NOVEMBER 3, 2025, 1:13 PM:
I just ate enough Twizzlers to kill a small elephant. Or me, maybe.
Hatred can fuel you or it can flay you into thin slices. It can wake you up every day, get you out of bed or off the sidewalk, and make you interact just for the spite. I am using hatred.
Sometimes, you just need to spend a week alone doing nothing but gooning.
Why is no one else willing to try to keep it alive?
This doesn't exist for you. I choose what to put here, not any of your "boundaries." It's marked appropriately and you never need to lay eyes on it should you choose not to.
I am slowly learning what individuals around me know what to say to get what they want and they are slowly learning that it doesn't work on everyone.
Amazing girl names: Lenora, Sheila, Renata, Amelia, Jacqueline, Mary, Beth, Zipporah, Aurilla, Mia
Amazing boy names: Silas, Emory, Ira, Graham, Arthur, Caesar, Ezekiel, Julian
Realizing what you do and don't have control over gives you a lot of agency most people will never discover for themselves in their entire lifetime.
END TIME: 1:23 PM
NOVEMBER 7, 2025, 1:35 PM:
Jesus fucking Christ. I woke up at 5:30 this morning feeling like someone stuck their hand down my throat, all the way through my digestive system, out the other end, and then in my uterus and started just thrashing. Also their hand is covered in fire ants and gympie-gympie. It was so bad I needed to vomit. I watched Red Vs Blue for two hours to not focus on my body slowly turning into a werewolf and then finally went back to sleep and slept til 1.
I have been plagued with this terrible, awful, mortifying, vicious feeling that I am going to die for four days. It might happen, it might not, and it feels like I should go to the hospital, but that also feels like overkill.
END TIME: 1:41 PM
NOVEMBER 9, 2025, 1:42 AM:
I have a headache. I have to watch my grandma (who has moderate stage dementia) at 8:30. I don't recognize her anymore and I have already accepted that she's gone so I really don't want to look at her.
I spent four hours in bed today just doing nothing. From noon to 4 PM, I did nothing.
Fuck other people. I need to focus on my hobbies. No boys, no friends. I need to go back to being a lonely middle schooler that gets groomed by 21 year olds instead of what I am now.
I need to draw, I need to create, I need to play the games I played when I was a kid, I need to do more weed. I let myself become reliant on another and I absolutely fucking regret it. I never needed to rely on anyone and the one time I did, it ended like Rome. Never again. Myself only, no more attachments to people that act like little children.
END TIME: 1:50 AM
NOVEMBER 10, 2025, 11:33 PM:
;
NOVEMBER 14, 1:21 AM:
Existence feels really kinda fucking bleak.
I've stopped talking to a lot of people. I spend all my time just doing something to distract myself, which is why I've spent so much time on the site and with art.
For almost a week, I cried and stopped eating and considered suicide. I was overridden by an impending sense of doom and overwhelmed with nothing and thoughts that everything about me was wrong. What's worse is that the people I told this about don't seem to understand that this is an emergency. I should've had a therapist by now. I should've been taken somewhere by now. I suppose that I didn't try hard enough.
The site is starting to bother me too. I need to finish and organize what characters I have and work on new art for the older ones. I won't stop until I'm satisfied, so I have that, I guess.
END TIME: 1:27 AM
NOVEMBER 16, 11:00 PM:
I like peas. I like carrots.
Peas have this wonderful texture, but only when you eat them one at a time. Carrots have a blissful taste and when they're hot they release the heat as you bite into them. Fuck cold carrots, I love pot pies.
I did some kiwifarms and lolcow lurking, because I care what people notice, goddamnit. They're not all bad. They make sites of their own, so they're among us, and they even have nice things to say about others sometimes. They think neocities is an echo chamber, and to some degree, I agree. It is like that because that is the nature of anything that has a social aspect.
One of my followers on neocities is a lolcow retard who is probably following as many sites as possible so that it can use them as cows. I'd like to pretend I don't care about such a thing, but I do and it is annoying as hell.
You ever learn about a new feeling that you didn't know you could have, and it shocks you to your very core so badly you start shaking?
I like leaving dislikes on school videos just because.
END TIME: 11:07 PM
NOVEMBER 23, 12:27 PM:
I made a new friend. He's a little strange, lives far away, and he wants to be a music duo with me (I'm not sure that will ever get off the ground, but if it does, it'll be fun). He helped a bit with what's been going on with me, but it's starting to come back.
I trimmed my hair, got bangs again, and even bleached a blonde highlight into it. I like it. But I'm starting to understand both states of self-esteem.
You can think of yourself as the hottest individual on Earth one month, and then the next, you see no way anyone could ever like you- not your appearance, not your personality, nothing. You notice things about how people treat you that you didn't notice before. They say something diverting when you make them uncomfortable, they go quiet when you talk too much, they lash out at you when you put them in a bad mood.
It's difficult being someone who wants nothing more than for everyone to like them, but at the same time, you try to act like you don't. Like a golden retriever dipped in black cat paint. Like a popular kid at school.
Your love feels like it belongs to no one because they don't deserve to have such a thing projected onto them. Your worth feels fabricated.
END TIME: 12:37 PM
NOVEMBER 25, 2025, 12:59 AM:
When I was little, my mom would make me help her feed the horses, and we would walk down to the barn in the dark every night. I was terrified shitless of the dark, and paranoid as hell that something was going to kill me. My mom didn't care. I never got over my fear of the dark.
Sometimes, she would make me go get the mail, at 1 or 2 in the morning, when it was pitch black. I was still terrified of the dark, terrified that something was going to snatch me away, and I told her I'd only go if she went with me. She told me that the point of me going to get the mail was so she wouldn't have to do it.
Once, while we were feeding the horses, I spilled grain all over the ground, and my mother told me, "Why do I even bother raising you?"
Once, while at the annual AHA beach ride, my dementia ridden grandma hallucinated me insulting her, and my mother demanded I apologize. I refused, because I wasn't going to apologize for something I didn't do, and my mother slapped me. I beat the shit out of her for it, and her pride was so hurt that she told my father, thinking he would do something about it.
I have nothing, exclusively nothing, but bad memories of the beach ride. It's cold. You don't ever get to eat. There's sand fucking everywhere, and she crams you into a dirty, cramped trailer and expects you to be fine with it since she lives with that kind of shit in her room daily. You have to walk half a mile to piss or shower, because god forbid we fix the plumbing in the trailer, or even have access to the toilet at all.
The first year was good. I rode this black and white racking pony. My mom brought her crazy friend. We sold that horse there. I was 11. I was miserable, because I have been miserable since I was 7 years old, at the least.
The next few years after that weren't so good. I was miserable. The horse I rode was insane. It dumped me in the ocean three times, it dumped my mom off twice. I fought with my mom constantly.
Last year, she brought this guy. He's hard to explain. He hangs around because his family doesn't like him. He's younger than me. He's the guy I was terrified was going to rape me, and at the time of the ride last year, he was trying to get with me around every corner. He was touchy.
My relationship with my family is not good. My dad was never around, and not because he didn't want to be, but because his job dragged him around the country, sometimes even out of it. My mom was never meant to be a mother, and that is reflected in her biology. I am an only child because she couldn't have more.
She wasn't motherly when I was little. She screamed, whooped, fought, like I wasn't a lonely fucking toddler. I have no good memories of her, because I was scared of her, and stayed scared of her until I was old enough to realize hatred and then empathy. When I was in middle school, I didn't go a day without making plans to kill myself. I think she knew this. All she cared about was my grades, all I cared about was making it to the next day. I never thought I would make it to the age I am now.
It feels surreal, almost, being someone on the cusp of adulthood when mentally you might as well be that pitiful 14 year old who argues with people on Twitter and sleeps on a dirty air mattress.
My signs were so clear, they might as well have been neon and blinking. I didn't brush my hair, shower, or sleep at night. I slept all day at school, every day, so often that I don't even remember who my teachers were. I was pissy all the time, constantly arguing and cussing. I met terrible people online who groomed me and enabled me.
I refuse to believe she didn't know, and if she didn't, I am even angrier at her. I will never forgive her, and I will certainly never, ever, forget. She never reached out. She never asked. She never took action, or did anything, or pried. She let me stew, like a rat caught in a glue trap in a wall, to sit there and starve, and I don't ever remember her being present.
It is not a 14 year old's responsibility to reach out. It is not a 14 year old's responsibility to develop healthy coping mechanisms, all on her own. It is not a 14 year old's responsibility to do every bit of work in her life herself, from laundry to emotional support.
I have little memory of my life between the ages of 12-15. I only remember who kept me going, and a little bit of what. A friend I reconnected with, the games I played with him, the music I listened to, the things I wrote. I don't remember details of my home life.
Growing up, I didn't know you were supposed to have people in your family you liked, and people in your family you could actually rely on to help with your needs. I didn't know you were supposed to have real friends, and real friends that knew each other.
It's difficult adjusting to the knowledge now, and getting over the hurdle of realizing you should have had those things, and you shouldn't have had to fight for them. It's harrowing to realize that you actually don't have anyone in your life who can support you, either because they're supposed to or because they want to, and by support, I mean actually do something for you. Someone that you can rely on to help you clean when you're overwhelmed, someone who will make you dinner, maybe without even asking. Someone who will notice when you're self-isolating, and not notice too late. Someone who will pull you out of a hole, no matter what dug it.
The easiest part of being depressed is the coping mechanisms you use, the unhealthy ones, that make you float from the Earth and watch your life like a movie through a glass wall. The hardest part of recovery is being pulled down from floating, and that glass wall shattering, and realizing you are fucking real, and you should care, you should care about what's around you and what you do every day.
This has hit me hard over the last month or so. It repeats in my mind like a mantra. I am alone, even if there are people around me, because I'm too much, and not in the manic-pixie way. No one has ever expressed this to me, but I know it to be true. It is unlikely that I will ever fulfill my dreams, my incredibly simple dreams, of being someone worth prioritizing, of being someone worth fucking or loving or chasing. Of having a nice house and being a stay-at-home mom. I desperately want to be able to fulfill these dreams, but I am incapable of it, because there is something wrong with me that I can't identify, or maybe it shouldn't be identified because it can't be fixed and ignorance is actually bliss.
The evidence is true: I am unworthy of love, because I did not receive it as a child and I do not receive it now, and I spent all of my life searching for it. It is akin to not being the one to pull the sword from the stone.
END TIME: 1:50 AM
NOVEMBER 28, 2025, 8:04 PM:
ALMOST 18 YEARS OF SODA AND JACKING OFF