S Pink Premium Pointer Bio-Tagebuch (nur 3% Fantasie): DiAMETER
People used to remind me that "not everything's either black or white", but that doesn't mean they don't exist.
Because, where is all that grey coming from?


This is what it looks like when I’m really sorry.
I get easily obsessed with things; nothing seems to be enough, ever. So when I decided to write a letter of apology to a very special person, it got a little out of hand.
Three-thousand words became twenty-thousand, and instead of writing it on merely a few loose paper sheets, I wrote it in ink, into a book, then I covered the book in leather, then I made a wooden box for the book. I even considered recording a cover version of a certain song to round up the package. (That’s when I had to stop myself. ^^)
PS: Any form of reaction to this … “thing” is still pending since February 14th, 2014. (Maybe leaving it on her doorstep on Valentine’s Day was a little too much, I’m afraid to admit.)
Also, this is just a shortened version. Missing parts are indicated by "[ ... ]".


For Claudia

Moving in circles,

drawing a line. 

A character study in three acts,


By: Bright Pornchaser
(Believe it or not, that is an actual anagram of my real name.)

Started: 01-24-2014, 3.55pm
Finished (writing): 02-02-2014, 5.01am
Finished (whole project): 02-12-2014


(THiS might be a mistake.

What am I thinking?! It's ridiculous.

It's also going to take a while.)

Very much to my dismay, I had to complete another cycle.
THiS is me, finally being capable of drawing a line right through past events.
It's a a summary, a conclusion.
It's about what happened on my side, how I saw things and how I see them now - hopefully not to be misinterpretated as just another dump of mental waste. I just have to let you know where I stand, once and for good.

Until you wish otherwise,
this the last thing you're going to hear from me.
Please hear me out. 
(Shit. … Didn't exactly that already happen once?)

Nonetheless, I suppose it would be unfair not to warn you at least once.
(Because, you know, for legal reasons.)


Bricks will be shat. 

Probably Certainly

Definitely way too much information ahead!


Just how damaged have I become?


Reading through the symptoms for depression and PTSD felt like I was about to start a plane or going over a grocery list: check; check; got it; check … .
I spent the better part of the last two years sitting in a darkened room, alone, with no job, no more friends, living of almost nothing but coffee, cigarettes and - for several months in late 2012 - alcohol. I was thinking, writing journals and diaries and occasional short stories, fooled around with Audacity making short ringtone versions of songs I like, listening to the same playlist over and over again, watching the same movies and TV shows over and over again. Yet my mind was unable to escape reality, let itself fall into another world as it used to do, used to love. (I often refer to Escapism as “my religion”.) Even videogames wouldn't help anymore. Every day was exactly the same. Absolutely everything suffered under a total lack of substance. It was just rushing by, like when you're really tired, and felt like nothing more than the waste of time that it was. Then again, that was all I could care about - passing time, distracting myself, keeping the conscious part of my mind occupied, busy, while the ever same calculations kept being processed in the background, over and over again, expecting a different outcome.
I was, by Einstein's definition, insane.
Even worse, I was fully aware of it.
I spent hours, days and weeks on YouTube, Twitter and the web in general until the internet connection was cut off, because I didn't pay the bills, hence I lost my apartment as well. Forced to move back in with my “mom” (moronic obnoxious matriarch; Spoiler alert: Family issues!), I sat in yet another darkened room, brooding in front of my now-close-to-useless netbook. I didn't understand why all of this had to happen. I didn't want any of this, but couldn't do anything about it. Pen and paper, and later Open Office Writer, grew closer and closer to me, eventually to become my only friends. The writing became an addiction, for it's the only way to put a great part of my thoughts and feelings into some sort of order – for quite a long time without any significant results.
I was static, not even falling anymore, just stuck, floating, moving in circles which got smaller and smaller, comsumed by a terrible sadness and the inability to comprehend what's going on, in combination with a fuck-everyone-and-everything attitude. Every offer to help me, I either rudely declined or completely ignored - I couldn't accept any other point of view than my own. I didn't speak to a real person for weeks, months even. (I don't consider “my mother” a real person, for reasons.)
Why should I? Nobody would understand anyway. They never did. Either they can't or just don't want to, was what I thought. I fell from all hope. Nothing made any sense anymore. I had no reason to go any further. I only wanted it to stop, everything, most of all the pain. Couldn't do it myself. No one else around. Standby mode, just … waiting, there is no other word for it. Waiting for an answere to come fly to me. Eventually, only waiting for the end.
I was done.
At the bottom of the downward spiral it's empty, there's no more ground you could hit – you're way past that. There's only silence and darkness to drown in.
Soldiers describe war with, You don't know what it's like unless you've been there yourself. You come back a different man/woman, because it has become a part of you. It's similar to “the bottom”, and until you pay it an unintentional visit every now and then, the full extent of its horrors get incomprehensible, unimaginable, even to yourself after you bounced back up again.

Then I turned 30.
My birthday triggered something in me. It made me reconsider some things again.
Do I owe it to time itself that I was capable of taking a step back and look at life from a different perspective? Or was it just a long-surpressed voice inside of me, which finally ended up prevailing itself?
I don't really know why, but something clicked.
I let you be the judge over if it was the right switch that got flipped inside my head, because I don't know.

Only so much in advance: Regardless of what you may think of it, it's been working out rather nicely for me over the past few months, considering from where I started.
Since late October 2013, I: 
- got myself a regular income by getting officially registered as being unemployed. Then I went looking for work - half-hearted, but still.
- started paying my financial debts, little by litte.
- took lessons and got a fork-lift driver's licence in order to make it easier to get a job.
- am trying to recontact a few of people I know “from another life”, trying to talk to them one at a time, apologizing, working on repaying some of my personal debts, little by little – if they should still want to have anything to do with me, that is.
- have been to the doctor to get myself checked, mentally and physiologically. To my surprise, I turned out to be as healthy as Pinocchio on his first day as a mentally fucked up thirty-year-old boy, except for my depression, significantly lesser sight on my left eye, and really bad horrifying teeth, yet that was everything but new to me.
- went to a psychiatrist and started to take rather light antidepressants, just to get my moodswings under control and to make it easier to get out of bed in the “morning”. I'm also strongly inclined to join group therapy.
- have been to a dentist, and we're presently working on getting my teeth, or what's left of them, … well, not fixed, “out” would be the term, regardless of my young age. I'm actually looking forward to a full set of dentures, because pretty much everything is better than what I have now.
- To be continued. 
I'm trying not to pressure myself too much, nor push myself too hard. It may look like I'm just lazy, sometimes even to me, but it's not that simple. I'm still weak. My newly formed ground is still shaky as hell.
Nonetheless, having spent some time at “the bottom”, I can say that it has certain advantages. For instance: The only way from here on out is up. 

What's changed?
What happened? 


Never Trust The Tall White Bitch

(My Disease, My Infection)

First things first: I finally managed to put M behind me.
(Go on: palm your face, violently shake your head, make some joke about me being inconceivably - I know it means what I think it means - slow with stuff like this. I know that I am … for reasons that will most likely become apparent due to the lecture of THiSthing I've made.)
I loved her. But the winds of time slowly moved the mists around inside my mind. More and more they clouded my feelings for her, but revealed other things instead, which, on a clear day, would've been in plain sight all along. I began to see.
Well then, let's have a look, shall we?

(Please don't take this as an attempt to win you over. Of course you're free to make your own decisions about whom to trust and what to believe. And I also don't intend to “take the fight out on your back”. There is no fight, nor do I want there to be one.
Still, this is what happened, “my side of the coin”, so to say, and I want you to know.
“The truth” may be somewhere inbetween.) 

[Disclaimer: Whatever was left of my feelings for her died in agony, the long way around, not all too long ago, so there're some amounts of residual disgust flaring up - with a passion, I admit. But it will fade soon enough, I don't doubt.

Be that as it may, from the current point of view I'm not sorry for anything of the following. As a matter of fact, I was already holding back.] 

Alright then, picture this if you will:
She … (in chronological order)
(late July, 2011) 
- told me that she got raped and that I should do nothing, act as if it never happened and just forget about it. 
(Yeah, of course, because that's just the reaction anyone would expect from someone close to them. But never mind. Moving on to … )
(July, 2011 – May, 2012) 
- let me work the graveyard shift at a gas station, in a town only 10km from where it had happened, without giving me a name, an age, a face, or anything else to work with, so there was nothing left for me to do than to just hate everyone.
(Which is what she couldn't comprehend. Sure, how would she? She knew whom to despise, so it was rather “easy” for her to avoid that piece of shit.)
(July, 2011 – July, 2012) 
- kept telling me that I shouldn't worry, that I shouldn't care and that I should mind my own business, because it's her body and her life and she doesn't want anyone to interfere with any of it.
(Almost impossible to ask from someone who loves you. Yet, although it hurt, I tried to obey, I tried to adapt … well, up to a certain point.)
(May 1st, 2012) 
- broke up with me, because I couldn't deal with it.
At least that was the biggest of the three official reasons that I got from her. #2 was: “We've got nothing in common except for the sex.”
(Granted, apart from certain feelings she may or may not have had for me, that is quite true.) 
And #3: “You never call.” 
(Text messages, online chats and the occasional visits at her or my apartment, which had gotten less and less on her behalf, apparently don't count as communication. … Never mind, moving on …) 
She told me to get the bottle of wine, which was still left over from our little birthday party in August 2011, using the words, “I better take it with me. I'm certainly gonna have some guys dropping by. Then I'm gonna need a drink,” and got out the door of my apartment with, “Have a nice leftover-holiday.” (May, 2012 – July, 2012) 
- was aware of how it still hurt me. 
(At least I can't remember to give her any particular sign indicating that I'd be fine.) 
- kept telling me about other guys she is meeting, fucking or wants to invite.
- told me about the affair she had had with a married guy for over a year, whereas we were still having our friends-with-benefits thing. (“It was only 5 or 6 times in 12 months.” - I still have that text message.) During that year she kept feeding me bullshit about how I wasn't only sufficient, but the best one she'd ever had, and that she was absolutely satisfied, and didn't need anybody else, and bla … . And I bought it, gladly swallowed it all.
- then blamed it on me, like she had to lie to and cheat on me, because we were never truly together. According to her, it all would've been different if we'd have been in a serious relationship, but I never wanted to really be with her. Granted, she started fucking around (somwhere around May/June, 2011) before I told her that I loved her (August, 2011), yet she didn't stop afterwards and, of course, kept on about having feelings for me and bla fucking bla … for almost a year, damnit!
- then told me, just a few days later, that “a serious relationship wouldn't have changed a thing, because what had happened would've had happened anyway, because he was one of those "irresistible handsome guys” and “she can't remain faithful when an opportunity like that presents itself”.
(Her words, burned into my mind.)
(early August, 2012) 
- thought for some reason that I'd be perfectly fine with everything. 
(Based on the evidence that the question about “how I could still be so hung up about all this” was repeated multiple times over the past year.) 
- sent me a text message saying, “Need help :(((,” and then broke off every form of communication for almost three weeks.
(Way to go. What a thoughtful text to send to someone who's already on the edge of despair and on the best way to lose his mind.)

Don't want you to get hurt, MY ASS!
How could she do this to me? I don't get it.
Yes, I let off some stupid little comment after I got a text message saying, I'm sick, back from her after I asked what's wrong. I texted something like, Mentally or physiologically? ;) I was joking (we've been talking and joking about our “sicknesses” a lot before), trying to take it not too seriously, trying not to care, not to worry, and do exactly as I was told. And I got it all wrong, again, because what I was supposed to do this time around was the opposite of what I was told in the months before.
After that, three weeks of nothing, because she was pissed at me, which she didn't even care to tell me. Meanwhile I was secretly going bat-shit crazy in my apartment, because I still didn't know what had happened to her.
Later on I learned that she got actually sick and just needed someone to take little care of her. She expected me to do what I always did, but what she never wanted me to do before. So I stopped it, eventually only to get blamed by her for making stupid jokes and not being there for her when she needed me.
WHAT?!   THE?!   FUCK?! 

I think it can be excused that I don't think much of her now.
I mean, it can't have been all just my fault. That's just not possible. Science says, NO!
Nobody can say that I didn't try. Yes, I made mistakes. But they're nothing compared to that twisted, sickening play she pulled off.

Why did I still try to do things right by her, to enforce and maintain her standards, instead of realizing that it's simply impossible to accomplish? She doesn't even know herself what she wants, let alone what inconsistent bullshit she' s talking. And how the fuck did I manage to let me blame myself for a great part of all that crap, and ride the guilt-train all the way down to wanna-kill-myself city at the heart of self-loathing county?!
I was blinded by her, mostly by that one side of her, while I almost completely ignored another. I loved the cute girl with the slutty side underneath the decent cover, but didn't realize the full extent of the bitch in front of me.
I think that she was just working on “fixing her karma” in the moments in which she was actually being nice. (Whenever something bad had happened, she kept telling me about that karma shit. And that from a girl who doesn't believe in resurrection, god, devil, heavens, hell, or any other kind of deity, spiritual world or energy. She wasn't for real, just desperately grabbing for an easy rationalisation as a lame excuse for what's going on.) I couldn't see, because I didn't want to see. Occasional written outbreaks aside, I still wasn't able to let myself hate her for anything. 
Not until early October, 2013. (On a sidenote: That's a whole fucking lot of most efficiently wasted time.) It happened almost over night. It took me long enough, but I was suddenly able to open my eyes, see what's been staring into my face the whole time, and let go. I saw that I had finally found a certain direction, a name, a face, a target to point my anger and pain at, instead of letting it spray all around and eat through me. Then it resolved itself somehow. What a hell of a birthday present, huh? 
Don't get me wrong, I don't want to harm her, nor do I wish for anything to happen to her - she's punished enough as is. 
No, what I want to say is, I managed to actually not care anymore: about her, what she does or whatever happens to her – just as she always wanted. (Ironic how I get to pleasure her one last time. Mmmhh, feels just like it should.) Her lies and deceptions finally burst through into my consciousness. No, no lies. She tells you what you want to hear, what she needs you to hear. She puts on a disguise for everybody to like her. The actual danger hides in what she doesn't say. Lies more or less just happen in the heat of the moment, when she's pushed into a corner. The result is a twisted chain of contradictions. (How could I ever expect to be treated differently after watching how she dealt with other guys? Magic tongue and miracle cock had served their purpose, and the naïve guy attached to them became more of a burden than a pleasure, so I was tossed aside like all the others.) 
Now I wonder if there was any truth behind anything she ever told me. I can't trust a single word coming out of that woman's manipulative CDU (Cock Discharge Unit). 
What came along with it was that my longed-for revenge is off the table, at least in this one particular case, and let's just hope that there won't be any more. 
How come? Simple. 
She doesn't want him to be harmed? Then I take her word on this one thing that she kept repeating the whole time. Truth or no: She deserved it. (Sounds awful, I know.)
And what better proof than her, being more comfortable with a guy running around enjoying himself, having a great time sticking his “nose” into other girls' “business”, one at a time?
She wouldn't want to have it any other way? So fucking be it. 
All it needs for evil to prevail, is for good men to do nothing. 
Please enjoy, but count me out. And even if she'd come around to the thought of providing me with the identity of that bastard, whose worthless life and already-questionable-enough sanity had been deemed forfeit by me, I honestly wouldn't care anymore.
(Take me two years back in time, let me say that to my own face, and watch as my former self starts eating me alive, devouring me, ripping me apart with bare hands.)
As said before, she, that personification of “fe-malevolence”, could tell me anything, but that alone wouldn't make it true.
I'm done letting myself get fooled around by her. 
Yes, I see myself as the victim in this whole story. But not a victim of the rape of a (wrongfully) loved one, nor a society which doesn't care. I've had fallen victim to my own stupidity and ignorance. I was her victim, her perfect prey.
She is now officially the single most cruel thing that ever happened to me in my entire life.
How about that for a paradigm shift, cunt? (Not you, her.) 

[*Breath in* … *Breath out*] 

I've had enough. For better or for worse, I think I've proven, and if it's only to myself, that I can't simply turn around and walk away from such things. I suffered enough, it cost me much and more, but there's no way around acknowledging the fact that it was all for nought right from the start, back in 2010, when M and I started our little … whatever that was. Lesson learned. 
Yet couldn't it have happened a bit earlier in my life and maybe less painful, less extreme, if it would've had to happen at all? Just a second-worst case scenario, instead of a signed and numbered, uncut premium edition? Did it have to be rape in combination with a cold-hearted, tainted slut of an almost girlfriend-like thing? 
On the other hand, I have to admit that I'm already somehow oddly thankful for it, just a tiny bit. Apparently I needed that big of a kick to get away from her as soon as possible. I don't even want to think about what could've had happened, if we'd been capable of dragging it out for longer. I mean, we last spoke (Well, not really spoke. She cursed me through the phone, I listened.) in December 2012. No contact since then, whatsoever. Still it took me until October 2013 to wake up in the burning building that was my life. Even worse, I was ready to kill myself way before that.
My reactions were perfectly fitted to push her away from me as well. (Unfortunately not only her.) Unintentionally back then, but all the more useful from today's perspective. It wouldn't have ended well for both sides anyway. Additionally, the extra XP I gained is surely going to come handy.

So, I guess you really never know what it all can be good for, as long as you don't see it through to the end.

And it ends here:


This line marks an ending.
It runs across a circle of my life indicating its diameter, but also crossing it out, because its cycle is closed, finished, done, never to be repeated again.
Yet the line itself starts here. It's a lifeline, the beginning of something new, most likely to be a new cycle. I hope it will a good one with a big-enough diameter, so won't ever be finished, won't ever repeat itself and lose its substance and get boring, and won't ever have to be crossed out again.

I was so blinded by my feelings for her. Unbelievable. No wonder that there's now an equally strong repelling force pushing me off into the other direction.
I picture love as a tree, and myself as the ground the tree grows on. The roots of the tree spread as wide as its branches, and they reach almost as deep into the ground as the crown reaches into the sky.
Sometimes the tree dies or even gets ripped out as a whole.
So what you're left with is either a big dead something, that reaches deep inside you and has to be reassigned to another purpose, or a huge hole inside yourself, that has to get filled again. Either way, it must be replaced by something equal; something that uses up the same space.
As long as there is no appropriate replacement available, the tree, or what's left of it, stands there as the exact opposite of what it once was: life turned to death, joy to pain, love to hate. (Isn't nature a beautiful thing?) 

But now what?


The Queen of Hearts

(Beside You in Time)

After my epiphany regarding M, all I had left in October 2013 was only myself. I'm a major construction site on my own – how to deal with that? Where to start?
More importantly: Why? 
Everything got boiled down to a hand full of allegedly simple questions.

1.) Who's to blame for where/what I am now? 
A: She, for all that shit above, and I, for being partly responsible for some parts of the shit above, because of what I said/did or didn't say/do, even though I was, however, convinced of doing the right thing. (Man, was I stupid.)
Course of action: Hate her for what she is and what she's done to me, and either a) live with myself or 
b) “off myself”.
Couldn't find the nerve for the permanent solution of my temporary problem(s), though I felt like it and thought about it often and intensively enough. Mostly because I couldn't decide how to do it. Preferably I'd have shot myself, but I had no access to a gun, neither did I have the balls to do something that could've led to me getting shot.
The prospect of physical pain repells me, so cutting my wrists wasn't an option either.
Hanging (“What if the neck doesn't snap?”),
burning (“The horror. Moments of purest agony in which seconds become hours. And what if someone, maybe even yourself, puts out the flames and you survive?”),
drowning (“No. Just no.”),
death from falling (No building or structure in my area seemed high enough to be really sure about that I'd die when I hit the ground.)
or an overdose of medication (“I only get non-prescription meds, like Aspirin. It would take a ridiculous amount, and 'internal bleedings' doesn't sound all too painless.”)
were scratched off the list as well.
One of my biggest fears was to be “saved”. Not because they'd make me ontinue to live on, or because I'd get branded as whatever, but because the best I could hope for to visit me in the hospital was a hot nurse and my family, i.e. no one I'd have wanted to be there. No friends or anyone else I still cared about. There was a name in the back off my head, like a distant whisper.
It just wouldn't let me do it.
I couldn't do it.
Well then, guess I'll stick around a little longer.
Option “a”, fair enough, but …

2.) Why live?
At first I couldn't find anything and I wondered why. Then I realized that the whole “problem” was based on a simple paradox: I honestly thought that my reason to live should be something that I'd be willing to die for.
(Go on, laugh. It is hilarious … well, now. Can you believe that? “Mr. Logic”, “Sir I-rationalize-everything-into-oblivion” fell for the eldest trick in the book, a faulty loop in his mind.) 
"You see, the problem is not the problem. The problem is your attitude about the problem."
- Cpt. Jack Sparrow - 
Saying that you'd die or kill yourself for something or someone doesn't mean shit! 
Where's the challenge in that?! There is none, especially if you haven't been a big fan of life all along, and even less when you don't have anything left to lose. I started to repeat the question, loud and clear, until I finally listened AND understood. 
Oaei lif? … Y liv? … Why live? … Live, dumbass. Why? For what?
“House M.D.” taught us three things: 1. Everybody lies (The only question is about what.); 2. It's not Lupus (Why? 'Cause it's never Lupus.); 3. Everybody wants …
A:to be happy - simple as that.
Course of action: Find something that makes me happy. But …

3.) What would make me happy?
Two choices:
a) I want to be a better human being, a better man, and live a decent and thoughtful life as best as I possibly can. Love in my heart, a joyful tear in my eye, and an honest smile on my lips. 
b) I want to be chaos, a fierce beast which doesn't give the slightest fuck about anything else but itself, and watch as everything else burns to the ground. Hate in my heart, wrath in my eyes, and a spiteful grin on my lips.

I can't be both. 
And yes, I'm a “black-and-white guy”. People used to remind me that “not everything's just black or white”. I know that, but that doesn't mean that they don't exist. Because, where's all that grey coming from? 
Rape, for example, is black. There's not the slightest hint of white in it that would make it even the darkest of greys.
(Just to point it out: I'm talking about the deed itself, not the aftermath which can bring forth tons of positive things, but we wouldn't need them without their source.)
When black exists, then so does white. Where's shadow, there's light. Thing is, darkness can exist on its own; light has to be made, it needs a source. I know that I can't exist on my own. That made me ask myself about what “my light” and the source of it would be, so I could be white or at least the next best grey thing.
What is the one thing closest to white that I can think of? What is my happiest thought? What do I want the most? 
Pretty much the only thing I could think of, the only thing that really counted for me, the happiest thought I had, was that maybe, if I get very, very lucky, one day I'll sit on your couch again, talking about whatever comes to mind … or play dice … or whatever, as friends, as it used to be.
A: Option “a” it is, then.
Course of action: Find a way to sort my life out; accept the past, learn from it and don't let it happen again; limit the damage that was done; build a future; improve myself, or die trying. 

That little thought was enough hope for me, sparked enough motivation to get my ass up again. (Even my now-not-so-beloved-anymore videogames were incapable of doing that, so I think that's something.) That's what I want. That's what I'm trying to reclaim. I miss it more than anything else. Yet simply to ask nicely won't help, not anymore. I have to earn it. I want to earn it. I want to be able to look you in the eye with pride, not lower my head in shame. 

[ ... ]

Seven hells, how could anyone possibly ask for more?!
I did it anyway, except that I didn't ask. I sort of forced it on you, just as I do now, and I can't apologize enough for it. You've put more effort into me than anyone else. You tried to help me finding a dentist and a psychiatrist, even offered to come with me to the appointments, so I wouldn't have had to go by myself. You were the only one who seemed to be able and willing to understand pretty much everything. I felt like I could really talk to you, and I could, and I did. As far as I know, you never lied to me. Maybe you don't even consider it worth mentioning, because that's just who you are, but it's something very special to me, and, after all that has happened, it's what made you the best friend I've ever had. (Granted, I never had that many friends, but still.)
You were never not trying to be supportive.
And how did I thank it?
I wouldn't really say that I took it for granted, although that's most likely it. I always liked and appreciated you for what you are, but I got overwhelmed, blinded by something else and started to use you. I overdid it. I pulled you in, pushed you to do something, and eventually, ungrateful bastard that I am, slapped away your offering hand, backed out and ran as I always do.
I was out of my mind, desperate, raging all over the place. I expected everyone to join me in my outcry for fire and blood. The unwillingness which echoed back at me only fueled my wrath even more and made me blind to anything else. I felt blocked. It wasn't your fault. You did all you could do, the best you could do, and still I treated you like one of the barriers that kept my “crusade” from succeeding. That probably won't serve much as an excuse, but I want you to know that I know that I went too far. I did wrong. 
I'm sorry.

You never hurt me.
I'm not talking about minor offenses, maybe a couple of slighty thoughtless comments which I blew way out of proportion in my outrageous letters. I mean actually hurtful, personal things that you could've put against me. You had reasons and opportunities, yet you never did. Not even accidentally. How do you do that? A freakin' remarkable skill, and “a favor” I won't ever be able to return – unfortunately, that's a fact. I know that it comes with a price, especially when you've got to deal with people like me. And I know that there already was a price you paid, even though I don't know much about it. (I remember the pictures you showed me, from a time when you were only skin and bones, and your years of therapy that had only just ended shortly before my demons rose. You never really said what had happened to you.)

What all this sums up to is My Queen, the only person I can still trust, even though chances are that she loathes me.
So, that's why.

… and because it's a lot shorter than these last approximately 900 words.

… there … 
… there is another combination of words that would also suitably describe all of the above, all of THiS. 
(You probably already know where this is heading, and latest by now I'm imagining your reaction to be something like, “Aww,come on. No! … No. Way. … Quit it. … Just stop it, now! … Chris, no.” Either that, or you're just trying to get this over with, somewhat bored and moderately annoyed.) 
Trust me, the jury is still deciding whether or not to put this in here. But since they're not going to be finished any time soon, if ever, I just go on without them. 
Behold! The infamous. The inevitable … no, too theatrical. I don't want to make a show out of it. No fooling around, only plain honesty.

Point of no return → .


The Madman Sees What a Madman Sees

(The Line Begins to Blur)

Claudia, I love you.

I mean it. I tried, but there're no other words to put it in.

And now what?
How do I expect you to react to that?
Actually, I don't expect anything at all. I'm no longer entitled to state any personal requests since quite a while back, and it will probably stay that way a while longer.
Still, hope dies last. And a small glimpse of hope is telling me that I might provoke at least some reaction, although the thought of it also terrifies me. But that's not the point. Point being is that there's no way of denying what I feel for you, so I just had to get it out there.
(Why hold back positive emotions when it's only the negative ones I should worry about?)

Most of the time I handle it by trying not to think about it. Like, I tie up that thought and any related feelings which would go too far, and shove a pillow in their face, slowly choking them. Not to kill them, for they are a part of what keeps me going. No, just to keep them quiet. I want to make them uncomfortable in my head, not give them too much room to prosper. I think it's better that way. Anything else would be … pointless (?) … somewhat creepy … either way, inappropriate. I don't consider it … healthy? … can't find the words. 
I mean, what chance would I have? I can't think of anything I could give you that you'd want and/or need. Apart from that, it's possible that you'd very much appreciate it if I'd just fuck off and leave you alone. (Which is, as mentioned in the beginning, exactly what I'm going to do right after THiS.) The clues are there, I get that. Your silence says it all.
(After all, there're two kinds of people: Those who can extrapolate data from incomplete source material, and …)
Meaning: It would be stupid to hang on to any kind of expectation. 
So it's not like, “I'll be waiting for you until the end of time, because I won't be able to love another one ever again.” You'd be totally worth it, but life isn't a fairytale … unfortunately.
My last piece of information about you dates back over a year. You might as well have a boyfriend by now. (If so: Greetings and best wishes, 'cause he's most likely a good guy.) Besides, “waiting until the end of time” slightly exceeds my life expectancy … just by a tiny bit.
I know that the better part of my thoughts and feelings is owed to a fucked up past, my loneliness, overthinking everything and the stuff that comes along with it. That doesn't make them less real, but because of that I feel obligated to put them under control and not let them get the upper hand. Though that doesn't change the fact that you're my favorite “respawn point” and one of the most important people in my life – definitely the most amazing one.
(After all this, can you imagine how stupid I feel that, out of all the things to forget, I forgot your birthday? Epic fail.)

What I try to push in front of it all, what I see in you is someone who gets things done and does them right.
That's why I look up to you.
Whenever I “did something right” it either turned to shit sooner or later, or I was the only one who thought of it to be right all along. I thought that I'd know what to do. I was wrong, or at least not remotely as right as I thought I was. I have to accept that. I have to accept what was and what is and try to make the best out of it. No one else can do it for me.
For a start, I have to accept what I am, before I can begin with any improvements. 

I'm a nerd. 
I always was, I'm always going to be one, and I'm proud to say so. I've got not a single problem with that itself. I love it, and I love other nerds, my people. 
I am a manchild. 
That's one of my favorite characteristics as well. I don't think of myself as a man, nor do I want anybody to call me one. I define “being a man” as being grown up, serious, cold, sentenced to a life of duty – none of what I desire. I want to be free, play, have fun, do what I want whenever I want. Who doesn't? (Additionally, my inner child is partly a girl, so … )
Then again, I admire and also sort of envy people who dedicate their lives to what they do. Their course is set, they know what to do, which way to go. Some have no choice but to endure - they do what has to be done, because somebody has to do it. Others love it, which is why they don't care about the sacrifices their commitment brings with it. Both would accept the ability to keep up their hopes and dreams as a sufficient-enough payment. 
But I also want to see and learn as much as I possibly can. Then overspecification appears to me as a major weakness. While you concentrate on only one thing, you miss out on so many others. Yet when you try to soak it all up, you'll never be really good at something. 
I can't decide, because I set myself pretty high standards either way and can't keep myself from keeping a jealous eye on other things. So I often end up doing nothing. I handle a lot of things that way - I can't get my priorities straight. That leaves me with a feeling like I'm running out of time.
I live in my head, but what counts “out there” is only what you do. I think too much and do too little, because whenever I did something, it got fucked up, by myself more often than not.
That's when “The Cycle” kicks in. Failing makes me feel stupid, like I overlooked/missed something. Then I go looking for what it could've been that I missed, thinking things through all over again and again, while actually doing/achieveing less and less, which makes me feel stupid again … - a vicious cycle. 
Then there are the things that I don't want to experience, yet I can't prevent them from happening. Sometimes it's just a matter of small details that just won't fit, which often could've been easily avoided … and The Cycle repeats itself. 
The hardest part is to watch yourself get caught in it, unable to break out, while being fully aware of its pointlessness and uselessness. 
Meanwhile, time keeps ticking.
I hate the ticking of a clock, and sometimes I like it just as much. But mostly I hate *tick*. Every *tick* like a needle in *tick* consciousness. *Tick* reminds me on *tick* you're left behind *tick* you don't keep *tick*. Life *tick*s on either way, *tick* or without *tick*. Rarely, I enjoy *tick*, for it let's you know *tick* even the most *tick*ed up crap is *tick*ing to pass.

I'm damaged, scarred, confused, disturbed, unstable. 
Now I often start to cry, because of the tiniest things. (Not a day goes by without at least a couple of tears, usually when I'm trying to sleep. I can't read through all THiS without at least half a pack of tissues.) 
Sometimes I get scared for no particular reason. (e.g. phone calls: hate'em. They don't make me just a little uncomfortable, they stress me out. Before I dial a number, or as soon as the phone rings, my brain switches into overdrive, “What am I gonna say? What's he/she gonna say? Live conversation; no time to think; no facial expressions or gestures that would indicate the mood of the conversational partner; don't know if he/she's excited or only slightly interested or bored or … ; can't predict whether I should stop talking or said something stupid or offensive or … .” Every. Damn. Time.)
I'm avoiding conflict wherever I can; either I give in or run. If neither option seems to be available, violence is key (Like my dad.), though the world somehow always managed to keep me from putting the theory into practice and unleash the years of swallowed-down anger, hatred and pain. (That's not necessarily a bad thing, but it comes with a price. I could definitely do with some advice on anger management.) The slightest errors of day-to-day life bear great potential to set me off to a rage-filled rant, and I often keep it in mind for quite a long time.
I'm a hypocrite: I pray fairness, yet couldn't be happier when “survival of the fittest” falls into my favor. I love control (Dad.), hate responsibility (Mom.). I'm stubborn, rather unforgiving, but hold it against others when they do the same. (Both.)
I'm not good at social interaction, let alone upholding friendships. (I hate phone calls.) Being rejected depresses me, and if it's just when someone doesn't pick up the phone. (Another reason why I hate phone calls. Brain asks, “Why doesn't he/she pick up? Is it something personal?” Paranoid.) I'm clueless about when to apply my ego and when to step back. I can't tell how I come across, what kind of impression I leave behind right at the moment when I say/do something. It's only afterwards that I get told or find out myself that I was way out of line. Often enough I've been proven to be empathetically stillborn. (There are my mothers genes, right there.) A great part of me is a hopeless romantic, but what makes it out of my mouth is mostly harsh, if not plainly rude and/or distasteful. (Dad.)
Much of it makes me sound bitter, misanthropic.
It's a fact that I don't like most people. People are cruel and/or stupid. All they do is lie and cheat and hurt each other, and it deeply saddens me that I can't exclude myself from it. Mostly I'm a loner by choice, because I don't want to hurt others and don't want to get hurt myself. Being alone isn't fun at all, yet I feel incapable of doing something about it. I have severe trust issues, regarding myself as well as others. If anything, then I need people to come to me, because I'm too insecure to approach them on my own behalf. I always feel like I'm forcing myself onto them. (Yet another reason why I hate phone calls. And maybe now you understand a little more how difficult this whole life-thing is for me, and how unimaginably sorry I am for … THiS. But I can't help it. I have to do it. And I hate myself for it, 'cause it's similar to the shit that I've done to you before, only massively bigger - this time without the unjustified rage against you and your profession, but still.) 
I'm not good at dealing with loss. I'm not good at dealing with sudden changes, especially unpredicted ones, so I don't really like new things in general.
I'm overanalyzing. I specifically seek out the negative sides, weak spots, in order to try and avoid unwanted surprises, trying to prevent getting disappointed. Because when “Murphy's Law” takes effect (“Everything that can go wrong, will go wrong.”), I tend to take it personally.
I get easily discouraged, because there's always some minor detail that doesn't work out. Then again, I grow suspicious when I can't find anything at first glance, which is why I often don't stop searching until I do – and, as I said, there's always something. The smaller the detail, the bigger my disappointment if it doesn't work, because the more effortlessly it could've been prevented. 
With the things I love or only just like very much it's often exactly the other way around. I don't even look for weaknesses. And even if I happen to stumble upon a few, I find them barely worth mentioning and they're easily forgiven. Trying to rip my “pink glasses” off of me comes close to a beheading. You have to really destroy me. Like, burning the house down just to get out, because you locked yourself in. 
I'm overly obsessive, losing myself in details (Dad.), often failing to see the bigger picture. I need a lot of allegedly obvious things pointed out to me, for my fuse is so damn long sometimes (Mom.) – I can't see the wood in front of the trees. 
I'm impatient, greedy: Things I like/want can't happen soon enough, and there's never too much of them; I want them all at once, and now.
I'm lazy: Things I'm afraid of and things I don't like/want call me by my middle name, “Procrastination.”
Example: Most recently, I put together a three-thousand word letter on my netbook, that I planned to copy by hand. (Because I have no other option to get it to you than to send it by mail, and because I think it's got a lot more character than just a petty little file to click on.) During the following week it became fifteen-thousand words. I decided to write it in ink, with a caligraphy pen (Didn't work out. Would've been a mess.), and into a book which I would try to somehow decorate (like cover it in leather or something like that). Half way through, I came up with the idea of recording a cover version of a song that has a certain meaning to me, as a supplement to the book and to underline my message. (Let's see how that turns out. Still working on that when I'm not writing.) Then even that didn't seem to be enough anymore. Now I started to plan on making a wooden box for the book. Suddenly I realized that I hadn't eaten in days.
What I should've done instead was, for instance, go looking for a job.
I often don't know when to stop. “You don't know what you have 'til it's gone,” is also very strong with me.
So, yeah, I don't like myself very much. 
I know I'm not stupid, at least not in the common sense of the word. I mean, I can see myself what I'm doing right here, right now. Page after page in quite flawless, mostly self-taught English, containing mad amounts of self-reflective and other thoughtful stuff, written in a decently readable hand (I really like my somewhat girly writing.) - that's anything, but definitely not bad for an unemployed, toothless guy with a mental condition, who didn't even finish his apprenticeship as a bricklayer, and has drawn most of his knowledge out of videogames, movies, TV shows, music and the internet.
(So much for, “Sun is shining, go out and play. Your stupid games won't teach you anything.”)
I wouldn't consider myself a failure, but I somehow feel like I'm not made for … life. It's more than difficult for me to get a good grasp of it. I can't get the hang of which things to better let slip and which to hold tight and never let go. 
I'm dividing the world into black and white, although I know it's not that simple, but all this grey confuses me.
It's just too much.

I feel stranded, lost. I'm tapping around in the dark trying to find a way out.
I feel like I don't know anything for sure anymore. I don't know what to do, so I just … do … things, because the only wrong thing to do is nothing, and I had enough of that going on. I don't know what I need to do, but I want to do what I think is best and the least harmful for the people I like, in order to continue living my life and maybe even make it a somewhat decent one. 
(Again, my definition of that usually was, “Best keep your distance.” Like I said, also in the interest of not getting hurt too much myself. … Well, we know how that worked out.) 
But it's difficult for me to just live.
To me, life is pain, more than anything else, and I can't just do it for myself. I don't think to highly of myself, so I always felt the need to adapt to others. It's kind of a result of growing up with the knowledge, that you are just not taken seriously, being constantly reinforced.
You begin to watch yourself more closely, asking yourself what it is that you did wrong, and soon you doubt your every move, every word, every thought, every emotion, worsened by the cirsumstance that what you want yourself contradicts and keeps interfering with everything that you've been taught.
I don't like being the center of attention, even if it's my own attention, especially when I actually don't really know what I'm doing. You're exposed to criticism which, in my case, has often been devastating, soul-crushing. It always seems to me that I have to try harder, do better, push myself a little further than others have to do for themselves, because I'm feeling like what I do is deemed less valuable, if not totally worthless by myself and/or others. More often than not, I end up doing nothing, again, because, “Fuck it!” … and The Cycle begins anew. 
I need something to hold on to. Something permanent, that can't simply vanish or break away from underneath me. I myself am too brittle for that. I need someone else.
And I have to put a reason behind everything – that's just how my mind works.
I need guidance. 

That's where you come in, My Queen.
I made you, the conscience-like voice that's been talking to me through the darkness of my mind, my reason, my guide. In a lot of ways you're so much of who, what and how I want to be. I wish I could be more like you.
It's worth trying.

It's worth living for.
It's what keeps me going, even though I know that it'll be a lot of hard work … and I hate work, because work isn't fun – it's something you must do. I tend to defy things that I must do, regardless of what's the goal/the reward. I have a problem with authority. Even if it's something I like, as soon as I feel pushed/forced to do it, I lose my interest practically immediately. Focus and motivation fade away fast, soon to be gone completely, and I begin to act as defiantly as I possibly can or simply do nothing once more, like a foolish child.
That is, if I'm not already running away from it by then, desperately trying to find another circle that might befit me better.
This time, though, the goal seems to be too to valuable , or the reward too promising, I'm not quite sure.
My hopes and dreams have become smaller, simpler (I dare not to say “more realistic”), yet their meaning to me has grown. 
I hope that somewhere along the way, someone I care about will tell me that I did good. Then I want to be capable of believing it myself and be proud of what I did. I want to understand why everything had to happen exactly the way it did. And I want to be thankful for it, because it led me to “this” – whatever “this” will be.
I want to be able to approve of that new circle, keep increasing it's diameter, and perhaps even learn to enjoy if its cycle should start to repeat itself, preferably without having to cross it out until my last day.

So, yes, one could say that I am once again convinced of doing the right thing … sort of … no, actually not really. I can't and probably won't ever be 100% sure. There are no guarantees. Besides, I'm too distorted, too insecure to see things clearly. Everything's just one big blur. Time and loneliness, all sorts of thoughts and feelings have been and are still messing with my mind.
That doesn't keep me from going on, although I can feel myself getting weaker. Uncertainty is taking its toll, little by little. I can feel it inside me, causing mischief, sometimes even overwhelming me – a constant stream of could-have-beens, could-bes and what-ifs making me question everything all over again, telling me that I am mistaken and got it all wrong again, until nothing seems to be real anymore. 
I can't promise anything, but I will continue drawing this line for as long as I can, so that maybe, some day …
After all, it's better to be just misguided than to be completely derailed.
(Thought of that myself. I like it. Like a train on the wrong track, not going where it's supposed to, but at least it's still moving and not lying crashed somewhere along the rails.)
I mean, you can't actually be insane for as long as you think that you're still on your way of going crazy … right?

Anyway …

thank you for … just being you.
And again, for what it's worth, I'm sorry.

… and if you can find it in your heart to forgive me, then I'm yours to command. 
Please, help me out somehow. 

My Queen,
with all my love and respect,
truly yours



I Wanna Do Something THAT MATTERS!


Where did THiS come from?
No, this is not the antidepressants talking … well, maybe a little. (I remember you taking your birth control pills usually somewhere between 5pm and 8pm. I chose that particular time span to down my “happy pills”, as another reminder on why I'm doing it. … Now, is that creepy, or what?!)
Nonetheless, THiS is what happens when I put my mind to something I really want. As mentioned before, I get easily obsessed. It was supposed to become a simple letter with perhaps ten pages, tops. I had to make it such a large shipment, 'cause the words kept piling up around here, so I had to get rid of as much of them as possible. Just the 1st draft of it already took me fifteen (15) hours. (Another little piece of unnecessary trivia.) And writing it off by hand on merely a few loose paper sheets seemed like it would hardly do it any justice. Plus, I thought that making something special out of it would better my chances for you to take a closer look and maybe even read it. It's no secret how much you love books and value handcrafted gifts due to their very personal, if not to say intimate nature.
(And don't you have almost the same notebook lying around? I bet it's still almost untouched, like most of the others, but it sure looks nice.)

So, Tadaaa! … I guess.
Isn't it amazing what can happen when you let things slide; the dynamic of it, how one thing leads to another?
But I wasn't just letting go. Sure, sometimes whole pages practically wrote themselves, or I simply used parts I've had already written in my diaries. But sometimes it took hours to get only a single sentence right. (You know how that feels.)
I have a constant urge to explain myself and take as much into consideration as I can possibly imagine, that I can't resist. The feeling of being misunderstood and a neediness to be accepted have been with me for as long as I can remember. Typical family issues, I know. But don't worry, I'm not going to go deeper into the how and why. The warning from the beginning already lives up to it's name in pretty much every way, I bet we can agree on that.

Only this much: I don't like my family, you might have guessed. I also don't hate them. I have no distinctive feeling about them whatsoever. I just don't care. 
When I look back, it's like I don't see them at all, I mean emotionally. They're there, but every memory that I have about them is in fact about them, never about me.
It's like they always just dragged me along somehow, yet never really included me. It's always about something that they wanted me to do, but never about what I wanted. Yeah, right, I got the TVs and the VCRs and the videogames and bikes and stuff like that. I was happy for the moment, but in the end it didn't mean anything. Considering everything that followed, it was nothing but hollow gifts, shallow courtesies, the attempt to buy my love. And it worked, because I was in for a treat, a quick fix and never really had to do anything for it.
Now I'm something like an emotionally spoiled brat who doesn't know what he wants, because he doesn't have anybody to tell him anymore, and never really found it out himself, because his wishes were subdued for so long. Now I just keep grabbing what I can, taking it for granted. I never learned what to do to get what I need and how to hold it.
I only know that I want and need to be loved, although I have no idea what it actually feels like to be loved for who or what I am. I know how to be mocked for it. I realize when I love, but not when others love me, because I have a hard time taking them seriously.
I've become insensitive to the many, often very subtle gestures that being loved provides you with. I've either never really experienced them or they were outshined by something else while growing up, which was either too bad and real or nothing really substantial at all, like the occasional quick-fix “solutions” mentioned above.
Through movies and TV shows, games and other kinds of fiction, I have a certain picture, a delusion about what it should look like, which miserably fails to match reality in most cases.
That's probably the reason why I don't “wake up” until someone hits me with a black or white sledgehammer, because I don't understand all that grey; that's probably the reason why I think that I have to break out the sledgehammer myself, because I can't execute grey; that's probably the reason for … well, THiS.
Consider yourself sledgehammered … again. 
Naturally, there are quite a few positive sides to all that crap. For example my dedication and perfectionism, as long as I don't overdo it … like THIS.

A lot of thought went into this. (Ah, duh.) There's much more, but I figured better not to put in all the naughty stuff.
(A few secrets don't harm anyone, and I got to hold something back for a potential sequel. … Hey, was that a positive thought just now? I think I'm getting' good at this.)
Also, I tried to make the part about certain people not all too nasty.
(There's also much more, but you already know that I have a well bred potty mouth. … See that? Positive attitude AND self-regulating. Ouh, I'm on fire.)

THiS is the most of me that anyone has ever gotten, almost some sort of instruction manual, and definitely the overall most elaborate thing I've ever done. It might take a while until it gets any better than this, if ever, so I hope it is at least of some value to you. Maybe you can use it for one of your stories or it ignites an idea on it's own, or maybe for something work-related, even though I think that I'm no exceptional case and this whole thing is quite basic stuff from a psycholgical point of view.
But it's not because of your profession that I'm giving you THiS. It's because of you.
Your profession originates from your interests, so you've got have some interest in the mind of others and a certain capability to understand it. I know you have, and I don't know anyone else with those, alsongside so many other, awesome features.
My mind is practically all I have, and I'm offering it to you as a friend, because that's what I still see in you, regardless of what you may think of me personally.
Feel free to show it to everyone that you think might be interested. I know that there's some really nice stuff in HERE that might be worth reading it aloud to others. (I remember you reading me some of your own and other short stories. “Nicholas Was … ” for instance, and the one about that old lady and the Holy Grail. Neil Gaiman, right?) 

I'm well aware that your picture of me may have shifted dramatically during your journey through my mind, and there's simply no way for me to tell if it's for better or for worse. In a way, I have no idea what I'm doing, but I have to do something, because I never know what it can be good for, and the only wrong thing to do is nothing.

I think I'll translate some parts into German and print it on a flyer to be a handout for therapy sessions and people who want to get to know me, as warning for what they're getting into. If timetravel should get invented (We'd have noticed by now, but never mind.), I'll head back to 2010 and give you one.


Right Where it Belongs


I'd like to thank the bitch (my former-not-actual-yet-somehow-girlfriend-hence-now-not-really ex), the guys who shoved their dicks into her face and god-knows-where else (No offense. I don't blame you, guys. A Tango takes two. It's not your fault. … Except for that married prick. You, sir, make me sick.), and my brain (“You're welcome.” … Aw, fuck you.). Without them, none of this would've been possible.

And, of course, an actually heartfelt and extra warm “thank you” is dedicated to Claudia, My Queen, without whom I would lack many wonderful memories. I know, we haven't spent that much time together, but you're just as much responsible for THiS as I am. 
I specifically remember you saying how much you appreciated that little encryptet thank-you letter that I wrote one morning after you let me crash on your couch, because my car had broken down the evening before. (Finish this sentence: “If I'd have known back then, … .“) Also, I can remember you thanking me with one of your biggest smiles for sharing my discovery of Steel Panther with you. And it took only a single tiny mention of how it freaks me out when I get suddenly blinded by light. From then on you gave me a short warning every time before you turned on the lights – for that alone I could kiss you.
For that, and for “Game of Thrones”, respectively “A Song of Ice and Fire”. Because of you, I now need two hands in order to count the total number of books I've ever read cover to cover. What have you done to me? 
I remember standing at your living room window or in your garden, watching fireworks. I remember that one time I had fondue for dinner with you and your dad. One of the first times we had lunch at the Lime, we simultaneously reached for the pepper as soon as the salad had arrived at the table, without tasting the salad first, because there's never enough pepper on it. (Btw: You were faster.)
Of course I remember “nerding off” about 80's music and cartoon intros. I don't know why I think that I have to mention the faulty flushing mechanism of your toilet, which kept the water running unless you hit it with the right intensity on the right spot. (Why not? DETAiLS!) HA, I bet you thought I had forgotten about your cat allergy. I remember talking about and listening to singers and vocalists with outstanding voices. 
And how could I forget the music itself that I owe to you?

Shinedown, “The Sound of Madness”.
You showed me the video to this song shortly after I started writing you my letters, back in 2011. You were like, “Hey, listen to this song. It's rather nice, and it's got a pretty cool hard rock-sound to it.”
As if that would've been the only reason. Yeah, sure … not.
You chose that very particular song on purpose, didn't you?
Even if not, it got stuck anyway. As soon as I was back in my apartment and listened closer to the lyrics, I couldn't help but to think that parts of the song said what you couldn't tell me to my face.
I think I've mentioned my long fuse before. In this case it burned for over two years.
Then, instead of a bang, something clicked.
Now I take my medicine.
So, thank you … for the shotgun blast, the kick in the ass.




Part of the result of my wannabe-psychological self-evaluation, which I achieved through the study of my diaries over the past months, reads as follows: 

You're perfectly capable of doing what it takes to live. You just don't want to, because you don't want to be held responsible if things go down the drain, and because you're too afraid of what others might think of you. All you do is run and hide.
You're only looking for 'a reason: a) because you know there is none, which makes 'why' the perfect question for a lazy-ass motherfucker like you to make his whole existence depend on it, because it means you don't have to do anything else but to keep questioning yourself; b) to enable you to blame someone/-thing else and not yourself, in case you fail again after a temporary motivational burst set you into motion.
You're a broken, unbalanced, unstable child in a permanent fight against itself and/or its surrounding, and therefore lonely.
You would've needed a mother to comfort you, a father to tell you where to go and what to do, a family to support you - now your girlfriends have to make up for it.
Pff, good luck with that.
But hey, at least you know. 

Now that is just pathetic and … so terribly sad.

Sounds legit, can't be that far from the truth, but maybe I'm too hard on myself. I won't let myself become cold and bitter because of that. I must not. On the other hand, I couldn't, even if I wanted to, at least not completely - that's another thing I've learned about myself. Because, when I was converting my handwritten fire-and-blood-and-despair diaries from 2012 to digital text documents, and therefore attentively reading them again in November 2013, I wrote stuff like this about myself into my at-that-time current diary:


Saturday, November 16th, 2013, 5.11pm
Oh, the irony in some parts – delightful.
That's what I want to scream at my past self while I'm reading and writing the stuff I've written one-and-a-half years ago.
I think I get it now: The frustration you're experiencing when you have to deal with someone like that; when you're trying to help, but they just won't listen.
Sunday, November 17th, 2013, 1.15am
Holy fucking shit. There's nothing more pathetic than a guy with a broken heart.
Thing is, that it's almost equally touching and inspiring, too. And it wouldn't be so damn fucking understandable if love would be something that you can choose whether to do it or not. You “get chosen”, completely random, more or less. Sometimes you can make it work.
And sometimes love turns into the metaphorical shit that hits the fan.

Oh yes, “taking a dump” is a perfect euphemism for love, like it or not. You just have to, you can't prevent it. The more you try to hold it back, the more it hurts as it forces its way through your system. When it's finally out, you may think that, 'although it's not much, it's still mine'. Then suddenly it gets schredded into pieces, sprays all over the place, and you have no idea where to begin with cleaning up the mess it left behind. Doesn't even have to be a big one to fuck up your interior for quite some time.
But soon enough you'll be here again, on life's toilet, pushing, hoping that you'll get lucky this time and everything goes smoothly. Because, let's be honest, you like it here. Nevertheless, brace yourself: sooner or later there will be blood.
Also, be sure to bring reading material - good things take their time.
Luckily, with time comes experience. And with enough experience you might just get to tell beforehand, if it's worth a f-word…the effort or if you should just get it over with ASAP.
Yup, luv is da shit.
… makes even the strongest men cry.
Fuck, the similarities just won't end. I better stop it now.
Monday, November 18th, 2013, 7.19pm
Hell, was I stupid.
Why didn't anybody just hit me back then?!
Wednesday, November 20th, 2013, 8.29pm
It's a strange, quite literal type of self-reflection when you read something you wrote and felt yourself at that time, but now it bounces right off of you.”

It's like that voice, which I mistook for an annoying background noise for so long, now finally gained controll and is making itself heard. Strangely, the noise is still there, always, regardless of what I do, even now: doubts. Because, from a certain perspective, I'm doing the exact same thing all over again, obessing over a girl (albeit for different reasons, but still), maybe moving in cycle identical to the one before without even noticing it, expecting a different outcome.
I. Am. Insane.
Then again, aren't we all? And don't all circles look the same at first glance?
Also, I can't be wrong all the time.


Also available:

Waiting for … 42
(Diaries and Journals, August 2011 – September 2013)
Preview (uncensored):

Saturday, June 15th,2013, 10.09pm
[ … ]
At the very most myself.
I'm not supposed to do nothing.
I'm not supposed to do what I want.
I'm afraid of doing what I can. People I care about get hurt. It's wrong to care – or so I'm told - and it's wrong to hurt people. But how is it even possible to hurt someone if nobody cares about anything? Why give a shit about hurting people when you're not supposed to care? Anyway, I keep to myself. Because I care. Because the others don't and because I don't want to hurt people I like. But that's wrong too. I just don't understand. I don't know what to do.
So I do nothing.
And guess what.
I'm wrong again.
I'm supposed to do as I'm told as long as I obey and obide, don't give a fuck and keep my mouth shut. Or something like that.
I can't and I won't.
I'm unable and unwilling to submit myself to such a doctrin, which tells you that even letting a rapist get away with it is an alright thing to do. It's simply not acceptable. Definitely nothing that I would consider desireable at any time. Except if I'd be a rapist. But that's just my opinion. Everyone else seems to say: „Sure. Right on. Go ahead. I don't just encourage you to do so, but I also put children into this world to share and spread this wisdom and to let it live on for evermore. Just because we can. And damn you, if you oppose us. We know we are right, because it's easy, because we are we. Plural, bitch! You stand alone. So, please, just go away. No, honestly, fuck off. Oh and if it would be possible by any chance if you don't kill yourself, that would be nice. Because, you know, we don't want that either. We'd rather have you with us, living through your nightmares, than letting you get away that easy. Because, well, it makes us feel better. We won't let you get what you want. That privilege is for rapits only.“ I really wonder if they would think the same way, if it would happen to them. I think then they'd see it drastically different. Maybe then they'd start to see what I see. Maybe then they'd start to understand. Maybe.
I doubt it. There is … that one thought out of many, but it is there. So why pretend that it doesn't exist? It's fucked up, I know. Terrible. But I can't help it. It's just that I have to admit that a little part of me wishes that it would happen to them or someone they love. All of them. In the exact same way. By the exact same guy, in an ideal case.
(I mean, he's still available, right? Nothing happened to him, right? So why shouldn't he help me making my point?) 
Then no one should listen to them either. Everyone they know should keep talking shit they don't want to hear, they can't believe, they can't accept. They should be left alone too, as soon as everyone sees that they don't achieve anything with their poor and thoughtless attempts of “helping“. Strip them off everything they used to love or even just like. Turn it into a pointless, meaningless, worthless waste of time. Let'em experience the hate and the desperation, the sadness and the loneliness. Don't provide them with any kind of appropriate release. Destroy their trust, their motivations, their hopes and their believes. Make them question everything they thought they know. Let them feel the pain. Let it grow. Let it dig deep. Let it burn. Let it pulsate. It will make them want to crack open their skull and rip out their brain with their bare hands, because everything it does is hurt and it won't stop thinking, despite its uselessness. It will make them want to tear the skin and flesh off their chest with their bare hands and rip out their heart, because everything it does is hurt and it won't stop feeling, despite its uselessness. Let them drown in their tears. Day by day. Night after night. Don't let them get any sleep. Let their dreams be tainted, haunted. Let them rot from the inside. Don't leave them any ground to stand on. Let them fall. Let them have their fill of alcohol and other drugs they enjoy, because they usually provide a temporary escape from this hell. Let'em have it until their relieving effects fade away more and more, to a point where they're gone for good. Let them suffer. Let them crawl naked on the floor of their apartment. Let them kneel in front of a toilet, puking out their guts until there's nothing left but a sore throat. Let them curl up in their bed, hugging their pillow, surrounded by darkness and silence. Crying. Screaming. Asking why. Give insanity the time it needs to crawl up on them, to wrap around them, to swallow them, to devour them. Let them get their soul ripped apart, but let it do it themselves. Don't even watch as they lose their mind. Just turn your back on them and walk away. And I wish I could be there to laugh'em right in the face for not taking me seriously, for making me feel like it's all my fault, for making me feel like I'm the one sick bastard, back when I had a similar story to tell. I wish I could tell them that I told them so and then just turn my back on them and walk away myself.
Maybe then they would ...
Maybe then even I'd start to believe that things like karma or fairness really exist. Do I really want this to happen?
[ … ]


Re: cycle
(Diaries and Journals, October 2013 – ???)
Preview (uncensored):

Sunday, October 13th, 2013, 10.11 am
Fucking happy fucking 30th fucking birthday.
… and pretty much the only wish I have today is just to see Claudia
[ … ]
No party. No friends. No presents. No cake. Not even a candle. Just me, my bed, coffee, cigarettes, music, and the big 3-0 in my mind. The weather outside is somewhat cloudy and chilly. Occasionally the sun comes shining through. Luckily I've got the curtains closed, like always. My re-edit of “A Drowning” is playing in a loop since over an hour now.
Why do I always get that feeling as if I'm running out of time? It's been like that since my early twenties. I don't really get it myself. Ok, life is short, but not that short. Sometimes you feel like you've missed out on something, but you shouldn't worry about it. After all, life is just a repitition of cycles. There will always be a next time, unless you decide differently. It most certainly won't be the same, but that's not the point. If everything was supposed to stay the same, even the good stuff, we wouldn't even exist. If anything, then we'd still be living in caves, trying to figure out why that tree caught fire and burned for hours after it got struck by lightning. We wouldn't even have words for all that. Diversity is what makes us valuable. Diversity is what makes your experience YOUR experience. Savour it. Yes, even the pain. It's a privilege. Use it. Even though you may think that everything you have is shit, at least you're capable of realizing it. You can see what others don't. That's what enables you to change something. Even the smallest spark can start a fire. What's the point of grieving over what you might have had, if it only keeps you from having anything at all?
5.21 pm
Somehow I feel exactly like I was feeling over a year ago, a few weeks after Meli broke up with me. That somewhat convinced feeling of putting it all aside and start anew, before that “need help :(((“ thing happened and I lost it completely.
I really need to get myself together.
There are at least another thirty years waiting for me. What am I going to do with them? How am I going to use them? How will I spend them? How the hell should I know?! It's more than enough time for whatever to happen. Just have to think about the past thirty years. I wasn't even born thirty years ago, and I can't even really remember the most of the first ten to fifteen years. I mean it's ridiculous, if you think about it: Why am I worried about time at all?
Why am I worrying about anything at all? I mean, doesn't it all fall into its place sooner or later? I'm not talking about karma or shit like that. I'm talking about life and humanity itself. Hasn't it been getting better over the last centuries, hell, even just the last decades? Sure, it's all pretty fucked up for a lot of individuals, but in general it's not all that bad. At least it's not been getting worse. Now there's a lobby for almost everything. And everyone can make him-/herself heard by a whole lot of people, not just limited to a local area, but all around the world using a wonderful tool called “internet“. Isn't that something? Isn't that progress?
So, why am I worrying? Why am I so unsatisfied? Why am I so eager to see some actual fundamental change during my very limited time of existence? Why do I get all stressed out, because mankind can't put an order into this eternity of chaos, like, NOW?
I don't know.
8.27 pm
She (Claudia) doesn't even know how she's affecting my life right now. Just as I don't know how I'm affecting somebody else's, maybe even hers. Not to forget that motherfucking son-of-a-bitch rapist.
He doesn't know what he's done. And he most definitely doesn't care. But he out of all people has earned his right to learn, and I would gladly be the one to make him so.
Meli doesn't want him harmed. Fine then, so be it. It's her choice. It's her own damn fault. Stupid bitch.
Fucking stupid fucking bitch.
Fuck you, for falling asleep on my chest!
Fuck you, for wondering why I'm caring so much about you!
Fuck you, for saying that I'm the be you've ever had and that I've “ruined” you for everyone else!
Fuck you, for thanking me for almost every orgasm!
Fuck you, for wanting yourself to be the only one for me, while fucking with god-knows-how-many other guys!
Fuck you, and all your kisses, and hugs, and cuteness, and hotness!
Fuck everything you've ever said to me!
Fuck everything you never told me!
Fuck everything you've ever pretended to feel for me!
Fuck everything you actually felt for me!
And HELL YEAH, I'm crying while writing these lines!
How am I supposed not to? I loved you.
But you're right.
Maybe you really deserved this shit.
Maybe you've actually had it coming.
At least you know, so you can enjoy your suffering.
I only wonder how much longer it will take me to figure out what it was good for, that my way was leading me across the path of such a goddamn heartless whore like you.
10.07 pm
Now there's a load off my chest.
It's the dawn of a new … beer. Number four, the last one. I think I'll call it a day after this one.
Hm, Claudia. Why do I feel so privileged to know you?
Why you?
Without you, I wouldn't even have most of the music that I'm listening to while I'm writing all this stuff. But that's just a sidenote.
Why are you the only one I still trust?
What makes you so goddamn special?
How did you become such a remarkable person in my life?
It can't have been all just my “fault“. It can't all be only in my head, even though I'm well aware that I'm just talking to myself right now.
How did it come to this?
Why did it have to come to this?
Am I ever going to find out?
Should I be sorry about the stuff I wrote about Meli earlier?
Isn't that the “healthy attitude“ kind of stuff that I'm supposed to have in order to move on from things? Too harsh? Am I supposed to give a shit?
[ ... ]


Friday, February 7th,2014, 8.07pm
Alright, I think I'm done with the writing part.
Books have to be some sort of Time Lord-technology, because they're so much bigger on the inside. 20,000 words and still so many empty pages. I'd have enough material to fill them all, but I also got much work with the cover and the box in front of me … and maybe even finish the song. (I don't really like my voice.) 
I keep asking myself, though, what I could achieve if I'd put all this time and dedication into obsessing over something else. Then again, it's not like I'd have a choice, and my obsession with you has already turned out to be one of the most productive things that could've ever had happened to me (In comparison: 1,300 hrs Battlefield Bad Company 2 didn't get me anywhere.), so I believe it's understandable that THiS “little” project has absolute priority for me now. I've said pretty much everything I wanted to say and can only hope that I found the right words for it, so it manages to deliver what I meant. Anyhow, I bet bricks have been shitten. 
I wonder what's next …


  1. I have to admit, I didn't read through ALL of this just now, I skipped some parts that I recognized from the book, that you already posted on tumblr and for various reasons I just couldn't handle reading through all of your diary entries, but anyway, I feel like after following (stalking? maybe a little bit ^^") you for a while now and "watching" from a distance what has happened and is happening to you... well, I can't say anything except that I'm really, really impressed. Getting back up after being so down, that's something I can't even begin to fathom - something I just hope that if I ever find myself in such a situation, will manage to do as well.

    I should probably say something encouraging or motivational at the end of such a post? Well. You know I'm a scientist. I'm also an atheist, I don't believe in any kind of god, karma, good luck charms, prayers or what-have-you. But I know about chance and probability. It is something you do not have to believe in or pray for because it is a fact, so I prefer that to any belief this world offers. Throughout your life, good and bad things will happen to you. Having these two options does not necessarily mean they always occur at a 50-50 distribution, because it depends on your interpretation of "good" and "bad". And this is, in my opinion, the key to happiness. Seeing the good in things that happen to you and with some effort maybe even the people around you, will improve the ratio. You've definitely suffered through a lot, but looking at where you're now and looking back at all the stuff you've written about the months and years before, I get the impression that while it definitely was not a "good thing" that happened to you, it was good THAT it happened to you. (Is this presumptuous? I hope I haven't offended you.)
    I won't say "good luck" or "you deserve to be happy". Of course you do, everybody does. What I want to say is, chances are that shitty things will keep happening to you, me, all of us. The trick is to make the best from even the shittiest things that we face, to come out of a bad situation - not even necessarily unharmed, probably battered and bruised, but: changed. Carrying on, learning, improving ourselves or the world around us, it's something we should strive for, I think. Because it will alter the ratio of "good" to "bad" things in our favor, and will make us happier overall. And that's my wish for you too, to be happier overall, no matter how you achieve this :)

    I should quit the rambling now, because I can't seem to manage to really put into words what I wanted to say, but anyway ^^"
    Looking forward to reading more from you! (maybe I'll come back to read the parts I skipped after I did some work for my presentation ^^")

    1. I don't blame you for not reading through all of this. It's true, I keep repeating myself quite often with the parts that I feel like I couldn't say them any better ... or I just don't want to, 'cause I already said it once and don't feel the need to put it into different words. ^^
      And it's nice to finally have a written confession for the "stalking" thing. :D (I made a screenshot. You can delete all you like. :p ^^)

      I'm an agnostic, because atheism is a little to cheerless for my taste. :)
      There are so many things we couldn't understand not-so long ago. "Your" bacteria, for instance. ^^ They were considered hokum, only because people had no way of scientifically prove something that they couldn't see/hear/touch/smell/taste. And I don't think that we've been progressing that much. We're certainly not that different from the people back in "ancient" history.
      Meaning: Just because we can't prove it yet, doesn't mean it's not there.
      That's why I believe in ... well, something. Maybe there is a god (not THE god, A god ;) ), or a soul, or something completely different. Thing is, we just don't know, and maybe never will.
      Anyway, you're absolutely right about mathematical chances and statistics. Shit happens, to all of us. It's up to us what we make out of it. But we're all just slaves to our own perception of things, which biased by our own limited experience and knowledge. So I don't really think that we have a choice of how we react to and deal with things. All you can do is try to do your best ... and fail, learn and try to do better, and probably fail again, until you can make it work ... or not. You can't know for sure unless you tried and tried again ... and again if need be. ^^

      You didn't offend me by saying that "everybody deserves to be happy."
      Nonetheless, I couldn't disagree more, for obvious reasons. Everybody wants to be happy, but some people sure as hell do not deserve it, because they overdid it already. Some people definitely deserve to suffer, to be hated and put through hell, and to be shown no mercy whatsoever.
      Aaaand I'm NOT gonna write myself into another rage rant. ^^

      So, anyhow, thanks for showing some interest, and please feel free to keep stalking, because I won't stop stalking you either. :D

    2. Well, about everybody "deserving" to be happy... of course I understand your opinion. There are certain people who I just have a hard time to consider them as "people". Nobody is perfect but some humans are no people, they are monsters. People who get their happiness from other people's suffering or inflicting pain in any way, physical or psychological, do not deserve this, right. This could easily turn into a nature-nurture debate at this point, but I completely agree with you. I'm a pacifist, I don't understand violence, fascism or even hunger for power or how a basically harmless human emotion like envy can drive people to be so destructive and harmful towards each other (i.e. pushing someone down instead of improving yourself). Anyhow - point taken, that was poorly worded I guess :D cheesy motivational phrase fail!

    3. Humans are animals just as any other, and deep down inside we're all the same. Only difference is what triggers the beast inside us.
      I understand war and greed just as I understand the stock market - not at all. It's an unnecessary stepping stone for something that's got a countless number of alternate solutions. Problem is, this solutions often come with a price that not many people would be willing to pay, exhausting effort and painstaking patience. Everything in nature goes the way of least resistance. It's always faster and easier to take than to give, to get angry than to stay calm, to react than to think. That's where nature contradicts itself. It provided mankind with a mind like no other, yet didn't include something like a failsafe. We're incapable to really use it as long as we're still bound act out our most primitive urges and instincts. We can learn how to deal with them, but, unfortunately, that option is sold seperately. And sometimes the software isn't even compatible. The most beautiful thing about mankind is also its biggest flaw, individualism.

  2. I just exceeded the character limit for comments -__-° Suppose that's a sign I should shut up and don't post this atheism vs agnosticism comment I had been writing :'D Sorry for the spam!

    1. Permission to spam granted.
      Hey, it's not like there's that much traffic going on around here. ^^
      Besides, I took the rest of the week off (called in sick) and have no idea what to do with all this time now, so please continue. :)


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