I am really fucking sad today. There are things that I wish I could forget. I think I have Pure-O OCD. It's been a creeping presence in my life since I was around 11. I've never really gone into detail about because I would plunge into immense shame without having the words for it. The best way I could describe it without using specific details would be that occasionally I become absolutely convinced I am either on the verge of or have committed very terrible shit, so I try to isolate myself, but I don't think I've gotten super extreme with that. Sometimes my thoughts about isolating myself become kind of bizzare, but I never go through with them. I've mentioned the feelings I have around it in these posts before. I mentioned it in the last one. That's what the faucet/drain analogy was about. I don't want to accept it because there feels like there's nothing to accept. It's a faux Internet disorder. Everybody thinks about things they don't want to. Why should I medicalize that? I'm tired of these mental illness pet projects even though there's only between 2 in the last 2 years. One night, I tried to make up a theory as to why this happened, which I called the "Unified Theory of Personal -" something or other. I didn't like calling it "Personal Misery" even though it would rhyme. I thought about some shit and it was really unpleasant even though I doubt any of it was true. I, too, have been struggling to quit porn. I never talk about that either. It's also shameful for me. I don't get how Hasan Abi can be so okay with talking about it. I can stop for about a week or two but either I get impulsive or down after that. I don't know if I'm weak-willed, I'm just not committed enough. College is going too well. I'm enjoying the program but I feel like I'm not using 100% of my brain which is absolutely eating me the fuck up and I have plans to do something about it. I need to write about it. I can't be rash. I must know. I have completely withdrawn from thinking about politics. COVID is almost totally normalized for me. I'm so lazy. Sometimes I am tired of music even though I am constantly, constantly reading and listening to it. Me saying "I love misogyny" was prompted by what you said about yo mom jokes and J-----. It's out of what I'm gonna call "phallopessimism". I hope I'm not as terrible as I fear I may be. I was thinking back to this one morning where I was camping with M-- and D----, and we were talking about the worst things we've seen on the Internet, and I never felt more afraid that summer for some reason. I am an immigrant. I am an immigrant. There's a drawing of a cowboy on my whiteboard. I like the vibe of the college library when it's overcast outside. Everyone is drinking iced macchiatos. Everyone has their Power Books out. Everyone is taking notes. Nobody is looking at each other but everyone knows each other is here and that's why we're all here. I miss some of my mutuals on Instagram. I can't wait to talk to them every few months. I hope they're doing well. I hope I'm not as terrible as I fear I may be. I'm sorry Sulphur for that one weird tangent I went on wanting to be caressed by a "sensual God". I know you probably don't even remember that but I'm sorry. I'm sorry to you and J---. I think about texting you that before I go to bed sometimes. Jeff Nichols is not a very good filmmaker. I am listening to Galaxie 500 right now. I like the story where one of the Neutral Milk Hotel guys goes up to Naomi Yang and gives her On Avery Island and says "the song Naomi is about you" 20-something years after they put out the record. It's kind of desperate and sad, but I like the story nonetheless. I like Albert Camus even though everyone on the internet thinks he's lame as fuck. Naomi is a pretty name. I hate sex. This is so cringeworthy to admit in plain English, but Damek told me that I am "desperately in need of a creative outlet". That's what that whole last post was about but I was too embarassed of myself to admit it. It is without question one of the most important things in my life right now. This is supremely embarassing but I trust you with it. The longing has returned for me, too.
