depression

This is a work fiction. All resemblance with the reality is on purpose. Explicit content.

It is obvious that my loneliness is the main cause of all these fuss, unfaithfulness, the distorted feeling of entitlement. It is my most deceptive defensive mechanism–that the truth, in itself, is self destructing. I am alienating people in order to alienate myself from the hell that they construct.

Creating my own hell, is better than living somebody else’s heaven.

Thus, I hurt myself again, just to find a way to make me forget that I am lonely. I hurt myself with bulimia, with days of sleep, with obsessive scratching, cutting, and obsessive exercise when the manic came, sleepless nights, and after that I still want to punch any guy, or fuck any girl that I think deserve my fist or my dick. I am all open to fight or fuck because I’m sick of flight.

And I’d desperately love anybody who wants to love me. And I’d burn myself, sacrifice myself, ready to be crucify like Jesus H. Christ, and I’d beg people not to leave me until they’d got annoyed and see me as a freak and they need to leave me to stay sane because I’d drive them crazy, so I’d drive my car. I’d drive and drink myself hope to die on the road, hopefully with other assholes that swarming the highways of this city.

And all of it would be my fault. Nobody can blame or even care about my disorder, my upbringing, the system that I am in. I and only I, will be held responsible for all this mess that’s happening with my life and other people that I dragged.

The fucking shrink might say that this thought is cognitive distortion, self entitlement, but fuck you, the court, the people’s court cannot hold my disorder, my upbringing responsible for my actions. They cannot put those abstract nouns in jail, they could not rehabilitate my illness. It is I and only I, will be held responsible for my actions.

And what else should I do but to embrace what the universe has given me? I have eliminate the choice to take my own life because of the meds or because I’m a fucking coward. Anyway, I have no choice but struggle against a sea of trouble and by opposing hope to end them. Even though I know, that I will lose and drown and will face inevitable slow death. But at least I did fight back and refuse to flight.

At least I did good, at being brave. To open my eyes every day, and trying hard to get out of bed and go out to the world. To fight or to fuck. And if I have to lose love again, I think it’s just because I don’t deserve love. I am condemn to beg. For mercy, for love, for attention, only to toss it all out, when I feel lonely.

Because of this distorted feelings and thought, that I’d rather be alone, than be lonely. And the only way to be out of the misery of loneliness, is to break all ties and be perfectly alone to face the misery of the ubermench, the homo deus. Until there is no happines or misery any more, until there is no value in the narrative of my life.

It is when I became forgetful, mad, or die.

Sickness unto death.

This site is run by donation. If you like what you read, please be a patron at by clicking this link.

y’ know how to detect sad people from the social media? If some people are expressing their sadness, like losing a loved one, or getting suicidal, or saying a prayer to God to give them strength in facing problems, they are not sad enough. The saddest and most melancholic people are those who throw off motivational quotes to be happy and good and jolly, that encourage positive thinking in every situations. Those who tells you to take positive attitude toward bad things and double positive towards good things. Why? Because they’re in a fucking denial. Everybody knows things are bad, and that good things wont last. Bad things last longer that’s why there are some good things. And the more you feel good about something, the worst you feel when it fucking ends. Some good things and happy moments do exist, but those are just a glimpse in life, like your mother’s orgasm to your dad.

So those encouraging stuff that they posted, are like fucking fake orgasm. You don’t get to be happy, but you go on. That’s life. Like Rocky Balboa said, its not a matter of winning or losing, its a matter of how many hits you can take. Faking it wont make it less hurtful.

People might say I’m bitter. But who is more bitter: people who says the storm will pass and the sun will shine again, only to find a drought after the flood; or people like me who cries and scream to the rain, and cursing the corporations in creating global fucking warming when the sun comes out not in time?

So next time you see people posting motivational quotes, tell ’em to wake the fuck up. Tell ’em there’s a big difference between optimism and fake orgasm. They won’t please themselves by thinking happy thoughts when things are bad. Tell ’em to be genuine, smoke some pot for God sake! Jerk off! Anything to make you accept the pain and fucking fight it off. You ain’t gonna be happy for long if you overcome that problem with positivity. Overcome it like cum: lubricate yourself with blood and tears, and give a fuck to things that matters and don’t give a fuck to things that doesn’t.

Esei Nosa

Spectacula Spectaculi

Dysphoria #1: Self-made Hell