So Forgetable.

What’s the point. Where does it end? The unending shit storm that fucks up any and everything. I get one step up and get thrown down the whole flight if stairs. I’m not meant to walk up them. I’ll die before I reach the top.

So what. I’m supposed to survive until the mean time? What have I got to show? I’m 27 and I have no idea where to go. How to fucking live. How to make money. Im not thriving. I havent ever. I’ve gotten comfprtable with surroundings and made do. But I’ve never thrived. I probably never will. I’m too fucked up. I’m too handicapped. I’m too dependant. I’m too obtuse. I’m be forever and irrelevant stitch in time that will fall away from remembrance.

Its okay. I guess. Ive excepted I will never make anything of myself. I’ll never go anywhere. My life will be an endless struggle for nothing.



Thoughts. Words. Construction. Type. Wall. Avoidance. Dance. Redo.

I’m working on practicing reading and writing daily to help with my problems and it often feels like driving in traffic. Drive. Stop. Drive again. Stop. Drive. Pick up speed. Stop.

I don’t remember when this got so hard. When did I stop making time? When did I stop having drive for this? For books and reading? Even now I write a sentence, stop and stare off for several minutes, the wrench myself back to the screen to force my thoughts through my fingers and scrape out whatever I can manage.

A cat’s begging for attention. A bird repeats “hello” to me. A dog barks incessantly in the yard.

Feelings of solace changed over the years to restraints and barriers. Anxiety ridden links to a fence I’m reluctantly unchaining. Whats good for you isn’t usually whats easiest.

All’s quieter. Time ticks closer to work and I’m frustrated there isn’t more.

The Brain Deceives.

Do you remember the moment you could read? The moment symbols change to words. Can you recall when you understood how to write? Did your mind click? Did you feel the point of understanding? Did it seem like a long drawn out journey or did you simply come into knowing?

I’m struggling. For once not too overly with depression or anxiety. But with something else in my mind. Something I’ve struggled with since before I felt mental illness. Something that grows stronger the further away from reading and writing I get.

I might have dyslexia. Or another learning disability. I find without constant practice of reading it becomes more and more difficult to do. The words on pages and screens reverberate and move away from glare. I can’t focus. I can’t keep drive to work past the movement. I feel like I can’t read. And my drive to write shrinks with my ability to read.

Two things that once upon a time brought me great escape are now ancient memories. Something elders talked about to their children’s children. I don’t remember how to unlock these runes. How to decipher the magic behind the words and bring back the joy.

Even know this stupid post has taken me 3+ hours to write. Something that used to come so easily. It’s like All the voices in my head can’t fucking agree on what to focus on. On what ideas and words to send to my finger tips. I’m reminded of lifelong feelings of ineptitude.

What are you good for? Absolutely nothing…

I used to think,¬†at least I can do manual labor.¬†But it would appear as usual my body gives me away. I don’t know what I’m doing with myself anymore.

As of late.

Sitting in a coffee shop, overly focused on unimportant articles on my phone, I numb out everything to whisk myself away for as long as I can. Maybe if I don’t move the world won’t continue on. Maybe if I keep myself distracted the day will stay paused. Maybe if I ignore everything long enough I’ll stay in this imaginary vacuum and life will be forced to wait with me…..

I know stress induces these obsessive cycles where I find myself struggling to break away from mundane excuses even just to pee. I can’t think today. I don’t want to finish the day. I don’t want to do tomorrow. I just want to forget everything and sit in this spot until I turn to dust.

I was recently told I most likely have Dyslexicia. And to be honest it makes a lot of sense. Diagnosies bring clarity. I understand now what’s wrong with me. What’s been wrong with me. I have a word to describe my difficulties to a T. But I just want to cry. The years of struggle and avoidance of education because I felt too dumb to pursue anything I saw myself being interested in enough weigh down on me. Anxiety is hard enough. Depression is hard enough. ADHD and OCD and PTSD are hard enough.

I feel dumped on. The universe has been trying to tell me something for years and I just kept thinking I was normal enough not to have to listen. My mother thought I was normal enough for her not to put money into realizing what’s wrong with her child. So I struggle with feeling like I’m worth that money now.

$1200. Just to be tested. Just to affirm diagnosies. Just to be able to say “yep. I’ve got this”. Seems idiotic and wasteful. It’s not. Because I could take advantage of programs associated with schooling to help me get a degree. So helpful, yes, but worth it? I’ve never felt worthy of anything my entire life. And the never ending cycle of new problems with me just remind me that the universe doesn’t really care about a fleshy speck in the spectrum. I’m insignificant to the grand scheme of things. There is no higher power or righteous reason. There is no purpose or objective lesson. I’m just a fucked up almost 30 year old with developmental disabilities I’ve never learned to work with.

I don’t claim to be special. I keep thinking “there are so many who have it worse. Get over yourself”. But I know that’s just as unhealthy an ideal as feeling worthless.

I just keep finding it hard to break away from this cozy vacuum of space and time where I remain distracted by the insignificancies of the world.


Wow its been a while. I find myself as of late so compiled and entrenched with work and stress I barely have time to stop and breath. At night song lyrics flow into my head but are gone by morning. During the day issues I want to discuss pop into my head but get tired of waiting and float away before I ever get home. My self care has been minimal, and that’s a problem. I’ve become a warden of sorts to my partner who is seeking mental help for maybe the first time in his life voluntarily. It’s not my battle, not for me to overexert myself over, but I love him and seeing the struggle hurts my heart. I’m an empath with too much to give. But its showing in my energy and my care for myself. I’m working on making him take the reins despite how horrifying this journey can be.

Depression has been an issue as a result of all of this. My sleep takes a hit and the nightmares hear the ring and come forward. Echos of people past reverberate within them and taunt me and ask forgiveness. I think this is also a result of instances between my partner and I that cause me to recoil. Impulsivity is a great fear of mine. Not in me but in others. It’s a common excuse for actions those that harmed me have taken as a forgive all. As if they cannot control what they do and who they do it to. My partner does not use it as an excuse but realizes it as a problem, but the idea stands and hurts.

So I try working on my surroundings for safety. But its exhausting and just furthers the never ending broken sleep cycle. When did I become so bad at caring for myself? I recalled to someone all the self care hobbies and activities I used to spend so much time on for the sake of myself and realized how long it had been since any of them had been a part of my life… Space can’t always be the excuse. I digress. Or just trail out to too many things on my mind.

I’m trying to organize my thoughts more clearly.

Superiority Complex

I’m finding I have trouble knowing when to stand up for myself and when to quiet down. This is mostly problematic with working. After I get through a period of learning at my jobs and I start to get a bit of confidence I start not letting peoples words slide over my conscience. They start to burrow and affect me because I feel I’ve worked up to ¬†certain point and when that’s threatened I fly into defensive mode. Sometimes I can’t distinguish gaslighting from correcting. I understand sometimes it’s about the delivery, but sometimes I argue for clarity and it is the met.

So how do I let things go? How do I allow bosses and superiors to correct me without feeling degraded when it’s not done in much of a suitable fashion? How do I keep myself from cycling over words that frustrate me because they aren’t delivered very well? How do I still keep confidence and take pleasure in things that are continually wrong under someone else?

It’s difficult to feel like an asset when you never feel appreciate or even know what you are doing correctly. It’s difficult for me to not get stuck on people’s words and start cycling when all I seem to have are vague thoughts in my head that tell me I’m good at something. I know I always have something to learn, I can accept that. I just don’t always feel like I’m given room to learn.

Maybe that’s why I’m frustrated.