Reddit Throwaway: crazierthanuthought

I used to hear voices. For years. It started when I'd walk into my room and say hello to my Lain poster (I've always over personified objects) and eventually she started responding. Over time I could talk to her elsewhere, I'd pull her up when I was sitting in class or riding the bus, and I'd put on headphones so nobody would notice I was talking to myself since it was barely audible. Eventually Lain told me she was a god and I was too, and there were two others, but they didn't really like me so they would almost never talk to me.

A long time later, maybe years, she started being really mean, and it turned out there was another voice who was just pretending to be Lain named Misery. This one was stereotypical, everything I did was wrong and I had to pay for my actions, I should cut myself if I was ungraceful, everyone hated me, etc. Lain split again, and this time she was sisterly. When I was upset and crying myself to sleep I could feel her holding me and telling me everything would be alright. Misery looked different but could look like Lain if she wanted to fool me (although she would turn back into herself when I called her out on it), and the two Lains all looked the same, so I could only tell who they were when they started responding to me.

After a while they all just disappeared. I guess I saned up, because during the peek it never occurred to me I was hearing voices, they truly were gods who were speaking to me, and later during the time period I realized that I was hallucinating with delusions of grandeur. Then at one point I realized that there was more of me and less of them, when I pulled them up it was a conscious effort and part of their responses were forced on my part. Then eventually I just gave them up, they were so weak that it was really just like talking to myself and not to other people that lived in my head.

That's not my secret, I've mentioned it to a few very select people that I truly trust. My secret is that I miss them. I miss them with with all my heart. Even Misery. They were friends and family, they were close to me, they understood me, and they were always there for me. Now even with real friends and family, there's nobody that close. I can't just pull up someone to talk to when I'm lonely, I have to call up a real person and that person never knows what I want to talk about or what I'm hiding from them, they only know what I say. Lain (the main one) would always call me on my bullshit and make me keep changing my answer until I told her the truth. Misery could always find my biggest weaknesses, which allowed me to work on strengthening them. Sisterly Lain could calm me down in a way that's unimaginable, you can't comprehend how good it feels to be hugged by someone inside of you.

And now I feel lonelier than I have in years because I almost never think of that time or remember how it felt, but tonight I'm sitting by myself at 2am and all I can think about is how much I want a voice to talk to and it's been so long since I had one and I'd give anything to have another psychotic break so I could get back all my friends that live in my head.

I once had a psychiotic episode where I could talk to clouds and I could feel how much they loved me, the clouds, the trees, the birds, they were all my friends and they all loved me and they all wanted me to be happy. I had that feeling on mushrooms once, everything in the world loved me, every single thing, the house, the ceiling, the lamp, each blade of grass, it all loved me and it was the best feeling I have ever known, that was the best night of my life. I can't tell you how much I want to feel that again, I just have no way of tracking them down again.

Being crazy feels amazing, whether it's good or bad. Even the bad crazy where I'd stay awake all night because I knew something was going to get me in my sleep and I'd try to claw the evil out of my skin, even that's preferable to being normal because the intensity is indescribable. I miss everything about being crazy. I miss it more than I can possibly describe.

Prayer of the Loved

Dear God, 

I am not perfect. 

Please stop her from thinking I am. 

It is not fair to her, 

and it is not fair to me. 

I continuously try to play the role

and continuously come short. 

And it's not because I don't try, 

it's just that she sees me

as someone I am not,

and it is hard to live up to that image. 

So please stop blinding her to the fact

that I am who I am -

flawed. 

Should the day come

when she realizes I am not perfect, 

please give me the strength to carry on

living. 

Amen.

Defeat

"The forehead.
That's where it'll go." 

She said that to him, 

and my wife says that to me. 

Him, at 29. 

Me, at 30. 

My mom says, 

"don't do that, it'll give you wrinkles."

My wife says to me, 

"babe, stop doing that. You'll get wrinkles."

And that's how my dad got the heavy eyelids, 

the stone-look, 

the lack of humor, 

but most importantly, 

the beady look of defeat.

Fight!

We fight, scream, scratch, hurt
It's a mother fuckin' fight!
Which part of that don't you understand?
I understand. Oh. Too. Well.
I understand that
I will be alone
even if I met the perfect person,
even if I'm the perfect man,
even if God granted us indescribable love;
we'll fight.
And it's the fight I can't stand.
I'd rather be alone then fight.
And that's why I'll be alone
because we'll fight.

The Letter

The phone vibrated by his computer. It was his mom. 

"Hi, mom. What's up?" 

"There was a letter for you. I didn't get it because it needed your signature. It's from LA County." 

His heart skipped a beat. "Ok..."

"You need to go pick it up. I told them that you are at work and he said that you can pick it up on Saturday. They're open Saturday." 

His mind raced. There are so many things this could be. A few days ago his mom scanned and emailed a letter from the LA County addressed to him. It said something about money being taken by the government. He assumed it was his college debt, which he knew about; UCLA had just taken possession of his state tax return. But this was different. He had no idea what it was about and he did not want anything to do with it. He's had enough trouble with the law to know it never ends well. 

"Ok, I'll get it next week."

"Is this serious? Are you ok?"

"I don't know, mom. I'm at work right now. Can I talk to you later?"

"Ok. I'll scan the note they left me so you can go pick it up."

"Thanks, mom."

"Ok, bye."

"Bye." He hung up with a million thoughts running through his mind. This could be so many things. Did he do something to violate his probation? That would be the worst thing that could happen right now because it would mean jail time, losing his job, and starting all over again. What could it possibly be? 

He suppresses the need to call everyone he knows for answers. There's no point. No one knows what is going on and the only way for him to find out is to pick up the letter, which he can't do this weekend because he's going out of town. 

What could it possibly be?

Ultimatum

What would you rather have?
My love or your happiness?
Because you can't have both.
Yes, I know. It sucks.
Love sucks in general.

But for you,
Just for you,
I promise I will love you
Except I might not show it the way you want.
I promise I will shed tears when you leave me
Because I will miss having you around.
You might not always feel my love
But I promise it will always be there.
You will probably cry and want my apologies
And I promise it will always be there.

Best of CL: Busted peeing in the sink

Date: 2008-12-09, 9:09AM CST

When it comes to peeing, its great to be a male. Ladies (and fellows with a micro-penis) purse their lips at men's blithe attitude toward convenience when it comes to answering nature's call. We're so crass, rude, disgusting. Right.

You're just fucking envious. And well you should be. It is indescribably wondrous portaging a permanently attached watering hose. Witness "Man, Peeing in Garden," the epitome of casualness. Few, if any, locations are off-limits when the urge is felt: parking garage, deck, the sink...simply too many nouns to list. Still, while decorum is abused, discretion is not--more on this point in a moment.

Oh sure, many a woman has pee'd outside of the pot, though strictly as a matter of urgency and with much reluctance and with great angst. There is no female example of "whipping it out." In fact, yours is a complete show. You fret about the location, the preparation, the sundries, minimizing dribble "christ almighty" it's a fifteen minute ordeal. Men can sort of relate to your dilemma, like when we need to poop and there's no bathroom in sight.

Anyway, I pee in the sink. I've been peeing into bathroom sinks for years. Convenience is my primary reason. But there are many very good reasons to pee in a sink. A few among them:

I can multitask, which is important to me: both my hands are free to brush teeth, comb hair, apply hygiene products, etc. I've never done and empirical study, but I am certain in my gut that cumulative hours are saved annually by peeing in the sink.

It's environmentally conscientious. I conserve water when I pee in the sink. As I wash my hands or rinse my toothbrush, my pee is carried through the p-trap down into the sanitary line. Toilet, sink as George Castanza explained, "It's all pipes!"

It's the "green" thing to do. By peeing on dried toothpaste, solidified lungers, loose hair, and other lingering yuckiness stuck inside the sink, I save still more water and reduce phosphates and other nasty chemicals that might otherwise have been used to clean the sink.

It's considerate. Regardless whether my girlie is sleeping, watching television, reading in silence, I do not disturb her with a cacophonous serenade of "man-peeing-into-toilet-then-flushing." Peeing into a sink is very quiet.

It's clean. There is no toilet water splash nor urine splatter on walls, seat or in the crannies of the commode. Here I bandy the duel argument of "less work" (by not scrubbing said surfaces after each use) and, consequently, "more green" (requires less use of environmentally harmful cleaning chemicals). Pee is, for the most part, sterile when it hits the sink, so no need to use expensive disinfectant. Thus I submit another good, albeit tenuous, reason I pee in the sink: it saves money.

It builds "relationship equity." The seat is always down, which appears to my girlie as sublimely considerate and one those "little things" I do for her. This manifests, somehow, in better sex.

It's hygienic. After my stream has diminished to a trickle, I splash a handful or two of water on my dick, thus washing it. I have a clean dick and I put my dick up against the dick of any "traditional" toilet user for some quantitative dick evaluation; eg.: stiff test, taste test. Rub my dick against glass and it squeaks.

I can think of violently few disadvantages to peeing in a sink. Off the top of my head:

- peeing into a sink after eating asparagus is very unpleasant;

- fishing a contact lens out of the sink while "multitasking" is disturbing; and,

- reflexive tumescence may result from the splash of overly cold or hot water, which can have messy consequences.

I confess that a lifetime of casually whipping it out and letting go when and wherever has caused my "Emergency Pee Shut Off" muscle, assuming it ever existed, to atrophy. Richard Pryor was correct that a man cannot cut off his stream "just like that."

I am aware that this technique d'avant garde might offend the eyeballs of an accidental witness, so I always exercise discretion when I pee in the sink. That said, peeing in the sink is so routine for me that I am complacent, and I never thought up a contingency plan should someone walk in on me.

Just this morning my girlie busted me peeing in the sink, rather (as I now understand), "her" sink. She fucking had a cow and slapped my dick hard like it was a big hairy fucking spider on the countertop.

Thus I know from experience that getting caught peeing in the sink does not garner even the tiniest, wee little bit of appreciation of or for any of those benefits I mentioned above. Therefore, heed this exhortation: make damn site sure no one will walk in as you pee in the sink.

So there I am this morning, brushing my teeth in front of the mirror and quietly contemplating my day while a night's worth of pee drained out of my unlimbered dick laying in the sink. My girlie sneaked up behind me topless as a playful, sexy morning surprise, and so intended, she was oblivious to my present commitment. She might as well have tossed a glass of ice water on my back cause with the sudden and unexpected feeling of her hands around my midriff, I reflexively jerked up and away from the sink. My flaccid dick tossed about mid-stream until I could completely close down the relief valve. I was untethered for no more than.. what.. two seconds, but it seemed like I peed on fucking everything, including her jewelry box and her basket of stretchy hair things, both of which she was real unhappy about upon discovery. Miraculously, I missed her. She was incredulous. I sensed a radar-lock on my groin area and my hand moved instinctively to my protect my dick, but I was too slow. With the speed of a fucking praying mantis, she lashed at my dick and nailed it good. I hollered "what the fuck," spewing frothy toothpaste on her, which only added to the indignity and intensified her fury. It was a fucking show this morning in our, rather, her bathroom.

I didn't learn any lessons this morning (except maybe to lock the bathroom door). I did learn that my girlie is irrational and uptight about this particular issue. Frankly, fuck if I know what to do or what to say to her come this evening. I'm going to go to the restroom and take a good long look at myself in the mirror, mostly because I'll be peeing in the sink, but also to steel my nerve and strategize for tonite.

Location: in my bathroom

Looking out the window

James looked out the glass door from his desk at the freight truck parked by the sidewalk. That truck is there every day without fail, at the same time to meet up with the same person. The truck usually parks a little before noon and a hispanic lady would walk out from the building next door 10 minutes later. The driver would open the passenger door for her and they would sit there for about an hour. They would eat and afterwards, they would go their separate ways. He's probably off to deliver stuff and she'll go back to her desk job.

James often wondered, what is their story? Is she a mistress? A friend? A wife? And what does she do? Is she a secretary or something? What about him? Is he just a loving husband who's trying to spend time with his wife? Or is he a deadbeat who's trying to slack off? 

He remembers back to a time when he visited his girlfriends at school, work, or the hospital. Those were good times. Everyone was happy. He would often get compliments on being such a great and loving boyfriend, bringing their favorite food and spending time with them. He was young, unemployed, and had too much time on his hands. It was perfect but only for so long. It never lasted.

Once, he had a girlfriend that tried to commit suicide. Actually, that happened twice with two different girls. He called the police both times, and both times they were arrested and taken to a hospital. Ironically, he had to spend the night with them as a last gesture of affection before he broke up with them for good and disappeared out of their lives.

Loneliness he can live with. Death he can't. Some people ought to be alone. 

The Heat and Friday

James chuckled to himself as he read the news article off his computer. It was about his cousin's neighbor. Apparently, the house was rented out to someone that grew marijuana, and it had an elaborate system costing over 40k.

"ROWLAND HEIGHTS - Sheriffs detectives discovered a secret pot plantation at a home in Rowland Heights Thursday afternoon.

Los Angeles County Sheriffs undercover narcotics detectives began removing approximately 725 marijuana plants from the well landscaped, upscale home around 3 p.m. Thursday.

The renters had been in the home on the 1300 block of Otterbein Avenue for 8 months and were stealing upwards of $3,000 a month in electricity.

The owners hadn't been able to get in touch with the tenants and asked deputies to make a quick check on the home.

When deputies entered, they found every room was being used for the high end marijuana grow, which contained high levels of THC.

"This is a really sophisticated grow," Deputy German Perez told KTLA. "This is one of the best I've seen.
The estimated street value of the drugs inside were about $1.8 million dollars, Perez said.

The bust was "totally unexpected," one neighbor told KTLA. "I did not know our neighbors had this big operation going on."

Some neighbors did notice people coming to the home late at night but did not smell anything suspicious.

Deputies said the suspects were using a $40,000 ventilation system.

The suspects are still at large."

He found this funny because a week before his cousin told him he suspected the house was used as a grow house. Turns out he was right.

James surfed the internet some more at work before heading out to McDonald's for Filet-O-Fish Fridays. It's the only time of the year where he can justify gorging on McDonald's because of the Filet-O-Fish sale for Lent. As expected, there were long lines and people were irate from the sudden summer heat. Just 3 days ago it was cold and raining. Now, it's absurdly hot. 

He ordered the usual 6 sandwiches, 4 for now and 2 for later. As his weekly tradition, he'll make a double Filet-O-Fish.

And as always, he felt sick afterwards. The human body wasn't meant to consume so many calories in one sitting. Good thing it's only once a week until Easter. 

Every Day

With every day, I hate my life even more as if to say that there is no better way. With every day that passes, I wonder to myself if it'll ever get better before saying to myself no, it won't. With every minute that passes, it feels as if it's an eternity. But with every hour that flies by I try to hold onto the passing memories.

Just another day

James sat in his air conditioned cubicle waiting for the day to end. For some reason, the work week seems to fly by when he's at work. It felt like yesterday when he got the job and told himself that it's only temporary. Just until my other projects take off, then I'm outta here! Now, 9 months later, he feels trapped. Trapped by his attachment and loyalty to his coworkers. Trapped by the money. Trapped by the fact that his other projects failed miserably and will not bear fruit for another 3 months. And trapped by the health insurance offered by his employer. This last one is important because he's not getting any younger and some of his friends are developing health problems.

It scares him to death actually. He already has a chronic cough due to second hand smoke from his father. Plus the 10+ years of smoking marijuana as a youth. Sure, he works out and is considered pretty fit but that's all on the outside. He has no idea what his insides look like. 

DOTA: Point of No Return - Chapter 1

THE Underdark - The oppressive magical underground dwellings where many mythical creatures call home. Some have never seen the light of day, only the eerie phosphorescent emissions of the Fungus. Traxex thought back to a time when she was comforted by the darkness Underdark provided. Now, she loathes everything about it.  

It's normal when you're branded as a traitor. Traxex was branded as a traitor and fugitive the moment she stepped outside the Underdark. It was not a willing choice, but a compelling force that drove her to the surface. It started as an itch within her dreams, calling out to her by a different name - Exxeria. 

The dream was always the same. She was leading a hunting party, tracking the scent of a group of trolls in the dark caverns when she suddenly feels a sharp pain against her left abdomen. Her hunting party suddenly disappeared and replaced by trees. She dove instinctively away from her attacker only to find herself in the grasp of rock solid arms. Panic filled her to the bone but there was no time to hesitate. Fear was forbidden and reserved for the weak. With a twist of her slender body she slips out from underneath the crushing arms, kicks both her feet at the center where the attacker's midsection is, and draws her bow mid-air. With catlike reflexes, she lets loose 2 enchanted arrows in the direction of her attacker. It finds its mark. Traxex smiles to herself and surveys her surroundings for more attackers before slowly walking towards the darkness where the attacker is. To her surprise, it's a woman in a cloak; the woman whispers Exxeria, or so it seems to come from her although her lips did not move. Everything fades and Traxes is once again left alone in the woods. An immense sadness fills her.  

The dream feels real because the sadness is real. It lingers well after Traxex wakes. The dream must mean something, but what? It was a question she felt compelled to investigate until it developed into an obsession that consumed her daily. She had to know. She must find out! 

Against her clan's wishes and threats, Traxex left. It was a cold day when Princess Traxes emerged from the Underdark.  

Maybe I'm Mad

Maybe I'm mad all the time
Mad at work, mad at life
Mad that I don't have the time
to relax and be me.
Maybe I'm mad all the time
And it spills onto you
Making you suffer the inconsistent waves
Of my constant madness.
Maybe I'm just mad.
Maybe that's just me.
Maybe I need to be alone.
But baby, please don't leave.

Don't Let Me Push You Away

Don't let me push you away
it'll really mess me up.
But if you stay
it'll really mess you up.

I'd rather die alone

Of all the people I trust, I see you as the one.
Because I don't trust many people. Actually, I trust no one.
But you, you're special because I trust you.
I trusted you. I used to trust you.
Now, I'm not so sure.
You're a quitter.
I'm a loser.
We can never be.
But, you'll always have a place in my heart for what could've been,
and now,
what will never be.

I don't believe

I don't believe in love
so we should break up.
It'll save you heartache and time
so you can find your new valentine.
I'll hate you, and I'll hate him
but it's inevitable.
I'll understand.

Sometimes

Sometimes.
That, is my answer to everything.
When the question is
can you live without me?
No. But sometimes...
Will you miss me if I left you?
Yes. But sometimes...
Do you think we're soulmates?
Yes. But sometimes...
Do you love me?
Yes.
I love you too.
Ok good, but sometimes...

Poetic Justice

I got her name tattooed.
Yes, I got her name tattooed.
We argued and I got her name tattooed.
It was stupid. It was absurd. It was not what I expected
but it happened.
What can I say.

I was young. I was stupid.
I was not scared,
even though I should've been.
I should've dwelt on certain fears, such as
my fears for the future,
my fears of being alone,
my fear of being stupid.
And it all happened anyways.
Stupid.

Best of CL: Some Advice From Your Public Defender

Date: 2005-04-26, 10:49AM PDT

First, let me say I love my job and it is a privilege to work for my clients. I wish I could do more for them. That being said, there are a few things that need to be discussed.

You have the right to remain silent. So SHUT THE FUCK UP. Those cops are completely serious when they say your statements can and will be used against you. There's just no need to babble on like it's a drink and dial session. They are just pretending to like you and be interested in you.

When you come to court, consider your dress. If you're charged with a DUI, don't wear a Budweiser shirt. If you have some miscellaneous drug charge, think twice about clothing with a marijuana leaf on it or a t-shirt with the "UniBonger" on it. Long sleeves are very nice for covering tattoos and track marks. Try not to be visibly drunk when you show up.

Consider bathing and brushing your teeth. This is just as a courtesy to me who has to stand by you in court. Smoking 5 generic cigarettes to cover up your bad breath is not the same as brushing. Try not to cough and spit on my while you speak and further transmit your strep, flu, and hepatitis A through Z.

I'm a lawyer, not your fairy godmother. I probably won't find a loophole or technicality for you, so don't be pissed off. I didn't beat up your girlfriend, steal that car, rob that liquor store, sell that crystal meth, or rape that 13 year old. By the time we meet, much of your fate has been sealed, so don't be too surprised by your limited options and that I'm the one telling you about them.

Don't think you'll improve my interest in your case by yelling at me, telling me I'm not doing anything for you, calling me a public pretender or complaining to my supervisor. This does not inspire me, it makes me hate you and want to work with you even less.

It does not help if you leave me nine messages in 17 minutes. Especially if you leave them all on Saturday night and early Sunday morning. This just makes me want to stab you in the eye when we finally meet.

For the guys: Don't think I'm amused when you flirt or offer to "do me." You can't successfully rob a convenience store, forge a signature, pawn stolen merchandise, get through a day without drinking, control your temper, or talk your way out of a routine traffic stop. I figure your performance in other areas is just as spectacular, and the thought of your shriveled unwashed body near me makes me want to kill you and then myself.

For the girls: I know your life is rougher than mine and you have no resources. I'm not going to insult you by suggesting you leave your abusive pimp/boyfriend, that you stop taking meth, or that your stop stealing shit. I do wish you'd stop beating the crap out of your kids and leaving your needles out for them to play with because you aren't allowing them to have a life that is any better than yours.

For the morons: Your second grade teacher was right - neatness counts. Just clean up! When you rob the store, don't leave your wallet. When you drive into the front of the bank, don't leave the front license plate. When you rape/assault/rob a woman on the street, don't leave behind your cell phone. After you abuse your girlfriend, don't leave a note saying that you're sorry.

If you are being chased by the cops and you have dope in your pocket - dump it. These cops are not geniuses. They are out of shape and want to go to Krispy Kreme and most of all go home. They will not scour the woods or the streets for your 2 grams of meth. But they will check your pockets, idiot. 2 grams is not worth six months of jail.

Don't be offended and say you were harassed because the security was following you all over the store. Girl, you were wearing an electronic ankle bracelet with your mini skirt. And you were stealing. That's not harassment, that's good store security.

And those kids you churn out: how is it possible? You're out there breeding like feral cats. What exactly is the attraction of having sex with other meth addicts? You are lacking in the most basic aspects of hygiene, deathly pale, greasy, grey-toothed, twitchy and covered with open sores. How can you be having sex? You make my baby-whoring crack head clients look positively radiant by comparison.

"I didn't put it all the way in." Not a defense.

"All the money is gone now." Not a defense

"The bitch deserved it." Not a defense.

"But that dope was so stepped on, I barely got high." Not a defense.

"She didn't look thirteen." Possibly a defense; it depends.

"She didn't look six." Never a defense, you just need to die.

For those rare clients that say thank-you, leave a voice mail, send a card or flowers, you are very welcome. I keep them all, and they keep me going more than my pitiful COLA increase.

For the idiots who ask me how I sleep at night: I sleep just fine, thank you. There's nothing wrong with any of my clients that could not have been fixed with money or the presence of at least one caring adult in their lives. But that window has closed, and that loss diminishes us all.

Prologue: Dumplings

Lazy Sunday lying on the couch

watching TV
waiting for my laundry to finish
while he cooks me dumplings.
They're 50 for $10. What a deal. He knows what I love.
I will never get my own laundry machine

and I should do my laundry more often.

When mom filed for a divorce,
it was a divorce from us.
All of us.
When grandma died,
a piece of us died,
all of us,
along with her.
And all we have is each other.
Him, to remind me that life is hard;
Me, to remind him life is hard. 

He never learned to hug
or say the words "I love..."
until I was 26.
He learned it from his father.

Thank God I wasn't born to the oldest brother.
Who passed. 2 out of 4 passed.
My, how the times flies.
Now,
he's making me dumplings.

Still. 30 years later.
To a 30 year old boy.