thought. I cannot unsee her, damn it. Maybe if I walk out to the garage and strike the side of my head with a framing hammer she will disappear. I feel like hiring a button man to shoot me in the throat. There are too many reasons why I am feeling the derealization. Too many to list. The above paragraph is one, though. I see her. I see it. I remember everything. I looked to the closet door and saw something more wondrous than I had ever imagined. And then another fucking door. And the snow outside the window. All gone. The gray of reality has taken me from a place of prowess and dignity and leveraged my being into a small space void of joy. I cannot escape no matter the effort or intent. No one is listening. I am completely alone in this place full of dreams and emptied of everything real. Today is the fourth of July and I can't give a shit. Oh, don't get me wrong... I have great respect for the people who built this great nation. I am only referring to whatever we have done to celebrate independence. The barbecue on the driveway, fireworks awaiting nightfall, and tons of beer I will likely swill not due to the holiday, but for the sole reason of attempting to numb my brain and cloud the thinking. Calming nerves, as it were. That is all. I will not be all smiles and fun. Not even close. The ideas in my head run the gamut this morning, from everything missing to my desperate need to completely and permanently separate myself from the rest of the world. There is only one way to accomplish that last part, and I am not ready yet. I suppose such a statement means I still have hope. Honestly, I don't know what keeps me going. I will roll the grill out to the driveway and set up three chairs, get all the fireworks out and displayed, and then later I'll set up the ladders with a platform between so the fountains are elevated. I perform these actions every fucking year in the hope that we can have fun, marvel at the colors and sounds, and eat some good, summer foods. Last year we had two guests (one of which became almost completely despondent for reasons of which we are still unaware) and everything went fine. I still felt the sting of loss, however, yet it was minuscule when held against the condition of my head just one year later. If this current period is taking place and ruining me because I am indeed 'paying' for the past, well... I may not have the funding. It is a huge bill. Today will play out as it will. I will go through the motions like every year, yet I will also be exactly the same coming out the other side. I am in a horrible mood right now and will be in a horrible mood tomorrow at this same time. There is nothing which can be done. And?
NO ONE IS FUCKING LISTENING.
I could quite literally blow my fucking head off right now and not miss a damned thing. Not even the grilled hot dogs. Laugh it up, motherfuckers. 'Whipping up a flurry; dominating fury... Weak are ripped and torn away.' I wish I had an ounce of power. 0917 and I am still fucking sitting here with the last of the coffee and my loved ones on the television. I'll have to break away very soon or my head will worsen. The first order of business will be the little things in the house, and then outside to do whatever seems best (if there is anything appealing aside from drinking beer). I don't know if the television or music will follow along. I always have music at a decent volume out there during the fireworks, but honestly some of the big stuff drowns out even my huge audio system. Maybe as the noise level in this area rised, I'll back the volume down and save myself some frustration. Right now I couldn't give half a blue fuck in the wind about the celebration, to be sure. Bigger fish to fry? Well, I've been attempting to fry a fish larger than the solar system for several fucking years. Nothing can come close, not even overpowering explosions in the sky. Anyway, I am hoping that the beer will help me relax about everything and leave my head in a null space rather than uptight and angry. I guess time will tell. There will be no morning cocktail to accompany the kitchen cleaning because of the later activities. I don't want to end up feeling like crap. My body has a tolerance and is more sensitive to routine changes than in the past. At least I've learned something there. I may be a fucking alcoholic, but I'm not an idiot. Most of the time what I choose to do during a given day doesn't matter anyway. Nothing seems to matter. It's just a series of distractions until death. Nice, huh? The mood dictates all. Enough of this for now. Where is the girl when I need her? Is there such a thing? Or am I insane? Don't know; nope; probably. There is only one thing I can say about where I am right now... Dead... In the gray."
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