There are long spaces between my thoughts and my eyes stay half open behind the shade of my sunglasses. Faceless people move around me, someone takes a picture. My steps are light and distant, and a wind blows my jacket out behind me. Some part of me wants to stay here, safely anchored, but I let myself smudge, bleeding across the page, until I was the orchestra of the city street, the arid blue sky, and the nameless, whispering breeze drifting down the sidewalk.

The night before, I had spent hours awake in the dark, shifting onto my back, my sides, trying to decide whether I should try to pull myself free of these blankets or just try to push down what kept me up. Lately, if I had crossed my legs for too long, or had left myself in a bad posture, I felt an aching sensation in my bones, a feeling that there was something pulsing in them, expanding outwards. I pushed this thought into the undercurrents of my mind, but where I wasn’t pushing it down hard enough, it sprung up into new corners. The pain had been with me for months, but lately, it had become constant, stronger, and impossible to suppress. Even though I told myself it must have something to do with my bad posture, I couldn’t stop thinking of my grandmother, the new malignancies we found, the one whose last words were “I’m not ready to die.” A memory. New leaks sprung up and the water lapped at my ankles.

My mind was at war with itself and I could not stop it. If I just patched up the holes fast enough, I would have air. That thing at work inside me was feral, and it had no words to describe how much it feared the water. It screamed a language that I could not understand but only feel.

At some point I got up because I knew sleeping wouldn’t work. My mind was flickering, and when I pulled of the heavy blankets, the morning air was like stepping into an icy river. I found a heavy sweater, drifted into my studio kitchen, and turned on my stove to boil water for tea.

And then—my mind still strains and reaches when I try to grasp at it, because it was something so distant, and alien, that I feel like I was not meant to see it. I can only the trace the contours of it, see a shadow, and try to speak to what was there. But as the water began to boil, I felt the weight and gravity of some new planet, near the earth but hidden behind its shadow so that it was invisible. That planet was only endless ocean. It was entirely cloaked in the darkness of night, and I, from my kitchen, watched the roil and crash of the mountainous waves. They were countless stories high, and I now watched from the valley of the wave as they rose precipitously above me.

But as I was under the wave, I could hear nothing. The storm around me was quiet, invisible. There was just the sound of my breath and the bubbling of the kettle. I found now that something was freed, something that I could let drift. I let myself smudge, bleeding across the page, and I disappeared into the waves.

I haven't let go.

The thing about honey, it's sweet, but, sticky. If you hold it between your fingertips, you'd feel it at the bottom of your pores.

I smell honey that stings the back of my throat when I look at them.

Sweet summer love in the mid of winter, I am completely and utterly hopeless.

There is a reason I write poetry, and It's not because I like to rhyme.

Innocent, pure, beautiful... The object of my obsession. An infernal presence dwells within me. Vexxed by the urge and it's source, I am overcome with insidious virility. The urge comes in excruciating, relentless waves... Verging on satiation. I fear it though it has elevated me to an alien world beyond good and evil. It tells me I am superior. I am convinced by a genius emotional intellect that I have transcended petty human affairs. Hypersensitive and empathic, bordering on psychic, yet cold and calculative, intuitive logic pierces the matter at hand, showing me I have what it takes to impose self-exile, because that's what I will need to do if I am going to unhinge my mind and release this titanic beast. I will marry this pursuit. A sacrificial ritual of human consumption, to take on the emotional fuel required for me to attain immortality.

She's out there somewhere... Waiting for me.

There was once a time

I wanted to die

Quick was progression

A deep dark descent

Met by depression

Gloomy and silent

Snaked the unlit path

Overriding will

Extinguishing wrath

Gone was a purpose

I could stand it no more

Unable to weather

The silent roar

Destiny and death

Laughed from somewhere near

Slithering louder

Loud for all to hear

As the fortress walls

Crumbled from within

In the end I was spared

Ascending back to light

Escaping at last

From a starless night

No other soul knew

Inside I was alone

Finding dawn after dusk

Mind hollow as bone

My last case as a psychiatrist was the case that changed my life.

The young woman who turned my world upside down. Made me question the

unquestionable, made me search for the real meaning of life, and opened my

eyes.

This is not my story, this is hers. I made a promise to tell it exactly how it

happened, and this is me fulfilling it.

Dedicated to the late Miss Kristina. May you enjoy your afterlife, as you would

call it, and thank you for everything.

As I walked into that white room, all I saw was emptiness. A beautiful blonde

woman, with a spark in her eyes, like a comet travelling through the universe.

The beauty on the outside, and extraordinary depth on the inside.

I opened my notebook, and started my psychoanalysis.

I started with the basic question.

Doc: Who are you?

K: – I am nobody. I am everybody. I am you. The Yin and Yang. The Alpha and

Omega. The infinite power of the universe. A form of energy, recycled, over

and over again.

Doc: You like to speak in metaphors, don’t you, Miss Kristina?

K: – Don’t you, doctor?

Doc: Don’t change the subject.

K: – I am not changing the subject, because the subject does not exist.

Doc: What do you mean?

K: – I mean, how do you know you even exist? How do you value your

existence? By what you accomplished? By defining your purpose within time?

Doc: Okay, you went off track now.

K: – No, you are off track. You must understand, time does not exist. The rules,

morals, and purposes do not exist. Society made them up. And do you know

why?

Doc: Why?

K: – To limit us. To limit our energy. There is a world beyond your imagination,

beyond your rationality, beyond your expectations.

Doc: You’re talking nonsense now.

K: – Because I tell you things you ignore? Or because you buried those beliefs

when you stopped being a child?

Doc: I am gonna leave now. You’re clearly not in the mood for telling the truth.

K: – And what is the truth, doc?

Doc: That you made some bad choices in your life, and unspeakable crimes,

which resulted in your insanity, and why you are here.

K: – The truth does not exist. It is a form of a lie which the majority accepts,

and it becomes right. There are no good or bad choices, every choice is the

right choice. As for insanity, I have always been called insane. Because I didn’t

want to accept your reality, your restrictions and limitations. Because I wanted

to look beyond that shallowness, beyond that system of yours. The infinite

possibilities of life.

Doc: But everything you did was wrong, unacceptable for the society.

K: – Every action has its own reaction. What was done, was previously

triggered by an even bigger action. So, I did what I had to do.

Doc: Do you regret it?

K: – Regret what? My life? Never. Everything I did, I did it by my own choice,

willingly. And I lived it fully.

Do you have regrets doc? About your life? About something that you’ve done?

Doc: No, I don’t think so.

Doc: So, Kristina, you consider your actions to be justified for a reason?

K: – As I said, I made my own choices. They were right for me.

So, doc, if you could go back in time, would you change something? Would

you make something differently in the past?

Doc: Maybe. Maybe I would’ve stopped you.

K: – Then you’d be in here, with me, as a roomie.

You see, the reactions have consequences. If you have seen what I have, if

you lived what I lived, then you’d understand. If only you wouldn’t be so

ignorant.

Doc: And what is it, that you have seen? What is it that you have lived?

K: – You want the copyrights? You want to become famous by unsolving the

greatest mystery of life, the deciphering of the brain, the conscious and

subconscious?

Doc: I just want to help you, cure you.

K: – Well, you see, that’s your problem. You can’t cure anyone who isn’t sick.

You can’t fix something that isn’t broken.

Doc: Then why are you here?

K: – Because of your system. Because I saw what was going on behind the

scene. How the puppet masters pulled the strings. And I cut mine off. But if

you want my life story, I will give it to you.

Doc: Why the change of heart?

K: – Not of heart, of mind, perhaps. A choice, which I want to do. But you have

to promise me one thing.

Doc: Sure, tell me.

K: – You have to publish my story exactly as I tell it, no psycho babbling. I

want my words, my reality, for the people to see, not twisted into your own.

Doc: I can do that.

K: – Let’s begin.

What do you want me to say?

That I can't make eye contact with myself in the mirror without starting to cry

That my therapist saw me twice before telling me goodbye, deciding for herself that I was okay

That my grandmother can't remember my name

That she asks to be shot every time that I see her

and that every time she says it

I get flashbacks to just a few months ago and a phone call

and all of the people I know that have come too close to that edge

only for some of them to fall

But I can't bring any of that up

Because even if she knew, she wouldn't remember

And at least she's still breathing

and I'm sorry

That I got defensive in the game we were playing

and I know everything you did was meant in good fun

and I'm sorry

That it went down the way it did

But it still hurt

and I'm trying not to cry and instead just politely say good night

and I'm sure the look in your eyes isn't meant to say go away

But that's how it feels

and I'm sorry

and talking about it is supposed to make me feel better

But all it does is remind of all of the things that I'm not saying

That I don't know how to say

Because how do you say to your parents just months after telling them that a second friend of yours is dead

That four more of them have tried, only they walked away

and that I can name more people I know who have been sexually assaulted than I have fingers to count on

and that the people that you think that I have to count on are just ghosts in my world

But I have to be fine

because these things aren't happening to me and everyone else has bigger fish to fry right now

Because the medication she's on is less anxiety and more depression

and she's two weeks away from what's going to be the rest of her life

and she's my grandma but she's his mom

and I'm not the one being asked to hold the gun

and I'm breathing

I'm fine

I know of a boy who thinks he's a girl.

"Why?"

~Because Gender Dysphoria is a thing and enabling the delusion is NOT the answer. it should be treated like a REAL mental illness because it is.

~HIS OWN MOTHER neglected and abused her son until he pretended to be a girl to get his mothers affection. (#killallmen)

~Because the feminist movement has gotten to a point where its IMPOSSIBLE to a man to LOOK upon a woman for fear of losing his job! so if he can't beat them, join them!

~Because there are actual perverts out there that see this as an opportunity and will wear the dress to gain the trust of victims.

~Because social pressure is REAL. pretending to be gay is hard, but wearing a skirt to school isn't that difficult to fit in if you don't want to get bullied or wat to claim "victimhood status". you only have to pretend for a few years and then you have the problem of the "self fulfilling prophecy" and "social delusions" in that case it REALLY needs to be TREATED LIKE A REAL MENTAL ILLNESS.

()

I know of a girl who thinks she's a boy.

"Why?"

~Because Gender Dysphoria is a thing and enabling the delusion is NOT the answer. it should be treated like a REAL mental illness because it IS

~Because society told her that she wasn't good enough unless she was a boy. That no one would take her seriously unless she was a boy. That she was LESS if she was a "girl".

In other words. Society LIED to her and she didn't listen to the guy next to her telling her she looked nice today just the way she was.

But that didn't cut it because society told her that he's just being misogynistic and to ignore him...(its almost like society WANTS them all to be MISERABLE).

~Because social pressure is a real thing. If all your friends are a part of the LGBTlmnop+ then YOU have to find a victim group to belong to as well!

~Because boys are NOT THE ONLY PERVERTS.

()

I know people who don't know WHAT they are! (how many nonexistent genders???)

~Because they HAVE to be special. Being part of the normal rainbow just doesn't cut it anymore. These people HAVE TO STAND OUT.. they're DESIRE- no, their INSANE desire to stand out is so palpable you can feel it through the screen and that's what makes most people sick when they watch their videos.

They crave attention more than a starved vampire craves blood. If their desire for attention could be converted into energy we'd solve global warming with only three of them.

That alone is an illness to itself and they need help as well. That craving needs to be curved or its going to consume them if it hasn't already.

()

As it pertains to CHILDREN:

It is ABUSE and should be treated as such. Are ANY OF YOU aware of the sick parents out there claiming their children are trans only because THEY want to be special?! They're willing to put their kids through SO MUCH HURT and DAMAGE THEIR KIDS for LIFE for a little bit of social attention.

Children don't know about "gender theory". They think "playing with the doll house" means you're a girl. AND THAT'S OK. LET THEM THINK THAT. You can also tell them:

"hey, John, you're still a boy, but its ok for you to play with the doll house too if you want."

And he'll be fine! Probably very happy!

()

CONCLUSION:

It needs to stop.

It needs to be TREATED as the ILLNESS that it is.

Abusive parents need to be called out as abusive!

Don't mistake my blunt ranting as calling you names.

Not once have I called ANYONE names, if you will go back and see.

I am saying that you are IMPORTANT and you need HELP.

That the depression and the hopelessness and the anger and the purposelessness you are feeling IS NOT because people are "missgendering" you...its because YOU haven't accepted yourself.

This is hard for me to tell. After all, I do consider myself somewhat smart, although I have had to work at it, as I am by no means naturally gifted. Some of you will laugh at me, but you will only laugh because you are a bully. Others will sympathize, and still others empathize, as they too have been suckered in by the intelligencia, but I have come to the painful realization that my dog General Sherman is smarter than I am. You shouldn’t laugh though, you stupid Bully. He is probably smarter than you, too.

Think about it. You spend a very good portion of your life at a job you deplore, working for assholes you can’t stand, doing work that… well… a dog wouldn’t do, all while waiting for the chance to retire so that you can do what my dog General Sherman already does; loaf, and fish.

This very minute he is lying on a blanket in the warm square of sunlight just inside the picture window while I type. He is not asleep, as he is plenty rested from a night in the bed curled up spooning alongside my wife. No, he is lying over there awake, waiting for his breakfast, hoping he won’t have to beg for it today. But if I do not get up soon to get it for him he will ever so slowly get himself up, stretch his whole body out lazily, and then make his way to my chair where he will lay his chin on my thigh until I get up and get his breakfast for him. After he eats he will wake up Josey Wales and together they will walk to the garage door where they will stand there stating at it, their tails swaying in hypnotic sequence, until I throw on my coat and walk them around the lake, no matter that it is 15 degrees and dropping. He will then get back in the bed with Pooky-Bear while I shower before heading off to that yucky job that I really only need because someone must pay for the dog’s bi-monthly $260 vet bills, his $200 monthly spa day, his weekly $60 bag of “Veterinary Select Royal Canin Protein Enriched Food”, and the $50 a week worth of Greenies and Peanut Butter Bones my wife insists that he must have, just as I ( she claims) require my 1/5 of single malt scotch. It is a good argument. One I will never win.

Yes, life is good for the canine intelligencia… I only wish I was smart enough to get in on the gig.

Fine,

You want this truth?

Sure, no I probably wasn't too good for you.

Fine,

You want the legend.

We lived together.

But not at the present.

Fine,

I lied to you.

You hurt me and everyone knew.

Fine,

We skated by.

Broken pictures, faces and cries.

Fine,

You said you loved me.

Broken hearts and promises.

Fine,

I'm the dumb one.

Must have amnesia...

To forget what I've become.

There are days

I'm so amazed

That I refrain

these razor blades

From cutting skin

The state I'm in

Is hopeless

And I know this

is a war

I'll never win

I've never been

religious

But somehow in this

Bloody mess

There is a witness

Watching out for me

Might not be God

But it's all I've got

So I'll take the shot

Bended knees

Uplifted hands

Could someone out there

Understand?

I don't want to die

Give me a sign.

Amen, amen.

Morning light

I'm still alive

Maybe someone

Heard my cries

I'll try to fight

This urge to die

I purge my body

But my mind

Has other plans

And in its hands

The morbid thoughts

Start up again

A masochist

With bleeding wrists

Or a pill

I think that will

be faster

I won't last for

One more night

I'll see the light

If I get the dosage right

Won't even feel it

Just like sleeping

Nothing's real

The thought is creeping

In my head

Same one I get

The one that says

I'm better dead

Battles never over

I'm not going

If I know

This is a problem

Why can't I solve it?

This is sickness

Yes, I get it

But medicine I'm betting

Is a trigger

And I figure

Therapy

Won't work for me

I know I need

Greater attention

Intervention

Never works

It all still hurts

There is a hole

Inside my soul

Full of darkness

Light a spark

Is anybody there?

Amen, amen

I don't have any answers

Just a cancer

In my thoughts

I feel so lost

I'm willing to be wrong

So I'll play along

For anyone

To make things right

Or make things lighter

Let me live through

One more night

I'll be a fighter

Amen, amen

I live to fight again.