It's been a while since I've really written my thoughts in a daylog. I wrote one of these a few days ago in a depressive episode, went to bed, and deleted it the next morning. Sometimes I write my thoughts when I'm not feeling like my usual self. I feel introspective when I'm angry. I used to keep it to myself, on a little flash drive. I still have that flash drive. Maybe it was better then. Sometimes I can't get the momentum going unless I'm writing to the void, though. Spewing my thoughts into an endless cyber-aether, it helps me process. It's better than nothing.

I will share some backstory so that you may better understand the background before I get into the "vent", so to speak.

I was diagnosed with bipolar disorder, type 1, when I was eighteen years old. I was unstable, illogical, and volatile. At times, I was suicidal. I would go for days without sleeping; and I don't mean "extremely little sleep", I mean no sleep. I think one time I went for six days without getting one minute of shuteye. I felt ill. I needed to sleep. I wanted to sleep. Every neuron was firing at 100%, at all times, without cessation. I was immediately put on medication once I was diagnosed.

Back then, I was so hopeful. All I need is to get on medication and go to therapy, I'll learn to manage it, and it'll be "life as normal". Unfortunately, life is not always so easy; it has been many years, and I've been on and off so many different medications by now that I've lost track. Some of them were mild antidepressants, some of them were powerful antipsychotics.

I am no longer manic. That is a good thing. But, I still suffer from bipolar depression. We haven't found a medication that works against it, we've tried maybe a dozen or two by now. It isn't always awful, but it can get... bad. I've tried to keep it all buttoned-up. I don't think anyone thinks I'm happy, but nobody knows I'm miserable. I'm quiet. Polite. I share when asked, and keep to myself when not. This website is the only place that I've turned to vent at my lowest, really; here and my computer's files. Sometimes I'll tell a friend that I'm feeling a bit down, but never the full truth.

My sleep is still erratic so that I can't hold a job. I am in my twenties and living with my parents while my friends are graduated or in grad school. I am barely passing my university classes. When I was in high school so many years ago, I was very conscientious, but failure did not phase me -- this is because I knew that it was because I did not try my hardest at the time. Right now, I am trying my hardest, which is why this is so frustrating. My hardest simply is not enough even for sufficiency.

I want to be a kind person. I want to be a loving person. I want my friends and my family to feel appreciated, loved, cared about, and I want others to feel fond of me. I want to be happy, I want to be at peace, and I want peace to exude from me. I want to be a comfort to others. I am none of these things; It's very hard for me to express affection, people that know me probably don't consider me kind or unkind, and most people likely don't feel fond or unfond of me either way. I'm a neutral variable. 

People don't get it. It's not that I'm sad all the time. It's just that I'm so god-damn tired. All day, every day. Exhausted, to the bone. I don't feel sad; I feel joyless. Nothing really has... meaning, to it. No real happiness, just a dull ache, perpetual. It wears away at me. So many days, I'm just so weary and bitter from it all that I just get... neurotic, I guess. Angry at everything. I don't know how to cope, I don't want to drive my friends or family away or make them hate me by being completely open, so I just button up and gnaw on my bitterness. 

There's this song I've discovered recently, The Patient by Tool. In the song he compares his anxiety with a vampire. He then says "I'm still right here, giving blood, keeping faith. This tedious path I've chosen here, if there were no rewards to reap, I certainly would have walked away by now." I don't know what the writer's situation was, but God, that song describes a lot of how I feel. It's been years now, just feeling tired and lost, giving blood to the vampire, keeping faith that it will get better. Giving blood, keeping faith. Rinse and repeat.

"I certainly would have walked away by now." I've thought about it. Suicide is a temptation. I'm not convinced it's "morally wrong" in itself, but hurting people is, and I know that ending my suffering would inflict probably much greater suffering on many people close to me. I can't do that to them, I won't. I'll stick it out for their sake.

My parents probably feel pretty disappointed in me. I don't blame them. My brother flunked college, he didn't care. My sister's stumbling through life with a comparable apathy. She never found anything she loved, I don't blame her. My brother had other things going on in his life... I get it. From my parents point of view, decades of their lives had aggregated into an ultimate disappointment. From their point of view, I was their promising child. I had many passions, hobbies. I did well in school. I was motivated, conscientious. I didn't rebel. Now I, too, stagnate into nothing, alongside their hope in having some sense of pride in a child's accomplishments. All the effort, time, money it took to raise a kid, and all he's good for is friendship. Pathetic.

I'm trying to be a kinder person. It's difficult. I don't know if there's hope for me, but I'm trying. I love you, mother, father, brother, sister, my friends. Help me to love you better. Help me to be kind when it's difficult. I don't want to be angry and bitter. I don't want to be tired and weary. It's difficult. I don't know how. Help me.

"I'll do anything."

In my other life I'm running the Illuminati desk on Quora, armed with full knowledge of Operation Mindfuck, the history of Ingolstadt, Bavaria, the Anti-Masonic Movement, the salient literature from the John Birch Society and some vague pieces of pop culture. I've gotten my third message from someone begging for admittance (written in halting English) during the week.

No you won't. I think.

There was this mallrat mystic, I'll call Raven, who was a piece of work. Her avatar was a close-up of a black fruit bat. She was constantly crying to other boards than mine about how she wasn't allowed to cut, when it was the only thing that calmed her, how she wore protection crystals to keep demons away, and how she couldn't eat more than 900 calories a day or else she'd vomit, and would like to quit vaping but she kept forgetting and doing it anyway. Oh, yes, I believe she was also taking enough pills so that if she shook she'd rattle. You know, the kind of dramatist that makes you just want to ignore her, except that she might just do something dumb and really do damage. A real asshat to the core.

Anyway, she wrote to me about how for her birthday she and her friends were going to have a witchy-themed Sleepover, and she wanted to learn how to summon an incubus. It was on her bucket list, she said, and she'd do anything to summon a demon to have sex with her. Even if he ended up not going away. Even if he raped her. Repeatedly. During the day.

I'll tell you, but you won't like it...

"I'll do anything!"


Apparently, a demon boyfriend is one of those "must have" accessories for the up-and-coming young witch these days, along with the latest fashions in robes, appropriate tattoos, and piercings in all known erogenous zones. It goes with the rescue pitbull named Luna or Cerberus (black cats are so last year). Either that, or a "Twin Flame", which amounts to a Mr. Perfect, delivered by that cosmic concierge "The Secret". But, in any case, you just aren't a Real Witch unless you've got a man who's completely yours, and not all there.

In real lore, an incubus is, as you might suspect, something else. It's the equivalent of a male wet dream, classically encountered by nuns, virgins, and pious widows, and consists of a very brief, very sexual dream, with a tom-wallager of a climax, accompanied by a full-on flushing of all the various pent-up glands and muscles and nerves that are usually given a good regular exercise under more favorable conditions. The Adored One tends to be embarrassing: it's usually someone you'd not want to have known you had that kind of crush on -- nuns tend to see angels or even Jesus. It was apparently a huge problem for priests, who'd hear about this kind of thing at Confession on a regular basis, back in the day.

It's for that reason why most evangelicals like to stress that the demon is devastatingly ugly, and only comes to "bad" girls. Like Raven.


I tried to answer her questions as best as I could. No,he wouldn't just show up in a puff of smoke. Yes, he would be good-looking, at least.

"Can I specify how he looks? I want him to be perfect."

You're guaranteed to like him, no matter how he looks.

"But I want to have him the way I want!"

Don't worry, he'll be perfect for you. Trust me.
Somehow, I managed to come up with a kind of ritual betrothal, that would last for a year, in which he'd most certainly show up. They'd all wear white, consecrate rings around a single candle, and swear fidelity. During which time, they'd have to remain "pure". I'm warning you, it will be agony... No masturbation, no pr0n, no spicy romances, keep your nose clean...

"Yes, yes!"

"And --" I figured that I might as well get some better behavior out of her. "You'll have to start eating right."

"But, I'll make myself sick!"

You'll get over it. After awhile you can eat as much as 1200 calories a day! You'll need to get into tip-top condition to make him happy. I warned you, he's going to be handful...

"What if I -- make him angry?" I could see the fantasy -- poltergeists, wincing in the daytime to unseen blows..."Will it be...bad?" Somehow it seemed like she was looking forward to that.

"It's bad. He goes away. Poof. Never comes back." She seemed to wilt a bit at that.

"What if a guy has me by force, and so he's having his way with me? Does this count?"

Yup, I said. I got the mental picture: she'd flirt enough to send mixed signals. Then if he pounces, she'll tee-hee that she had nothing to do with it. At all.

"..and what if I screw up and vape... just a little?"

It sounded like she did this kind of bargaining every time she made a promise. No vaping. As a matter of fact, you're better off not cutting, either.

"No...cutting?"

Take it or leave it. He doesn't like it.

Long pause.

"Oh, ok, I already have a spell for that. Forget I asked. As a matter of fact..." and went into some more nonsense about how she was doing some kind of heavy witchery she'd read of on the Internet that was really, truly going to get them all possessed and this was just going to be a little side fun...


The candidate is into the begging stage, where you hear about how s/he's poor and will gladly be a hitman/prostitute themselves (after all, a trip to/from Africa is so easy, these days)/sell their souls to the Devil.

"Just read Illuminatus!. And Prometheus Rising, by Robert Anton Wilson. Research Operation Mindfuck. Don't listen to Dan Brown. Fox and A&E are lying to you. Want to be an elite? At least learn and use proper English!"

But I know they'll never do that.

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