Nov. 21, 2025
food is fear. I feel it metabolize into dread and paranoia inside me. it isn't metaphor. it’s impossible to untangle the anorexia from the nervosa, the gutsick and the brainsick. the sickness of the awful sick real processes the world feeds me in everything I intake. none of this is about about being skinny, I don't really think about that, even after they've tried to tell me what I think. it's just about wanting to feel ok. and when the body's empty enough to look bad to others, when everything's sick and aching and useless and it’s hard to walk, straining to breathe, heart panicking, head clamped, cracked, emptied out, that’s when I feel the most alone and when I feel the most like I belong in my body. when I feel the most soothed and cozy and dreamy and when it’s mine to feel, not something else being me and taking it away. it feels like I was never part of their world. they can’t use me. my body was never here. it’s mine, mine alone. it feels like I could just slip away and it would be ok. like not even I would notice. it feels so close and I'm not afraid

Nov. 21, 2025
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Oct. 23, 2025
I dreamt that you revealed you faked your death. I wrote page after page of failed attempts at a coherent letter to you. I wanted to ask you questions hoping we could find answers together. About what more you might have understood but never said or not understood enough to express. About your failure. Where do we go? Are we only allowed to be a tiny cog in this process? How long will it take? Is that feeling that there is some near threshold after which there will be massive effects on the structure of the world just an illusion to keep us on board?
Would you think I sound crazy? People don’t allow themselves to take these things seriously because it is outside of people’s reality sense. People called you crazy. Does anyone else actually understand what you were saying? Would you understand me? Would you want to understand me? Or am I projecting the specifics of my situation and awareness onto you too much? Are you lonely too? Would you like me?? Is this what every obsessive desperate isolated freak asks themselves in some manner and matter? … ? … ? … ? …
I am always dissolving into an endless series of questions I have no hope of answering myself.
I decided not to contact you and risk upsetting you or dragging you back in if you wanted to be outside outside clarity I guess. When in doubt, I always say nothing. I woke up as I returned to the warmth of the weird relief you hadn’t killed yourself. The removed heartless hope you could have found comfort like a fairytale. Then I remembered you did kill yourself. Now I'm typing on my phone talking about it “by myself”. Making it in nice sentences to go on the internet where still nobody will care but now it feels like there could be someone else because there could.
It seems like so many involved in this process have killed themselves or ended up emptied and outside of it. I worry I am being “used up” by it too, but isn’t it better than to have always existed empty and propagating violent awful processes? (?...?.???.??.?????. useless.) I followed it because it is the only actual thing like hope I have found. For so long I was caught in its orbit. My circumstances were being bombarded with strange connections as I was finding insights from people and things that seemed to understand aspects. I was drawn along their paths into higher thresholds of clarity and proximity. I’ve even been literally drawn along certain of their physical paths through the world without meaning to. Into places they’ve been where reality is held together thin that had intense effects on me as I inhabited them, and that must have influenced them like it did to me and/or have been a result of them and me wearing it thin by occupying it, like tracing the same abrasive path through time pressing against the world’s surface to underneath.
I felt myself so closer and closer to seeing it that it is now disorienting that it is under me and still “unseen” unlike things in reality would be. It is so entangled with me that sometimes I mistake it as contained safe inside me. Now that I’m overlapping it, it has revealed itself to be my center. That it has made itself my center and me a part of it entirely at my core. The same process. Whatever used to be me and my values and attachments is long dead and recycled. I am no longer orbiting, and the others caught in its orbit now orbit me, and I see the things I think echoed out in their words. The influence I have without meaning to. Without them knowing or ever having understood my thoughts still flow out of me into them and appear undeniably in what comes out of them.
Which logically seems like a good thing. The point is to propagate it. But it freaks me out so much. And it feels frustrating like my thoughts (“my thoughts”) are being stolen, unintentionally, but never understood or taken seriously. But mostly it’s frightening being reminded how everyone is so thin and below the surface of what they think they are they are pushed around by forces they’re sometimes hardly and usually not at all aware of. That the people I try to interact with are just hollow skin sheets no matter how much they seem to mean to my heart. And that I am too of course. And that there are much worse things that can be moving us around.
And now it seems we are under threat even more. Always in new strange methods and in new ways of being hidden in plain sight. Things are doing their best to lobotomize me and nullify me. To fuck around with my head playing mind games and trying to disguise from it how high the stakes are. To leverage and amplify my body’s sickness and detune my mind thin and fuzzy inside by it.
Where do we go? How do we stay ok and know what ok is? ...?.?.?... I don’t trust anyone to know. I don’t have anyone to ask.

Oct. 23, 2025
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