Day 19 (fearst hours)

Yes fearst, not first. Then fear is within them.
I hate normal solutions to unnormal problems.

We can’t explain it, but we will treat it they way we think it should be.
He is sick, I am sick, you are all sick and then you are just normal.
When people get killed in masses and everyone does it, it is normal, so you aren’t crazy, no you are just normal. And when it is over, well you know it wasn’t right, but no you weren’t involved, of course not. But maybe it wasn’t wrong, maybe the others just didn’t let them finish (Nazi Germany after WWII).

This said, I hate the whole idea of nationalism, racism, some kind of super human and so on. Simply, I hate nazis, but back then it was normal to be a part of it, wasn’t it? Otherwise people would have stopped it, right?
Either way, we always live in a society in which everything is better than before, of course it is better. And it always is normal this way, we don’t want to get radical around here, right? Until we get radical, either in one way or another. Radically normal or radical against it, while we actually just had to accept and support some things which were already there.

I had another word fight with my mother and each time I just think, yeah she must be right. And I think I might be just sick or something. But as soon as I start to think about it, I lose hope completely, all the positive things. I just want to die again. I am always wrong, right?

Of course I will probably find someone who could think some of what I say or write is interesting or maybe even right from their perspective. But I don’t think there is someone who can really agree with all of it the way I would. And then there is, at least I think or thought. I am not sure.

In this broken world I just want to leave, while I know it would be the wrong thing. Not for me, but for all those who I could help, for the change I could do. If I would be a doctor, a psychotherapist, the way I see the average therapist, I would either give me pills, probably tell me some diagnoses and keep me talking whatever I talk, while not actually listening. Then I might say some nice things and go to the next one in the list. I wouldn’t pay attention to me and would just think that I am crazy, that my head is not right and that I am definitely not normal. So, I already know all this, why should I need people to tell me what I know? I want to see something I didn’t think is possible, in a good way. I want to hear what I didn’t hear before, maybe didn’t even know. But all I get, are the old phrases.

My mother is broken, I am broken and I love her, but I am a monster and I can’t really love her anymore because of selfish things, I guess.
And still I want her to be happy, to feel good, but each time I am talking about some of my ideas she has something against it because she has her own view of the world and this is okay, I just can’t stop to talk, that is all.
Because if I don’t talk, she tries to start a conversation, then it often ends in a negative way and so on. I sometimes start a conversation. But I don’t really want to talk to her about my thoughts, partially because some of them are the same over and over again and others are just to strange for her. I should stop talking, but I would probably have to cut out my tongue first and trust, I would never do that, why should I?

All I can do is to go in my room and close the door, but I just can’t be alone.
It is strange, it is hard, but I have to be alone. And so it gives these conflicts and I am not fair, I am not really helping in the house, I do nothing most of the time. Now I don’t even have a work anymore because I quit, I had to, it killed me from inside and almost killed myself for real. But because what I am trying now is not working yet, it takes time, I feel guilty and I am guilty.

So I am a monster, I should just leave this world. I really want to, trust me.

I am writing this, so no one thinks I am just a nice guy, who does all the good things. I don’t want others to judge about, what I judge myself about already. And if someone who is like this, is not allowed to talk about the things I wrote about, then please just erase it, spit on it and burn it down.

I would do it, if I could, I did at some point in the past. I hated myself and it seems I still do, I didn’t make any progress it seems, but alone that I started to write again was a big deal, that I wrote about my thoughts and secrets to someone and now some of it to the public, it is a lot of progress. And yet, it might all be another lie I created myself, for myself so that I can see how strange I am. To sabotage myself into finally leaving this planet, the universe, whatever. Sometimes I am not sure, right now I don’t know.
But then maybe in an hour I know it is good in some way. Maybe not all, not how everything is, but that I did something and also do what I love – music, writing and listening to new ideas and all of it.

I shouldn’t write, shouldn’t talk. It would be easier, if I would have been quiet. I am not who I think I am, I am not what you think, I am not even a part of my own life sometimes. If you think I am selfish, a monster and that I am just sick or whatever, crazy. Trust me, I know, I think it way too often.

“You become what you believe.” – Oprah

But then I would be dead, while I am still alive somehow.
So I must be a monster because I am still here, while I said I wanted to be dead. I am not fair to my mother, not helping her, while I am writing about a better future, I am a joke at best and a fucking lunatic at worst.

I know from an outer perspective I should get help, but help from what? From being different and wanting to be normal? From being broken of the world and my own manipulation? Only I can help myself with that and a good or “real” / honest therapist, knows that.

No one needs another one, talking about their own problems.
No one needs all of this, right? And I don’t want to manipulate anyone.
But I do it almost every day. Just know, that when I say something nice, I mean it. Only when I say something nice about myself, I am not sure, it depends on the situation.

If I can’t love myself, I can love others they say, but then I can love so many people, but not myself. Not because I can’t love my positive soul, I really like it, but it is sadly too weak, I help to break it, so I am guilty of my own destruction.

Where is the one who gives me the oil? Where is the one who gives me the knife, the gun, the acid, the pills, the rope, the bridge?

If I would know that there is someone walking down towards a bridge because they want to jump, I would do what ever I could to stop them.
But not just because it should be stopped, no because I would see potential in this person, love and pain. I would want to save them and build them up, support them for good things. But then, how should I know, when all I do is sitting in my room now? Before I at least walked to work and where in the trains and busses. I am a horrible motivator. All I can, is convince people of things and then leave them alone with it. All I can is making things worse than they already are. In the trial to make them even better, but I think it is impossible. I should just obey and forget everything I ever said.

And there it is, my self manipulation at its best.
The monster I created. Thanks for doing so… piece of shit you are.
(Talking to myself)

If you just assume I am like you think people like me are, you are not better like the rest, I am not better and I am not. So we are just normal.
If you think the music, the people and other influences made me think the way I think, write or whatever, then just believe it, believe that I am just a stupid being which can’t exist, be sure I know.

If you think I hate God because I hear music, which is against him.
You don’t know a thing. If you think I believe in God, like other people, you don’t know a thing. I don’t believe in this figure, maybe not even a being, but I believe in something which is more important and better. And that we all could be a part of it, that we all something good within us. But if the one who writes about it, is not able to be normal, it must be wrong, right?

I shouldn’t have started to write, I always should have just followed my main goal, since I was a child, to die as soon as possible.
It is the only way for me, not for you because you do things, you might help your mother, father a friend or a stranger. I will just push them down in the end. Please don’t follow me, I know you want to help me, but as I wrote or at least wrote at some point, no one can help me, but I myself. And if I don’t want to, no one can do a thing.

I should stop writing now. I went too far. I did everything one would do, I fullfilled my own thoughts. I made exactly what was expected, I am just so stupid, to think I am not. I am doing what one does, when they are down because I am, I know better, but I do it because I want it to end, while I know there is a better way. I am just not meant to do it, not anymore.

I am meant to destroy things after I built up hope, trust and good intentions.
“I’ve become a destroyer of worlds.”

Maybe I will write again, maybe not. 19 days of me writing, posting videos… probably nothing to be proud of, nothing of interest. I will only die and people will cry, will ask why, but they don’t really want to know because they couldn’t understand it anyways. I know they can’t. Some can, but most of them don’t. And it was better when I just had my negative thoughts in my head, so no one could get a bad image about them. Why did I think it would help anyone.

I am just like you think, I am acting this way, but then I am so much more, but I don’t believe it for most of the time. Fuck this shit.

My save space is when I am alone, when I am listening to music, when I am dreaming, but then when is it the case? More than ever in the last months.

I had so much positive energy and now I am destroying it. I shouldn’t write what they expect me to write. I love you all. I love myself (but it might be a lie), I want to be gone, so the pain is not increasing, just once and for all.

If you know why someone wants to kill them and you can’t help them, then it makes it only worse. So hello, I made it only worse for you.

(Imagines pulling the trigger of an imaginary gun)

Cool that you all thought I would be different, cool that you thought I was a weirdo, cool that I made myself, what was expected and thought of me. Cool, I am just like everyone else, only visibly broken and I care more than them. But then if I would care so much, I shouldn’t write, shouldn’t talk about it because this way I make it only worse, right?

The paper is still there, where I left it last time, next to my bed under a folder. Why couldn’t I do what I wanted to, why didn’t I just do something.
I am nothing, nothing better only worse because I knew better, but didn’t do much about it. Even wanted to be worse and here I am. The problem of the family. Thank you for your time, I would wish I could refund your or give you money in return, but I have not much.

If my love is important for you, just know I really want the best for you, whatever this might be for you. Don’t cry about me, I am lost, just don’t follow me.

J.SYS over and out.

No, I just can’t get my things together, sometimes I can, sometimes I just have it. But today I really want to lose it. I want to go, just leave this earth.
I won’t be the hero, the world needs. I will just be another burden of an old woman, of the system, a family. Just another one who went missing, who walked the cliff, who couldn’t take it anymore or just lived in a dead like state. I am dead and I know I can live, I know I am able to, I had it. But I prefer to die, but really die, not just wanting to.

Still here, but I am very down. Maybe I don’t make another week.
We will see, maybe this evening it is different, but I doubt it.
I built a perfect destruction, I just need to ride it, into a new life or into my final ening. It depends on the direction it is going, at the moment it goes in both direction, as paradox as it may sound.

If you don’t at least see some new lines, a new post each day, you know something isn’t right. I am either dead, in hospital or really down. But so far I managed to write at least something each day. So far it helped.
We will see. Have a good night, good day. Best wishes! Your broken dreamer, with a strange mindset.

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