I haven’t been writing regularly

I’ve stopped for awhile, without realizing it and I’ve noticed a difference.
I guess I must have stopped partly because of the body movements I have.
I started writing poems again, and I remember one poem I felt really good about
after writing it.

The reasons I was seemingly punished seemed to be along the same lines of,
you think you’re special , “cool line”, and the old “cabra”.
Cabra seems to mean conceited…
I wrote this poem and I was happy about it. I felt like, I think I can still write.

I don’t know that I ‘m writing this if I even want to or should. I know I should
write, but writing this and paying attention might not be good for me.

I guess what I was thinking about earlier is the feeling of being controlled,
of not being myself, of something basically blanking me out from my own
mind and body, and then replacing that electric blankness with other
thoughts feelings and words and trying to pass it off as my own.
And it has for some time.

Sometimes I have this what I feel now is stupid hope that if people knew,
they wouldn’t be so willing to go along with it or at least believe it.
But then I thought no one would ever, EVER accept anything that
seems to be now . SEEMS.

I don’t know. It punishes for me having the nerve to say it should be ashamed of
itself. and now just thinking and feeling it.

I can’t help feeling that.

and then, besides the sometimes anger, and discomfort
is, WTF. I mean sometimes it’s just… stupid.

I ‘m thinking and writing as if this is real again.
io’m thinking and writnng ias if it his is relal again.

I like life sometimes. it’s not so bad.

teachers….

this isn’t rebellion.

something puts words and thoughts and who knows what else
and then, and i know i keep saying this,
but punishes me for it.

it is it is it is.
this isn’t me.

i know.

taking action can make such a difference.

every thing i do ,

i should assume things can get worse

if you give an inch to this illness it tries to take you , not just a mile but

this isn’t a way i can live. it feels like slavery.
it feels like complete and utter slavery , and
like something is trying to tell me , I don’t
have the right to exist.
Learning? Going around in a body
and mind that I don’t have control over,
that thinks thoughts and feels things that
aren’t real, that cant think ,

that’s learning? I have a real soul.
You might not like it but it’s there.
Walking around like this , feels
like … I can’t feel it. I can’t feel myself.
It punishes me for supposedly being
Godless, when it creates this fake
atmosphere for me, where I can’t even breathe normally,
where I’m not aware of my own body and my head
is filled with electric energy seemingly that gives
me fake thoughts and feelings.
I live somewhere that is GODLESS. It comes up
with bs about how I’m ? ,
I cant think , I can’t feel, I can’t be here, properly.

But, I’m supposed to act like a normal, healthy
person. It makes my tone of voice to my Mom
nasty, and dismissive. This is not me.
it pisses me off but I can do little about it, but
I try to be aware of it.

Let’s see: I can’t be present in the space around me,
meaning : hearing, hearing people talk,
watching tv, reading etc,
and I also can’t be inside myself, I can’t think for myself
sometimes, I can’t rest , I can’t just be alone. I have to be
ON, every second, and I do mean every second, because
it seems that’s part of the reason my breathing is controlled,
it used to be that with every single breath I was effected.

So where am I? Where’s the space I’m “allowed” to live in,
in this life, on this earth, in this body, where my very perception
is altered?
It’s like that Tommyknockers movie, maybe not quite that bad,
but this one part in the book where a boy ends up somehow
being hurled into some wormhole where he ends up on the planet
where the tommyknockers come from, and I don’t remember
exactly but it may have been a different dimension, where
his 3rd dimension body didn’t fit, and the atmosphere
was scorching… actually i don’t know if that fits. if the tommyknockers
movie is on tomorrow, it will be the funniest thing ever. the
best, really.

anyway it hink what iw as tryi ng to say , is just where is this
space I’m supposed to occupy? Because I’m a living breathing
thing. I occupy space. And I’m not quite in here, and I can’t
comfortably just be aware here. Real time. Real life. My life.

Yeah, my life. ? um, when did that become a bad thing, to
think your life, not just your life, but your person, and everything
that makes that up, body, mind soul, is Yours?

It was given to you , right?

Again, arguing for things , that there is no arguing for.
I may as well argue why you don’t have the right to
come in though my f ront door without permission.
Is that different? If that happened I could call the
police. And it’s hard to imagine anybody arguing against
that.

I mean, I’d rather have you come through m y front door.
I’d rather you do that, take me hostage, tie me up,
feed me from a spoon and tell me I’ma puta bitch
adn whatever else … but I bet nobody would be Okay
with that. But shoot beams through my walls , spy on me,
jerk my body around violently, read my thoughts,
and then punish me for them, but that’s not it hold on
you could even,

just give me brand new thoughts, or old thoughts, whatever
but they’re not mine. feelings, and words too.
and then I can be punished for that.

And then after going through what I’ve gone through,
you can take away my ability to exist.
To be present. That feels bad.

BAD! baaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaad.

I’m sorry but I do resent, going through my day
and thinking something or feeling something
that I know isn’t really me.
Or worse, being basically at least half manipulated
to the point where I’m talking out loud,
and I just know, gee,

it’s scary, to be alive in a way where your own perception
of the world around you and your very person is so warped
and not real that you know you won’t be able to continue it
over an unknown period of time.

That there’s some things that you can’t live without;
you can’t live your life, less than a thing.
Because at least a thing is itself… does that make sense?

But seriously , where am I allowed to live?
Because right now, I’m just going to go all out and say,
yes, I’m that boy, I’m writhing around on some two-dimensional
planet where the atmosphere is crushing my lungs
and I just wanted to say this, for some reason to imaginary people,
or to myself, it’s not a choice. It put me here, and
…………………………………..

i’m punished for,
for what?

for trying to find a space, to be present in, to
actually, literally BREATHE

this is to no one.

I’d just like to live in a sane world again, please.
I’d like to believe wholeheartedly that nobody, or most would not ,
say force you to behave a certain way, and then…
why do i feel like i’m talking to someone , like i’m addressing
someone out there?
I’m not.

this isn’t a game.

there’s no one here.

fake voice.

i know my inner voice is fake now, but if I don’t go along
with it something jerks my head or body.

So just tell me where the hell I am supposed to be right now.