Holes in Cheese

I haven't written in a while. I don't write to anyone. I live in my hallucination (Lorde's hologram), the one put over me to hide all that creeps inside. Don't push me too far out, or I'll lose what sanity I do have here. Let me have what isn't anything; could it hurt anyone but the insignificant me? I was given a corpse for life, after all.

So, I've gotten a little better at dealing with my schizophrenia. I know now it isn't real, but I still wrestle with it and its deviant ways. It's strange to have to hide what should be silent to other ears, though they always want to know to exploit me.

I've been caught in a bad thought cycle lately. I don't know how to describe this. Thoughts enter my brain and grab hold of me. They are against the back of my own thoughts. When I still felt psychic pain, I would lash out. The medicine stops that at least. I haven't been angry in a while nor bitter.

Life is what it is.

It's better now that the psychotronic people don't talk about those inner demons. I'm going out on a limb and saying interfering makes it even worse because it isn't me to begin with, and I'm guilty for crimes I fight against. My doctor also refuses to talk about delusions. It's for the best. Mine are like gossiping women--most anyway.

Though I do miss some of them, the ones who were ghosts to talk to.

I'm seeing my old friends shine. They weren't ever my friends, and as we enter adulthood, that word "friend" takes new meaning anyway. I know I'm not a loved creature. I'm always the one they don't talk about, the one in the shadows with all the filth as usual.

It takes one to know one. I guess they've done all they can. I will never rise, never be anything more than some fat woman on charity. I can't escape. It isn't within my ability to, even if I had been alone all those years. People have dreams. I'm not allowed by definition, things they forget.

Don't interfere with other lives, they say after destroying me. That's why I hated being special needs and everything else. I'm not privileged with respect or dignity. They don't understand the words they use.



I am guilty by association. Leave me alone! Live by your own creeds. You probably wouldn't survive.

And, as usual, she's shining bright. There is no God!



No, I am not making fun of the mentally challenged with Borderline Personality Disorder (unlike some people). I'm just saying that if Miss Punk Peace gets to live life, why am I denied? It's always me.