u/RobertReallyMike

The bartender asks me what bourbon I want, but I don’t care; I instruct her to just pick one at random. I don’t really have preferences on anything. I am profoundly anhedonic. How am I ever gonna get a degree in anything, when all I care about is nothing? I might be returning to university, where I will write crappy half-assed essays on Kant. Am I secretly blessed? I am free from desire — the root to all suffering.

But I do desire; I desire desire itself.

Right now, I am grateful I’m not one of the other patrons. Their conversations are probably boring. Talking is boring, socializing is boring; it is, unfortunately, a Necessity. We have to engage in tedious conversations, lest we go mad. I can’t do team sports — I am poorly coordinated, always have been — so I am doomed to occasionally commit social interaction with my peers, sitting at dingy bars drinking overpriced beers.​​​​​​​​​​​​​​​​ my chest hurts, am I finally gonna die?

I have been in decay for such a long time, now is as good a time as any, just let me finish my drink first it was expensive. Students are looking at their computers, they are sociologists and anthropologists,they don't got a lot of fight in them, neither have I, I am exempt from fighting because I wear glasses. I would get the living shit kicked out of me if I tried fighting some crazed tweeker, my eyes would be filled with glass and I would go blind, and I would not be able to write. My chest pain is getting worse but I can't stop writing. My hands are feminine and I am hyper-sensitive to sensory input, a punch to the face would disrupt me at my very core, good thing I am surrounded by academics with soft sensibilities. I avoid the men who behave aggressively if you make eye contact with them, one time I stared a mandrill deep in to its tense wild eyes, we locked eyes for what felt like minutes but was probably only seconds.

Luckily the mandrill was in an enclosure. I would never mess with anything with eyes like that. A real man dies by setting himself on fire in the toilet of his favorite bar, I felt a profound emotional connection with that mandrill, we really had a moment.

The bartender asks me what bourbon I want, but I don’t care; I instruct her to just pick one at random. I don’t really have preferences on anything. I am profoundly anhedonic. How am I ever gonna get a degree in anything, when all I care about is nothing? I might be returning to university, where I will write crappy half-assed essays on Kant. Am I secretly blessed? I am free from desire — the root to all suffering.

But I do desire; I desire desire itself.

Right now, I am grateful I’m not one of the other patrons. Their conversations are probably boring. Talking is boring, socializing is boring; it is, unfortunately, a Necessity. We have to engage in tedious conversations, lest we go mad. I can’t do team sports — I am poorly coordinated, always have been — so I am doomed to occasionally commit social interaction with my peers, sitting at dingy bars drinking overpriced beers.​​​​​​​​​​​​​​​​ my chest hurts, am I finally gonna die?

I have been in decay for such a long time, now is as good a time as any, just let me finish my drink first it was expensive. Students are looking at their computers, they are sociologists and anthropologists,they don't got a lot of fight in them, neither have I, I am exempt from fighting because I wear glasses. I would get the living shit kicked out of me if I tried fighting some crazed tweeker, my eyes would be filled with glass and I would go blind, and I would not be able to write. My chest pain is getting worse but I can't stop writing. My hands are feminine and I am hyper-sensitive to sensory input, a punch to the face would disrupt me at my very core, good thing I am surrounded by academics with soft sensibilities. I avoid the men who behave aggressively if you make eye contact with them, one time I stared a mandrill deep in to its tense wild eyes, we locked eyes for what felt like minutes but was probably only seconds.

Luckily the mandrill was in an enclosure. I would never mess with anything with eyes like that. A real man dies by setting himself on fire in the toilet of his favorite bar, I felt a profound emotional connection with that mandrill, we really had a moment.

Schizophrenics live less long than the general population. I am not here for a long time, but I will be here for a good time.

I am madly in love with life, in spite of its relentless brutality.

Today I am 32 years old. I estimate I will be around for another 18 years before my organs give out.

I read that schizophrenia shortens a life with 25 years; the shortening is caused by shitty living: too many pizzas, beers, and cigarettes.

Those three things happen to be among my favorites. Perhaps it is a self-fulfilling prophecy, but I don’t think I can take this living very long.

Time is tearing me a new one. Life is extremely intense; even at cozy Italian restaurants I can feel my unruly nerves.

I love well-cooked food. I was put on this planet to indulge on various delicacies. I am simply here to appreciate fine cooking. I love hanging out at restaurants.

I have been blessed with the ability to appreciate, to indulge. I take visiting restaurants seriously.

I never go to the fancy places — my economy does not allow it. I target mid-tier Italian, Spanish, Chinese, and Japanese joints. I usually order beer and coffee with my succulent meal. On my deathbed I will know I experienced good cooking, that I occasionally managed to get my unruly nerves under control, and got peace from my mental anguish.

Schizophrenics live less long than the general population. I am not here for a long time, but I will be here for a good time.

I am madly in love with life, in spite of its relentless brutality.

Today I am 32 years old. I estimate I will be around for another 18 years before my organs give out.

I read that schizophrenia shortens a life with 25 years; the shortening is caused by shitty living: too many pizzas, beers, and cigarettes.

Those three things happen to be among my favorites. Perhaps it is a self-fulfilling prophecy, but I don’t think I can take this living very long.

Time is tearing me a new one. Life is extremely intense; even at cozy Italian restaurants I can feel my unruly nerves.

I love well-cooked food. I was put on this planet to indulge on various delicacies. I am simply here to appreciate fine cooking. I love hanging out at restaurants.

I have been blessed with the ability to appreciate, to indulge. I take visiting restaurants seriously.

I never go to the fancy places — my economy does not allow it. I target mid-tier Italian, Spanish, Chinese, and Japanese joints. I usually order beer and coffee with my succulent meal. On my deathbed I will know I experienced good cooking, that I occasionally managed to get my unruly nerves under control, and got peace from my mental anguish.

The geese are angry

I met a sociable cat

It allowed me to pet it

Its fur was soft and orange

I'm sitting in the rain

Watching the raindrops as they land on the screen of my phone where they look like tiny rainbows

I am afraid the water will ruin my phone

The water makes writing bothersome

I'm profoundly anxious, nothing new there

My thoughts are very loud, they bounce off the walls

When I'm alone in my apartment the silence is maddening

Writing is a difficult process

But it helps me stay somewhat sane

The thoughts are loud and paranoid

I cringe at things I never did in the past

I fear I am not in control

I am tied to a horrific rollercoaster that loops endlessly

I feel the vertigo

My hands shake and my head spins

My butt is wet

My coat is heavy from the water

Will my phone survive?

I cannot afford a new one

The stakes are very high, as you can probably tell

The children are out for a walk

They are being yelled at by pedagogues

They seem indifferent, the children

They are living inside their vivid imaginations

Everything is in perfect order

Except my nerves, they constantly vibrate at an unpleasant frequency

I wish I could feel the peace

The universe is quietly humming

As I move through time and space anxiously

I never went to war

I have never broken a bone

I have never been beaten

I feel like I'm exhausting my surroundings

They are profoundly beautiful, my surroundings

I think there is endless compassion

That is an absurd idea, but it feels true

I have not been lobotomized

That would be the simple solution

I'm getting visions of despair

But they have no relation to my peaceful surroundings

I am stuck inside my head

I am tied to an evil rollercoaster

But I still manage to catch a glimpse of the beauty that my surroundings contain

A frisky goose hisses at my presence

I am indifferent to its hostility and wrath

Its long neck makes it snakelike

The closest thing to a reptile I have seen in the wild

The geese are angry

I met a sociable cat

It allowed me to pet it

Its fur was soft and orange

I'm sitting in the rain

Watching the raindrops as they land on the screen of my phone where they look like tiny rainbows

I am afraid the water will ruin my phone

The water makes writing bothersome

I'm profoundly anxious, nothing new there

My thoughts are very loud, they bounce off the walls

When I'm alone in my apartment the silence is maddening

The thoughts are loud and paranoid

I cringe at things I never did in the past

I fear I am not in control

I am tied to a horrific rollercoaster that loops endlessly

I feel the vertigo

My hands shake and my head spins

My butt is wet

My coat is heavy from the water

Will my phone survive?

I cannot afford a new one

The stakes are very high, as you can probably tell

The children are out for a walk

They are being yelled at by pedagogues

They seem indifferent, the children

They are living inside their vivid imaginations

Everything is in perfect order

Except my nerves, they constantly vibrate at an unpleasant frequency

I wish I could feel the peace

The universe is quietly humming

As I move through time and space anxiously

I never went to war

I have never broken a bone

I have never been beaten

I feel like I'm exhausting my surroundings

They are profoundly beautiful, my surroundings

I think there is endless compassion

That is an absurd idea, but it feels true

I have not been lobotomized

That would be the simple solution

I'm getting visions of despair

But they have no relation to my peaceful surroundings

I am stuck inside my head

I am tied to an evil rollercoaster

But I still manage to catch a glimpse of the beauty that my surroundings contain

A frisky goose hisses at my presence

I am indifferent to its hostility and wrath

Its long neck makes it snakelike

The closest thing to a reptile I have seen in the wild

My nerves are on fire. All that can calm me is gin. I love alcohol — was I not placed on this planet to indulge in beautiful alcohol? As long as my body is influenced by fire water, I feel great.

Will I drink myself to death? I got a liver for a reason. I ruined my brain with drugs; what will I ruin next? Maybe that painting of Ivan the Terrible.

I am a bohemian layabout, and I have also been a demolitionist. Puberty turned me into a madman.

Be gone, mental anguish! Gin, come take me away. My nerves are dancing out of rhythm, and so is the rest of my body. I’m not gonna lie — I’m hurtin’. I would have invented alcohol were it not already here. If I get old, it will be in spite of my lifestyle. But I won’t, because my brain is on fire, and nothing burns forever.

I consume what is ultra-processed. I see nothing as I look to the sky; the lights are causing me to go blind. I can’t process reality well, I’m half blind. I’m only intimate with insanity — my cellmate insanity, keeping me company. My body is hostile territory, an instrument made for my torment. I fuck my own shit up, I never stood a chance. My liver is doing the rounds, I will probably lose it one day, and I will decline if they offer a replacement, I will face death at middle age after years of agony, I'm ready to face death, to face eternal slumber. I will die from alcoholism, I will be anxious and I will be mad all the way to the end. I ain't worth shit, I was born this way, I'm on the wrong track and the chauffeur is dead, I am tied to the seat forced to watch the show unfold. Love is a tired old w****, and I'm less than that, I can feel my organs being destroyed via my poor life choices. I call out to the abyss, I stare into it, facing profound indifference, I came out landing on a bed of feces and I shall die under similar circumstances.

My nerves are on fire. All that can calm me is gin. I love alcohol — was I not placed on this planet to indulge in beautiful alcohol? As long as my body is influenced by fire water, I feel great.

Will I drink myself to death? I got a liver for a reason. I ruined my brain with drugs; what will I ruin next? Maybe that painting of Ivan the Terrible.

I am a bohemian layabout, and I have also been a demolitionist. Puberty turned me into a madman.

Be gone, mental anguish! Gin, come take me away. My nerves are dancing out of rhythm, and so is the rest of my body. I’m not gonna lie — I’m hurtin’. I would have invented alcohol were it not already here. If I get old, it will be in spite of my lifestyle. But I won’t, because my brain is on fire, and nothing burns forever.

I consume what is ultra-processed. I see nothing as I look to the sky; the lights are causing me to go blind. I can’t process reality well, I’m half blind. I’m only intimate with insanity — my cellmate insanity, keeping me company. My body is hostile territory, an instrument made for my torment. I fuck my own shit up, I never stood a chance. My liver is doing the rounds, I will probably lose it one day, and I will decline if they offer a replacement, I will face death at middle age after years of agony, I'm ready to face death, to face eternal slumber. I will die from alcoholism, I will be anxious and I will be mad all the way to the end. I ain't worth shit, I was born this way, I'm on the wrong track and the chauffeur is dead, I am tied to the seat forced to watch the show unfold. Love is a tired old whore, and I'm less than that, I can feel my organs being destroyed via my poor life choices. I call out to the abyss, I stare into it, facing profound indifference, I came out landing on a bed of feces and I shall die under similar circumstances.