One day this illness will kill me. Or not. Either fate, I’m at the lonely end of my wit. There is no way out, no exit in sight! Yet I hide. Behind this frail mask I conceal the madness that consumes me, I silence the voices that command me- and lately I obey like a lost cause with a willing supporter. Except there is no reward or strength, just a false illusion of stillness and peace when I feed their obsession. Mine is sex.

A fleeting sense of relief plus an ever-evolving sense of grief towards my former young self that awaits me but where? A pulsating flow of sensory and mental input much more potent that I can handle hence I get lost in hazy decisions or caught in bouts of impulse that cost far more than the goods obtained. And I rage in misery. Alone with nowhere to go. Hoping I will either fall asleep or switch or just my mind slowing the fuck down before it outdoes my own self defense. But I have no way to know that threshold until it is crossed, thus I’m hanging onto random threads of luck and tragedy. My 5hrs of sanity coming up soon. Yay.