9/20

blabla

name: cosmo

facts: 19 years old, she/he, dominican+white

issues: all of them. autism depression ptsd unspecified dissociative disorder psychosis and maybe borderline if we wanna get REALLY CRAZY!

what do you want to be when you grow up? a star. a star. a star.

do i want to be with him , or do i want to be him ?

god wants to kill me, he's tried planting things accross the world to get me to die. or maybe its not god but perhaps the american government that acts as our god, or at least mine as i cant fathom not living amongst the people and with the humans and their material goods and normalcy, . maybe its the government that plants sinconveniences in my life here and there to convince me to kill ymself. but its not going to work. theyve been trying for so, so, so so so so so so long, and its like a knock at the door that wont ever truly go away. and if it is the government, it means that perhaps god isnt so malevolent, and perhaps neutral if not merciful, or maybe, just maybe, god is within me, and i am the multiverse, everchanging evergrowing and ever expanding. but if i am god, would that not make me malevolent? does the government defy god? from the day we are born, are we not under constant surveillance ? when you close the refridgerator, where does the light go? why dont essential oils smell good anymore? is it really worth trying? is the ending of the song really worth all this screeching nonsense? is there somewhere over that rainbow? am i who i think i am?

my interests are

invader zim

t+pazolite

click this or gay

im so tired of not recognizing myself in the mirror , all that entertains me seems to be music nowadays or a chance for me to dip my toes into conflict that doesnt involve me so i can get praise and a pat ont he back, someone scoop me up and put me on a pdestal again so i have enough ego fuel and motivation because as it stands right now i cant seem to enjoy or acknowledge the icessant scarawlings i do on yellowed paper during class, they are not art, they are scribbles, they are lines, they are movement, theey are wastings.

what do you want?

revenge

ice cream

a diagnosis, a confirmation that i think i have what i think i have that i think i have is true.

for everyone inthe world to agree with me

for everyone to disagree with me except i have a giant acid spitting automatic laser space assault rifle with sniping ability and the power of a thousand suns.

for the memories to come back

for the memories to never, ever come back

we had fun, didnt we?i really thought i had it

how didi fuck that up?

i think my concept of love involves too many sniper rifles and too many breakdowns and too much dimesnionhopping and too many aliens and not enough down-to-earth take-your-meds go-outside murder-is-bad wholesome american coitus.

i need some ibuprofen and a large ice coffee

i need to wake up in 4 hours for the gym

my life sucks

i hope i dream about murder tonight.