Wednesday, March 30, 2011

First Blog.

Looks like this is the new thing, eh? I don't know why I am bothering with this.
But I'd be denying myself the truth if I kept saying that.
I know something is not right. I grew up being called crazy, and at first I knew it wasn't true. But as the teenage years came along it just hit deeper, I began actually believing it. It wasn't until nearly four years ago when I broke from that trance. I realized I was just making myself invisible by accepting what it was people deemed me to be. I didn't understand before then why talking to myself never brought about an answer, and I believe that it was because I was listening to their words rather than my own. I wasn't hearing, I wasn't getting the one person that mattered, after so many projects, stories, poetry, novels about just that. I never added up the two, I never looked at my reflection and actually saw what the truth was. It was all just lies. Piles of lies. I felt disgusted, filthy for allowing such influence by my peers. For even believing there was a truth out there that was just meant to disarm my defenses, make me vulnerable and weak. That is not who I am, and the moment I was able to come to terms with that, was the moment I could regain who I was as an individual.
It wasn't easy. I locked myself away from the people I cared about most. I stayed up for nights, just thinking. That's it. Minus the occasional screaming into my pillow. Everything that I once knew crumbled, and once people realized they couldn't walk all over me they left, or regarded me with dislike. But why should I care? I'm honest to myself at least. I won't say I don't lie, that I won't manipulate someone just to poke at their brain and learn more. I don't even tell people to trust me, because I don't believe I deserve it most of the time. Not without earning it at least. But you know what, they don't know what it is like to leave their little circle of repetitive patterns they have grown so used to. To change nearly every portion of your own identity after becoming so attached to what people saw you to be, to revert back to who you are as a human being. Until they can do that they are just my fellows, stuck in an endless cycle of denial. Believing everything in their little illusion is truth and perfection. And you know what else, I'm not afraid to say I don't know, I don't know aspects of myself still, I don't know the world, the people and creatures that inhabit it. On the large scale of things, I probably look like a fucking moron.

But you know what the upside to it is? I'm not fucking crazy.
Though... You'd probably say otherwise to the grin I'm wearing right about now, ha!


To the original point of what brought this up... I know I'm not crazy. But ever since mid-2010 I've felt as if I was going crazy. I've starved myself of sleep nearly every night these last few months, because I just don't feel comfortable anymore. I'd hate to just go and say it's something paranormal or supernatural. Despite knowing how old this property is and the fact my sibling and I were told by our parents that through-out our tiny years (1-8 I think.) we talked to things that weren't even there... I still am a skeptic. Despite all my writing, all my addictions to studying what most of the population sees as only fiction, I am still a skeptic. I want logic to be tested and ruled out. To be proven that my beliefs aren't psycho-babble.

And so I ran tests. I ran them on myself, on my dogs, on my family, my own kin! I researched common household malfunctions, checked things out for myself, even informed pops to certain things and he double checked my work. Every lead, every test, failure. Logic is starting to leave my grasp. I never had a firm grasp on reality with my imaginative mind, you know, but I have the feeling if this ends up being what I think it is... I might just slip. And when that happens there are no good solutions. Scared shitless, sure, but I won't curl up into the fetal position. I'll get hostile; I already know it because I am familiar with it. It's been tested time and time again by friends that needed defending, or arguments that needed settling. I know I will revert to that, I'll sit, I'll wait, I'll smile and play. But inside it's like an inferno, slowly melting away my mind so only the blaze can take over.

To the rare few who actually know enough about me you know I do not like not being in control of myself. I'll barely drink, never will do drugs, or do anything that would impair my judgment. But it just feels like I'm eating away at myself. That sometimes the person in the mirror isn't really me. I hate how I just randomly look at one spot as if I saw something, or stiffen when I swear I just heard something. Knowing I am home alone. It's become so bad that I will turn on every light in the house, in my room, even just as the sun is setting. And this is coming from a night owl, to those that don't know my basic traits or guessed them by now.

You know, I heard a long time ago animals are sensitive to things we cannot see. I used to notice my two lovable dumbasses staring into space at nothing. Always in the same spots too. And these last few months... It's not just a daily basis, it's every few hours. They'll growl at nothing, there will be footsteps, fucking footsteps upstairs, but I have the only view from where I sit of the only way to get up there. And there aren't any safe ways from outside either with this house. To walk out of your room to get something to drink or use the bathroom and side step because you believe someone was just in the way, someone that wasn't even there. To wake up with scars, cuts, when I don't even have nails do it that with, just all over my hands and arms, and rarely on my collarbone and face. Does anyone out there know, without it being fake, what it is like to be trying to sleep and hear breathing, or a hand trailing across the blanket, even weight on the bed? That bothers me on the level of being human, and a woman. My lights never flickered until these last few months. Never once. But power just dies on me. My cellphone, camera, lights, every time my paranoia starts to grow, before anything has even happened, shit just starts happening.

I am fed up. I've been watching, because something like this on a minor scale happened to me a few years ago. I've been watching, reading, everything. Everyone. Whatever it is it's getting worse. This isn't some farmer that used to say goodnight to my sibling and I. This isn't anything like that. I don't know what it is. I don't know at all. I don't know, I don't know, I don't fucking know! And I hate it. I really, really, hate it. And I say that with absolute venom.

God, I hate writing shit like this. It sounds like one big sob story. I never liked dramas. Studied them for the various relationship aspects and behavioral conflicts, but otherwise, never liked. I feel like I'm in a horror drama, and to the few movies that I have seen that could be considered to go under such a ridiculous category, they never end pretty.

I could be getting hyped up for no reason, right?
If I was getting hyped up about something (which is rare, like if I lost my sketch book or something) it wouldn't last months. It wouldn't be like a virus infecting every part of my body. I have gone through so many emotions these past few months... It's just, I don't even know. Insane. I never felt the need to break down into sobs, nor felt such a violent need to strike something, or someone, down. And I get I am a vulgar and rather violent person to begin with in my behavior, even if it is restrained, that I craft murderers that probably won't ever be able to get published. But this, feeling this personally, not inserting it into a character's biological makeup... It's different on so many levels. To have this need, or desire to just crush, and destroy, and break everything and anything... It's awful. It's really fucking awful, guys.
The thing is, nothing triggered this. I went back, I retraced my steps. I did everything I was supposed to, and even then some. It led me to nothing. No excuse for these dreams, these horrible, twisted, and just flat out scary dreams. This is coming from a person who likes fear, the adrenaline rush of it, who loves horror. Never in my life have things become this bad for not reason.

I've been following these Slender Man videos, blogs, pictures, information for nearly two years now. I've been having dreams. I haven't told anyone this, so, readers, let me tell you they aren't pretty. Just... Weird, even by my standards. I had for three and a half months this phase of weekly dreams with that guy, with myself being as a kid, as a teenager, all different ages in every different dream. It horrified me to the point my family noticed my defenses were down. What bothered me most was, I never, in the history of my dreams, ever had a dream of my childhood. Nothing before eighth grade. To see myself, sitting on the old couch we used to have, when I was around 9, and turned behind me to look at the wooden blinds... And see just this blank white blob, only to open them and realize that blob was a head leaning down and peering in... It's fucked up. Ok, it's just fucked up. They stopped after that one dream, too. That was the end of the streak, the end of the worst of it all. The footsteps wandering around my room, the whispers, the shadowy figures I'd see. But the lights still flicker for no reason, the shuffling upstairs that isn't mice or anything of the sort, the subtle things that show it's just the very start of it are still happening. As if the tape had been rewound.

But the thing is... I don't actually think it has anything to do with him. Despite the dreams and all. I think, if there is really something jerking me around, that it isn't him. Related to him distantly, I guess it is a possibility, but directly? It just doesn't fit. It's something that knows that despite my curiosity, Slender Man still unnerves me. I can say some things mimic the pattern of these others experiencing him, but the majority of it just doesn't to me. It seems more like a game, more malicious, sinister. Rather than my mind being consumed by the racket all of it just quieted down to subtle hints and acknowledgements. All that overpowering hatred and rage, fear that I was feeling just poofed. My defenses came back on fully again, and once again I'm guarded. I fought every feeling, every urge, until it just left me. But I still don't feel safe. I feel just the opposite of that. Watched. Haunted. On the list of something that really just wants to fuck me up badly. Every dream, it's all just faces I recognize from my past but they aren't the people I know them to be. It's all lies, as if it isn't really them. Not even them as puppets. Like someone is just pretending. Pretending to take their place. Learning me to maybe take mine, is what I fear the most. And from the recent activity I've been getting... It just fits more firmly.

I don't like the fact I am posting this, something so open about myself. I'm not crazy. Despite the many times over these months I have thought that maybe that wasn't as true as I would like it to be. You have to understand, readers, that I thought I was losing it one week, then knew I wasn't the next. That my mind was flipping switches on me that I didn't even know I had. But I started switching them back, I know it, I could feel it near the end. Every build up I began to counter against.

I don't know what to expect by posting this. I don't know if I really want to expect anything to begin with, or if I'll even post often for that matter. But it's out there now. For better or worse, I don't even know. I don't know anything anymore that isn't some illusion or fabrication. Telling truth from lies has started to become harder as of late. But I'm fighting whatever this is. Going to fight it. Keep fighting. Because there is something worth fighting for in my life, and I don't just mean my survival.

I am not looking for a shoulder to cry on, hell, I haven't needed one for a while so I'm not starting now. I'm not here looking for buddies, or friends, or a lover for that matter. I'm not doing this for attention, because God or whoever knows that they make me want to bash my head in. I am not asking anyone to trust me, believe me, listen to me, read this either. I'm just posting it to... Post it. Because I am here, looking for answers. And to the bonds that have already been made, the promises formed, the words to be kept, and if any do surprise me through this experience, they will be ones that can never be replaced.
So to anyone actually reading about this person over here, yep, me, right over here, thanks. I'm leaving the shadows, exiting from invisibility mode. So thanks. Just thanks.

Don't expect any more mush. We don't need this turning into a horror-drama-romance, ok? That might just kill me.


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