{4/26/2026 0:02} ◊

Unable to read or create, I'm forced to cope with the endless, nauseating noise by watching videos—even though I have no need to watch them. The videos and music always stop, but the noise I don't want to hear never stops. The music is always drowned out by their loud insults and arguments, unless I turn the volume up further, which causes further damage to my hearing.
Drawing might help me escape this state, but I am too weak to draw now. Many of my problems could be easily avoided, yet I find it increasingly difficult to avoid them. It feels as if these disgusting things will never stop. All my efforts seem useless, as though I have developed some kind of attachment to this unthinking state—like it is the only way to lessen the harm.
" I see a ring, I see a circle, I see a globe. I see figures moving—men, women, shadows of people. I see the sun breaking through trees, falling on tables, on hands. I see words, I see sentences forming, dissolving, reforming. I am not one person; I am many people. I am this, and I am that, and I am nothing fixed."
I always forget how wonderful everything is, and every time I'm filled with brilliant feelings... these feelings are always interrupted, and what interrupts them are those most vulgar and aggressive voices that I've never been able to resolve, and those people who force me to do meaningless things. I should have committed suicide when I was 14, but I chose to live. What made me choose to live? Can I do anything again?
Is it the power of imagination? Is it the power of reason? Or the power of hope, goals, strong morality, and dreams? I have lost all of these. I have endured one terrifying ordeal after another. My soul has not died, but it has become increasingly bizarre, as if something has remained after each ordeal. My heart has begun to shrink, becoming like those I once tried to escape. I have transformed from a bird trying to escape its cage into the cage itself. How did this happen?
Everything seemed to have fallen into a vicious cycle, layer upon layer. As I write this, I am actually yearning for reason and progress, even though the very emotion of that yearning has been obscured. Everything around me is rotting, and those disgusting voices from the outside world seem to emanate from within me; I have lost the ability to resist them.
What are the solutions I have come up with? They are all a series of compulsive acts in which I treat myself as a means rather than an end. They worked at first, but now they have become entangled with many unresolved traumas. Almost everything in me has become associated with trauma. I do not want to recall anything. Because of this, I seem to repeatedly forget some of the reasons that once made me choose to live— for those who died innocently, for those who endured suffering that no one should have to bear, for the stars with the knowledge I want to explore, for the original world within my mind, for becoming a better person, for my past self, for those drawings of mine that were torn apart.
I don't want to rot along with them, or become their tool.
I will change these bland interfaces on the site sooner or later.

 {4/25/2026 22:22} ◊

 {4/25/2026 15:51} ◊

 {4/25/2026 4:38} ◊