Veils, Shadows, Minds, Hearts…


You feel it coming before it hits you. Did you know that? Insanity, in the true sense of the word. That feeling of not being “all there,” or separation. It doesn’t wash over you like a tidal wave. It rises, from the feet up, it’s hot at first, but it cools down and freezes over your head. You can’t move, you’re too afraid to move…. “what if I make a mistake? what if I hurt someone?” You can see faces, but you can’t see PEOPLE.

How does one like me explain… there are no words in any language created by man. Only analogies and allegories. You’re walking with your loved one, the sun is warm, but it’s overcast, a pleasant kind of overcast and there’s a light rain that feels good on your cheek. You come to a fork in the road and you go right. Your loved one goes left, ’cause she realizes something that you don’t: there is no right. But off you go anyway, you hear her words, but not her voice, and you think she’s still near to you. The path is treacherous, it rains so hard that it starts to flood, you whistle a familiar tune to calm yourself, even though you didn’t realize there was anything wrong in the first place. But when it finally hits you… when you feel the water rise over your head, when you’re drowning, when you see “him” standing in front of you… you know, him, you, but the you that went left… that’s when reality sets in. That’s when you KNOW that you’re different, that the world you thought you knew is not as tangible as you thought it was. That the “reality” isn’t very “real” at all.

At times like these, I just have to separate myself from everything, watch the universe go round and round through a window. I can’t step outside. It’s dangerous out there… that would be suicide for sure. People may forget me… I may forget them, perhaps… I may forget how to walk and speak and pray and love… but I’ll live.

Survival is a talent forced upon all of us, and one I dearly wish I did not have.


March 1st, 2013

Hey, Troy, what’s up with you, how’s your life been? You suck at keeping up a journal whether it’s online or written by the way. Yes, yes I do. Ah well, much has happened so let’s not waste time bickering. Seems like the past few days have been filled with musical adventures, so it’s been an exciting time. I’m involved in two different bands now, one an indie rock band called “Adara” which I play keyboard in and one unnamed band with a girl named Krystal which I play like whatever I want in. And it’s been good, Adara and I had our first practice last Wednesday and everyone in the band is pretty cool, it’s gonna be good for me to get out more and hang out with fun people so I can get my spunk back that I lost oh so long ago. As for this band with Krystal, I think we still have a chance of going somewhere with music, but more than that I’m glad to be making a new friend! She’s 8 years older than me but acts like a kid still, so it’s all good.
I’ve also still been doing a lot of that silly thinking of mine, mostly about death and what comes afterwards… if anything. It’s depressing to think that there’s not a God. I honestly don’t know how atheists can get by day to day knowing that one day they’ll literally be nothing. I think that’s a scary thought. I don’t truly believe it though, surely the subconscious part of us must live on even after our consciousness is gone, it just won’t be quite the same… no icecream, no sex, no smelling the roses… still, there must be something, right?
What else? Well, I never got sick. EVERYONE IS GETTING SICK. God, it’s annoying. It’s like what’s wrong with you people? I am literally the only person I know from around here who hasn’t picked up the flu at least a little bit it seems! I shouldn’t blame everyone else though, it’s not their fault they have weak immune systems… I’m just blessed I suppose, eh? Or maybe this flu thing is a conspiracy so no one can hang out with me this Saturday, ’cause apparently everyone is busy tomorrow… hmm… just like the moon landing. That was totally fake, I don’t care what you say. Absolute garbage.

Crazy Planet


Crazy Planet


The cars are cacophonous

And the lights are too loud

And the cities are screaming

Because the band is

Out of tune.

The Sun is spitting and the

Moon is moaning and the

Earth is groaning

Because the Conductor

Is missing.


And I can’t help but wonder

Where He might have got to.


Running in circles around

Broken notes and broken strings,

My heart stops beating

Because it’s playing the music

By itself.

And now the cars are stopping

And the lights are dimming

And the cities are shutting up

Because God might still save this

Crazy planet.

I Feel Insane Sometimes

I found this little snippet in one of my journals today, I think it’s from last year. It’s interesting because when I feel this way I usually write more symbolically and less in rant-style. It makes me sad to read.

At night, I cry because I feel and know that nobody loves me. During the day, I want to cry from boredom and lack of friendship. In the early mornings, I cry because I hate everyone and would rather stay in bed. But then I cry more because what if I’m wasting a pointless, godless life just lying in bed doing nothing? Then I wonder what am I supposed to do outside of bed anyway? This morning, I woke up and cried because I realized I truly am becoming a psychopath. I want to isolate myself from everyone. I know without a doubt that if there were a button to push that would kill every selfish person on this stupid planet I would push it and feel no regret. And there would be no one left to populate the planet. I hate everyone. I’m tired of getting pushed around. I’m tired of people pretending to be my friends or making me feel wanted and then turning their backs on me when I’m not fun for one day because I need help. I wish everyone would just disappear and leave me alone. I wish I would stop crying even as I type this, realizing what I’m turning into. I wish I could stop writing “I,” but it’s not like this is about anyone else cause “You” and “They” and “Everyone” are just terms for hurtful, painful, evil sentient beings that are all out to make me miserable just by existing. I hate my life. I hate using the word hate and meaning it wholeheartedly. I hate myself. I don’t see the point in going on. I questioned whether or not there is a God this morning and if there’s not then I really am going to go over the edge. The only thing keeping me sane is not knowing for sure. I’m going to break, and I can feel it coming soon.

February 18th, 2013

Today began as Mondays typically do, with having to get up at the ungodly hour of 6:30 in order to make class. We had a test today which I did quite well on I think. I came home and basically just wanted to sleep at that point but a little adderall helped to fix that problem up. I started work on a piece I’m making for my computer music class, which happens to be tomorrow, I think it’s rather catchy, if not in my usual style of rock/metal. I’ve been getting into composing EDM music lately, very fun stuff! Anyway, I had a thought today. About God. I was a little upset with Him. Reason being, I’m here, on this planet. I was born. The implications of this are enormous! For one thing I’ve had to suffer through the insufferable and come out on the other side only to be shunned and ignored, for another thing I can’t seem to find much happiness in things that used to bring me pleasure, and for the last thing eventually I have to die. Ugh, life. Consciousness. Maybe death won’t be so bad, but it still scares the living daylights out of me.
I fell asleep in Statistics today… nothing new there… and then I came home and it’s basically been write music and talk to friends online since then.
Can’t wait to get out of here *Sigh* I have a good feeling that once I finally leave the house things will start looking up. But that day may not come for a while now…

Crossing the Bridge


The old man in the

Coffee shop is

Staring at me, like

I’m a ghost, and

Maybe I am but

Maybe not unless

Ghosts feel chills

Run down to their


But I am a ghost-

I’m a ghost of

The past-

And this old man is


Because of me.

Imagine that!


He’s dreaming about

How quiet it was,

Back when he was I-

How the world wasn’t

Spinning so fast-

And the people weren’t

So loud and

You could get a word



Even if you were talking

About God and

Peace and all that

Shit that nobody

Believes in anymore,

‘Cause who has the time?


But this old man is

Wondering why now,

At the end of his


He has so much time.

I think he believes

In God and peace

And all that shit

And he’s staring

‘Cause he wants me

To believe.

But hell,

I’m already late

For dinner

And I’ve got my whole

Life ahead of me.

Me Part 2: Secrets

It wasn’t long after Fred’s initial appearance that I began to see him everywhere. It was a weird sort of relationship Fred and I had. Sometimes he could be perfectly charming, he would tell me things I needed to know or, ironically, give me ways to help me deal with him when he was in a bad mood (which was most of the time). His bad moods typically came at nighttime, when he would stow away in my closet and scream all night, and if I tried to leave or sleep somewhere else he would stand at the foot of my sleeping area and stare at me until I moved. It was frightening. It really was. I didn’t know what to do about him.
During the day he would make it impossible to focus. Sometimes it would just be repetition of words or counting in my head, and sometimes it would be chasing me across the high school campus, making me look like a retard to all of the people around me who couldn’t perceive him. And I never sought out help for this. I think it’s because, and I still believe this, Fred truly was real. I don’t know what he was, maybe a physical manifestation of that dark side that all humans posses, maybe a demon that I was unlucky enough to be possessed by, maybe something else, but he was real, and I can guarantee that. If Christians can have faith in an unperceivable God who makes supposedly perceivable changes in their lives, then surely I can have faith in a completely perceivable demon who made perceivable changes in my life.
In any case, I kept him a secret. I visited a psychiatrist at one point in 2009 at my mother’s request, because she believed I was suffering some kind of mental trauma. The doctor’s concluded there was nothing wrong with me except that I had Bipolar Disorder Type I (a disorder I still struggle with today). Of course I never told them about Fred. But regardless, if I had schizophrenia or something like that, wouldn’t they have found that in the MRI’s or the various other scans I can’t remember the names of? Another reason I have to insist that Fred truly was there.
I stopped writing in my journal at this point. The final pages are filled with chicken scratch and “Shut Up” written in large all over them. The only things I remember from that period of my life are the fear and the paranoia that followed me everyday. That’s until I met her, of course…