rants

the insane ramblings of a malfunctioning computer guy

dates are in dd/mm/yy
here i have all of my "creative writing", "poetry" o whatever it is that i write when i feel bad. most of these may contain some mature contents, i will state them in the titles

• guilt, religion and the blood [4/9/24] (descriptions of gore)

  i'm actually thankful for growing up in a non religious house, this guilt thing and the obsession with worthiness and value would have fucked me up even more. for being agnostic i do feel a lot of guilt for stuff i don't even understand, like if in a past life i had done something so bad that this life is my way of paying for it, like a divine punishment, like if god hated me.

  sometimes i feel like i have to prove that the air and space that i occupy are not a waste. my mere existance feels like a sin, one that i have to pay for, one that i have to ask forgiveness for.

  i know this isn't true and that every person deserves to have a nice life but, once in a while the guilt catches me off guard and attacks me like a rabid dog, i don't always find the will to defend myself, i let it rip me apart and eat my organs. i stare at it despite the digusting-ness of it, it doesn't even hurt anymore, not after all this time. once the dog is done with his feast,he leaves me alone to try to reconstruct myself.

  why do i have this obsession with the macabre, the brutal and the bloody? it would seem as if i had no other words to express myself that weren't tales of violence, blood, intestines and those types of stuff thst horrify people. am i the horrifying part? is my brain rotten? if someone could read my mind, what would they feel? fear? disgust? would they get nauseous? would they be afraid of me? would they think this images and thoughts are by my own choice? i can't answer any of those questions and i don't think i'll ever be able to. the only thing i have left to do, is keep living, constantly running away from that feral dog that follows me everywhere (it's useless to run, he is faster than me) (i still try)

• disease, doctor and everything in between [7/3/25] (descriptions of surgery and the like)

  she's my disease but also my cure, my vaccine and my nurse. she's the tumor in my brain that keeps growing back after she, also being my surgeon, removes it by cutting my head open and sewing it back shut over and over again. she makes me stop eating but is also the one that saves me from panick attacks caused by nauseas caused by anxiety most likely caused by her. she's the sweetest and the meanest. she's my savior and the one sent by the devil to torture me. but it's never actually about me.

• peaches [29/1/26]

  what do you do when you have something inside of you and no way of getting it out ? i can draw, i can write, i can think my brain to goo, but the feeling won't leave and neither will my irrational belief that my soul is rotting inside of me. i am like a peach born with worms in my core, they are eating me while i still look perfect on the outside, perfect to eat, perfect to be consumed. i feel disgusted and i feel nothing. i'm getting bored of this game of trying to guess which of my feelings is actually mine. i want to crush my metaphorical peach into goop, no one wants to eat crushed peaches, maybe then they will leave me alone.

• conspiracy theories and being hated by god 12/2/26

  i really don't want to do this but there is really no way of escaping that sense of need, that urge, that feeling of something bad about to happen. it won't go away unless i do this, but that's a lie. it actually goes away when i do it enough times, but that is also a lie. it really goes away when i do it just in the right way, but that also not true. it only shuts up for about five minutes before returning maybe with even more urgency, it's never enough. unescapable, unnerving, all consuming alarmist conspiracy theory that connects this action to things so vague, so world ending, and so catastrophic that they are beyond anyones understanding and therefore beyond any logic. and i'm supposed to just sit with it. it's hard not to think that god hates me. i've been convinced of it since i was a child, crying, drowning in my own guilt over something that was probably not a big deal.

  today my mom once again pointed out how i very obviously don't need therapy becuase i am happy these days. this must be some sort of test made by this sadistic god that hates me, it would be comical if it weren't so harmful to me how obvious it seems. it's like she wants proof of how miserable i can get, my brain appears to take this as a challenge. yet, some part of me, the part that has "being an annoyance to others" as its worst fear, keeps everything neat and hidden away. it doesn't even let me rub it in her face that i am mentally fucked up, i can't even think of telling my therapist (whose job is to listen to my bullshit) without feeling like throwing up.