I don't know quite when or why it happened, but at some point I started feeling like, if I wanted to express anything I was feeling in any way, I had to do it in a way that'd be nice so I could show it off to others. Even with shit like vent art, it feels like I still had to make it "nice" vent art or do it so it fits some certain "aesthetic" so I could post it on ABC or submit it to XYZ and then have it be appreciated or useful or something. It's fucking insane, sitting here typing it out like this, but here I am, in bed in the dead of night, feeling it just as much as ever.

Naturally, this is a huge fucking barrier (even now: "Don't use curse words; they're crass and unbecoming.") to any kind of meaningful creative expression, and is likely in no small part why I feel like I've been in such a creative rut lately.

God, I don't even know. What am I trying to say here? Who even cares? Does it even matter if anyone else should care in the first place?

Like all the other shit I make, it'll gather dust on my website, with like one person skimming it before closing the tab, before being consigned to greasing the gears of whatever webcrawlers that file it away in some database entry somewhere.

I want to vomit. I feel like I could vomit. I'm not going to vomit.

Suicide keeps trying to rear its head. I almost don't even want to mention it to anyone, lest I get institutionalized. I'm not going to do it, anyway, and the feeling will pass.

The feeling will pass...

Again with this: "As if I could submit this anywhere. Who would want to read this?"

I will admit, I'm not in the best spirits. I've been getting rather burnt out with the endless empty bullshit of my day job, where some know-it-all dickhead or another sees to it that every mistake I make is pointed out, no matter how minor or inconsequential. I keep feeling like I'm getting nowhere with Permanence and with my piano practice, even despite the incremental daily progress at least a few days a week, even during these shit weeks (again with this: "People will think you'll never finish it, and they'll lose interest" [as if anyone is following it closely anyway, not to mention that Permanence was never about that in the first place]). I've only just very recently recovered from what was probably the worst and most protracted health scare of my life so far—during which, might I add, I got suddenly and unceremoniously dumped by the single most promising potential romantic partner I've had in at least a decade. I also got news just recently that at least two different people for whom I care very much are both almost certainly developing schizophrenia.

Taken together, it's been kind of fucking horrible.

Again with this: "Can't submit this. It's just you feeling sorry for yourself." As if trying to express my feeling bad is some sin. Whatever.

Meanwhile, something weird has going on with my sexuality. I used to hate the whole "yandere" trope, but at some point this year, the idea of some crazy bitch kidnapping me, restraining me, violating me, biting me black and blue, repeatedly stopping me from breathing for over a minute at a time, and even cutting me with a knife and licking up the blood or some shit started to really turn me on. I've not wanted to talk about it with anyone, even my more sexually open friends who also like BDSM, as it makes me a little uneasy to think about; plus, knife play feels like a taboo, not to mention another nagging critical thought: "Stop being horny on main; no one wants or needs to know how horny you are." Am I just not allowed to express it to anyone? That seems unfair and unrealistic...

I ended up writing about it anyway. Shame on me, I suppose.

I hope I can get some sleep now...