No matter how happy brain, there’s always the thing niggling in the back. i can’t find the words now need bed but the bad guy never really dies. no matter how deep you bury or hide him, it’s always a fight to keep ahead of whatever it is.

And the ending is, where is mine?

It’s weird to know you don’t want what you want but you do want it even if only for a minute. or however long it lasts.

I wish I could have more cuddles.

I guess this is one of those days when i have more clarity.

If I was here now in the olden days i doubt the blood wouldn’t be dripping.

It’s so fucking weird to know this shit and watch myself type it as I think it and as autonomous as that may sound, I know exactly what I’m saying.

I don’t really know what to think about myself any more but that’s only maybe because I’ve only just started thinking about myself.

I feel like I learnt or re learnt a whole load of self stuff that I’ve probably always been doing anyway.

I have no fucking idea what I am and even the thought of it scares the shit out of me.

How much of me is me? How much of me is my memories? How much of me is my parents? How much of me is my add any one of a thousand imputs.

I actually think I’m just me. I’m in my my bubble and other people make sure I stay on the right track.

To my detriment sometimes but mostly not, I ‘ve just mostly trusted other people and followed them to the cool shit.

Now I’m back from a smoke and have been remembering John Carpenter.

Don’t know what i was going to say, too off now

but do know that if I never ever cut or burn myself again, that doesn’t mean I won.

Dear me,

You’ll never read this and you’ll never do it but, ask for help.

don’t even know what help I need. Am I normal? Am I weird? I have no fucking scales to weight my shit against.

i love the idea that medical brain drugs can deal with my mind but the thought is too scary.

What if it shuts me up and calms me down but I’m not me any more.

What price would I pay? Answer be none. To be normal.

If being me was easy I wouldn’t be me.

FUCK. FUCK FUCK FUCK FUCK CUNTY FUCK FUCK FUCK TWAT WANK FUCK.

But it’s OK,

I pay this price but others benefit

You can’t give outside beauty if you’re giving it all inside.

Cut down on the booze.

yeah I know you know but really. The focus is there without it, harder to find but it’s there, trust me.

I’m still good for not needing the bad but I’m left talking to who else but me. Too scared to work out who else I can message nice or memory stuff to.

So what do I tell myself in the diary that I’ll never read?

Do I tell myself to stop drinking because I know it ain’t good or do I give a fuck?

Of course i don’t. I’m me. I’ll keep going untill I crash into a wall or someone tells me to stop.

I have a big beard and am growing crazy long hair. it’s not sensible for a me who needs to get a job when this malarkey is over but fuck your bollocks I have to ride this shit out.

It’s shit I don’t even want to tell me when I’m writing in my own diary. It is so fucking important that I don’t know what I’m doing when I’m doing it. And it’s the only truth I know about who I am.

I should do a year end thing want to [shush}

I’ve become more aware of myself and what I do and am really liking me in a weird way of still not getting why people like me but I do get it.

I still wish for next year I could go and get a diagnosis for my brain and have some labels to show off about and join a club or just know a medical word for what I am.

But I never will…what if she fixes me?

I’m a beautiful person and lots of groovy people see that, it’s enough

Maybe when i think I want a label, I actually just want an excuse?

I have a phrase in my head,

‘brains vibrating at the speed of sound’

…well done me for not being dead, you fucking bellend.

I mostly dig me even when I’m scared and we don’t need labels.

All this getting like I do to let go and tell and message people lovely things about them is only to stave off the bad to myself

I ride it for a while and then it descends and i have to find why I like myself and then when i do it’s back to this for a while.

I’d almost like to take medical brain drugs to keep it all on a level instead of up and down like a clown but it’s just too scary.

It might even be good for me but, what if I do and I’m not weird any more or nobody likes me because I’m normal or what if I don’t like me because I’m not the old me? Could I ever get used to the new me?

Not now probs but could I have done then but even I still wonder now, what if I could be “normal” but still be me.

What if that’s what medical brain drugs do, they just take away all the shit but still leave the weird?

I can’t see it though. The fucked up part of me is so much a part of the lovely me that I can’t see how they could fix me in the way I sometimes think I want.

I wish my head didn’t hurt so much the way it does sometimes, but, I don’t think I’d want it not to.

I hate that I think it’s a very important part of who I am and if a shrink ever fixed me, I’d be like Jack Nicholson when he was pretending in Cuckoo’s Nest but for real.

I might be putting fancy words on it but I think I hurt in the brain for reasons that should never be taken away.

I don’t know what I want. I don’t want that release because that only happens if it’s like a full on safety net.

So what do I want?

there is something inside screaming to get out and it’s fucking with my tummy and my mojo and

it just fucking hurts but I don’t know where or why or how so I can’t ease it.

its just a bubbling cunt hiding like a fuck waiting chest burst out of your brain and fuck with you.

I fucking hate it.