u/anhedonicghost

I assume not very. I may be a darker person than many of you, yet I've never been one to fight or hurt anyone. Still, I have thoughts. Quite intense, sometimes. Compels me to ask you. It's too much trouble, isn't it? Why bother? Why cause problems for yourself. And anyway, I don't care. They can't hurt me. I don't have those hang-ups that they assume I do. They really dont have to walk on those eggshells around me, like they're used to doing- I know how "normal" people are. But I do think of... well, you know. Sometimes I wonder if I have a limit. Try to find it. Not there. Only darkness. Still scares me. More familiar now, and that's not good of course.

I wonder what my prognosis is. Do I heal? Is this healing? I've changed, in the past few years. Darker. More confident. More aware of my own nature. More numb. I am a covert schizoid. I wonder if the faculty responsible for masking has other effects, or side effects. Byproducts. Interesting. Good that it is interesting. I often tire of thought, of solving puzzles, especially my own.

Well, how violent are you, my comrades? Careful what you say, of course. The walls have ears.

Thoughts?

I am addicted to it. Could write walls of text, and I may. I'm sure you get it.

One observation that just occurred with utter clarity: it treats my anhedonia (somewhat, better than anything else ever has) yet it does not improve my avolition and may actually worsen it, I suspect. Shall I change my name to avolitionistghost? Has a better ring to it, mm.

I've done it all. Currently relapsed on liquor while I await my drug of choice, ketamine. I am my own limit. Always "self-medicating." Whole system I got worked out, it's great. Would prefer sobriety, of course. Always something. THC the background drumbeat of my existence, quite against my will. Hate what it does to me. What it says of me. Thinking of getting some lucy. Haven't felt like psychedelic tryptamines in a while. I like opioids but I never got as addicted to them as I did alcohol. And stimulants are fun but I like sleeping too much.

That's all I got. I've read this disorder can be caused by cold parents. I think mom was good. Great even. I like my dad. I like my coworkers. I'm suddenly, drunkenly, struck by how much they remind me of each other. It hurts. Why does it hurt? I never understand why these soft feelings hurt so much, why I push it away.

I had an experience on ketamine where I had that sentimental feeling rear its head, and holy shit as I'm writing this I can suddenly listen to music. Any music. I've been listening to podcasts all day at work, even after work. It must be related. The drunkenness and the recollection for you all. Anyway. Sorry. The experience was this: I was going to sleep. I had a sentimental feeling appear. I was annoyed. Such incredible irritation. So deep. I lashed out, internally. I felt, saw, a little boy, me, sadly retreating into his room and closing the door. I've tried to apologize to him. To tell him I love him. I never meant to hurt him. I didn't mean it. It's not enough. I'm just like my father. I still love him. Even though I think he made me like this.

I don't entirely recommend ketamine. Shit, I don't know what to tell you really. I just find it so addictive. It's so acutely toxic. I'm not even sure that it's not making me worse in the long run, though I've followed a regimen of sorts. If any of this intrigues you, I implore you to take the high road. Go the medical route. But, I emphasize, that is what got me started on it. I'm drunk now, I think, because I currently live in the shadow of it. The regimen of sorts, it only exists because of my financial limits.

My coworkers are actively concerned for me. They're so cute. I love them. I love my dad. They're all the same. They'll never understand me. Or what's wrong with me. I fantasize about telling them. I can't. I won't. Never. Can't trust anyone. Makes me angry to consider it. Annoyed they noticed I'm struggling. How dare you? Yet it affects them. Fire me, idiots. Youre all so stupid. So is my dad. So is everyone. So am I. Drink more. I still love you, /u/anhedonicghost. I'm Narcissus. I'm Oedipus. I have voluntary overtime tomorrow. I hate my job. I can't say my next thoughts. Too paranoid. I think I may be a case of schizoid becoming schizophrenia.

I push my compassion away because it harms me. Having learned to push it away, and still feeling the harm from it nonetheless, the process becomes involuntary. And I become something new. I hope.

Well, I don't know how this post will end. That's a fun feeling. Lacking some of the enthusiasm I thought I might have. What was I saying? Oh yeah, I feel like a court jester. Nothing is serious. I've rarely been more dead inside, yet I'm more entertaining and freer than ever. Dying, lost in the abyss, consumed with melodrama. Stuck on consuming and being consumed. I dont know where it comes from. I don't care.

I'm on this ride. It's okay. I hate it. I'll break it. It will break me. It doesn't matter. Live forever, like it or not. What was I saying? Oh yeah, I need hard drugs. So pointless. Never really addicted. Never good enough. Don't want to feed the demon, too much work. Even heroin is cheap and dumb. What next? Who's next? When will I snap? Never, of course. Armor too strong. Made it myself. None can slay me. So mighty, so alone. I don't care. Empty. Dead. No more words now. Thank God. Finally. Peace.