looking straight into the eyes of terror, it's easy to tell what's evil and what's not.
i got messed up in some pretty deep shit these past three months. i've gone to hell and back. my own imagination swallowed me. think paranoia agent. my worst nightmares, my worst fears, they were all on the brink of reality and unreality, like some dream you know you're dreaming but also that you're not, you hear your alarm but sealed up in your lucid little world it's i don't know a space ship taking you to distant galaxies or robots rebelling against the human race. and even though it's terrifying, you feel your guts drop as these terrible things go down, it's better than reality, anything is better than here, because here? there are no heroes, there is no beauty.
i went halfway to hell and back to find that none of this is real. there is no hell. there are no demons who crave your soul. there are no ghosts. the stories you make up and you tell around the campfire and read in books and on the internet, they terrify you. they give you a reason to act like your existence is justified. but in reality it's not. you're just another jackass fumbling around and beating around the bush hoping that you can fill your life with enough static that thrills you so that you can die happy.
not anymore. i looked terror in the eyes.
evil? it's not imaginary.
evil is - people.
i'm taking adele somewhere safe. i don't know who to trust anymore. david and evelyn aren't writing anymore. they should have been back for christmas, but they sent a postcard instead. they obviously couldn't give two shits about their own child anymore.
but that's not what this is about. this isn't about adele's terrible parents or my awful brother. it's about sorting out priorities now.
the only thing we have to fear is what actually exists.
those black eyes.
never before have i wanted to kill a man.
if this blog was a story, this is the climax. i'm leaving now. hence the lack of capitalization. i hate it when people don't capitalize their sentences. but i guess it makes me look more pissed than ordinary. but i could never show in words how angry i truly am. fire, red-hot, engulfs my veins. i'm not being driven crazy. shun all those thoughts immediately. the thing is, this is the internet, and anything goes. this comes off as histrionic and stupid. it probably seems like some fictional effort to make my life interesting. maybe i am a fictional character to whoever is reading this.
i just needed somewhere to vent, but i can't give away too much here. i don't think i'll be blogging anymore. not here, at least. maybe somewhere else. most likely not. if you find a journal just sitting around on a cta bus and the writing is purple and scrawled and enraged and filled with half-assed drawings of possessed videogames and slendermen like some otherworldly commonplace book, you know who left it sitting there.
i bid you all adieu.