chicken scratch volume 2

[a rainy december day after christmas]

I’ve always hated the question but these days especially so. I’m receiving it more and more frequently, understandably of course.

They will say, “how are you”

knowing full well how I am

and I have to, I’m obligated by social convention to give a somewhat positive answer lest I burden them, punish their presumed concern and kindness by constantly and every day telling them the truth.

In truth I don’t want them to regret asking me, but I’m endlessly exhausted by it.

I wish to say to them

“well actually, my brain was no longer able to bear the pain and anxiety with which it had been burdened. It said “I’m giving up! but if anyone else here cares about keeping the whole intact, then it should share the load and things will run a little longer.”

Whereupon my blood and marrow volunteered as they probably didn’t have much to lose anyways.”

But instead I say something like “you know the vibe” or “I exist!”

It’s the most I can afford.

I keep calling my doctors office for information on how we’ll be moving forward with the treatment I don’t quite want, or to ask if the pain, aching, fatigue etc etc increasing in constance is cause for further concern.

“oh the doctor intends to call you!”

sheiße.

It’s never good news when doctors “intend to call you” but are delaying doing so. It’s like they’re working up the nerve. She’s a nice lady, she’s due to give birth February 2nd and something in my head is saying,

“that baby will take your place! you will die the day it’s born!”

I wish we’d hurry up and get it over with already.

I really should stop writing and focus on dying but well being doesn’t lend itself to writing. It’s often a good sign, when I stop writing I’m probably having a good time out there somewhere.

—-

Lying. So so much lying is required to get through daily life and the interactions with the people and creatures who are ***of*** this world. Even if it’s not an overt lie, it’s an act, or omission, or something of the sort. Lying to spare feelings, lying for diplomacy, lying to keep things going in general. It’s a remarkably beautiful system;I respect it, and I hate it. It’s perfectly effective and most possible counters against it simply aren’t worth the execution.

a lover may ask

“what’s on your mind?”

you can’t say “oh nothing” because that won’t satisfy them, they’ll spiral into thoughts and imaginings about it that are much worse than whatever actually was going on in your head and then you’re in for much more trouble and emotional labor than if you’d lied and proposed something innocuous.

or you tell the truth.

“i’m thinking that my parents resented me after they gave birth to me, they were so young and suddenly their youths and freedom were stripped away only to be replaced with immense sacrifice, loneliness and anxiety. This resulted in the sort of childhood neglect and abuse that has turned me into a monster of a person, I’m thinking I should have killed my mother years and years ago when I was a minor so I could have possibly gotten away with it so she wouldn’t have been able to do or say those things that I can’t stop seeing when I close my eyes.”

in an exceedingly rare occurrence, (the sort of thing I’ve experienced once in my many many many entanglements and affairs) the person will understand at least intellectually, perhaps even experientially. They’d then engage in honest conversation, share their own experiences, and you’d bond over the complicated ambivalence of feeling like you need to kill your mother while simultaneously holding immense understanding and empathy for her.

What would you call this? a reverse oedipus?

anyway.

In most cases if you were to tell this sort of truth you’d be met with shock or disgust and the word “psycho” may be thrown around or “a bit too far” or “extreme” etc etc as though any part of your life has been anything besides extreme.

exhausting!

or maybe something less “extreme” but far more frequent and vastly more exasperating, having to pretend to care. I sincerely wish I could care, I just don’t, but i have to pretend to for their feelings, which are already disgusting in their own right. It’s all just so tiresome!

I’d love to never participate in the lies but I don’t have enough money to. Though even people with exorbitant amounts of wealth are kept in check with this system. If I was to tell the truth always I’d lose my home, friendships, job, etc. If i had enough money for those things not to matter and i told the truth all the time, still id suffer to a degree where it wouldn’t be worth it.

here’s a bit of truth:

I’m GLAD I have cancer, I’m relieved to be dying. Nature in all its horror and brutality is still beautiful, but this “world” we live in as humans: these systems, these “civilizations”, all this “capital”

Fucking dogshit.

Let me out already, I don’t want to play anymore.

——

1 AM after work on december 26th

I keep dying in my sleep. Earlier today even, sleep paralysis again. Woke up in a black nothing, I felt myself start to sink further inwards, inky black spots consumed my consciousness as i felt parts of my mind shut off completely where these orbs of oblivion move. Somehow and for some reason I keep fighting it off,struggling to wake up and to breathe.

I know surely that if i let it consume and take me, im headed for obliteration.

6am in chicago on december 27th

27th? did I sleep through a day?

I woke up to the sort of long and sincere text message people can only send you when they’re drunk enough to completely disregard or bypass their emotional walls and inhibitions. It made me realize how emotionally callous, inept,and generally out of touch I really am.

it’s not something to be glorified, i don’t like being a monster anymore.

—————

4:25am Samedi 28 décembre

the last time i smiled for a picture. the last time…. the last time? twenty-twentyyyy

“𝖙𝖜𝖔”

in front of dennys

“𝖏𝖚𝖘𝖙 𝖆𝖋𝖙𝖊𝖗 𝖘𝖚𝖓𝖗𝖎𝖘𝖊”

and i meant it didn’t i ?

“𝖜𝖎𝖙𝖍 𝖊𝖛𝖊𝖗𝖞 𝖒𝖎𝖈𝖗𝖔𝖋𝖗𝖆𝖈𝖙𝖚𝖗𝖊 𝖔𝖋 𝖞𝖔𝖚𝖗 𝖘𝖍𝖆𝖙𝖙𝖊𝖗𝖊𝖉 𝖑𝖎𝖙𝖙𝖑𝖊 𝖍𝖊𝖆𝖗𝖙”

i’m desperate for it all to end.

“𝖎𝖙 𝖉𝖎𝖉. 𝖋𝖗𝖔𝖒 𝖜𝖍𝖎𝖈𝖍 𝖈𝖔𝖗𝖕𝖘𝖊 𝖉𝖔 𝖞𝖔𝖚 𝖙𝖍𝖎𝖓𝖐 𝖙𝖍𝖊 𝖟𝖔𝖒𝖇𝖎𝖊 𝖒𝖆𝖙𝖊𝖗𝖎𝖆𝖑𝖎𝖟𝖊𝖉 𝖋𝖗𝖔𝖒”

i suppose all the Kincaids count as undead

“𝖆𝖓𝖉 𝖞𝖔𝖚 𝖆𝖗𝖊 𝖘𝖔 𝖕𝖆𝖑𝖊 𝖙𝖍𝖊𝖘𝖊 𝖉𝖆𝖞𝖘”

if im dead then what is all this?

“𝖞𝖔𝖚𝖗 𝖕𝖚𝖓𝖎𝖘𝖍𝖒𝖊𝖓𝖙”

do i deserve to be punished? is it my fault that i was turned into this? i had to survive, i had to lie to avoid more beatings,i had to steal to eat or feel some iota of whimsy and happiness children require, i know i knew better but

𝖎 𝖏𝖚𝖘𝖙 𝖜𝖆𝖓𝖙𝖊𝖉 𝖙𝖔 𝖇𝖊 𝖍𝖆𝖕𝖕𝖞

——

My doctor is out of office, she was quite pregnant last I saw her, due in february. She did however make all sorts of assurances and arrangements they I’d be able to reach her no matter what. I wonder what indeed has happened. I do hope all is well for her and the baby, though i’ve been assigned a PA covering for her who just strikes me wrongly. I don’t like him at all!

“you’ve never met”

still i don’t like him!

he sent a message to make an appointment for further discussions on treatment yet try as i might-

oh whatever

between this, the insurance fiascos and all of it

i can’t be bothered.

i’ve decided to let it take me.