...

I'm here? It might have been some time. You might wonder what things are from him and what things are from her.

Fear, because I've thought many times to carve this website into my remains. I made sure to brand every single page, even the sneaky ones, so you can just cross reference what's been saved at a certain date and what wasn't. These new pages you might want to carve into yourself, but try not to make too many duplicates. All I ask. Clutter sucks.

Now I believe is time to ask the most prevalent question:

Do you have multiple people inside of you?

Maybe? I lose time a lot. I keep losing control of my body. It does things I don't agree with, like flopping back and not moving when I tell it to. I just want peace and quiet in my head. It never comes. I hear the second half of people's sentences in conversations and pretend like I've been present the whole time. I can't picture my own face. I can't picture my own mother's face. I feel dead, but I'm obviously alive. My head feels like a camera with a wig on it. Meanwhile I have to pretend I'm fine at my job because I clean at a mental hospital. I could be on the other side just as well. It terrifies me. I see how people are. How they really are. The sides they show to me when they aren't on the clock. Syringes. They call it booty juice colloquially. I'm terrified of the stuff. What does it do to a developing mind? Anyways, I'm good at cleaning... well, I have standards lower than most. I clean the bathrooms mostly. Sometimes there's blood. People cut themselves and it gets messy. The ceiling is too low. Sometimes they break the screens that protect the LED lights and they break into shards. They cut themselves with those. We need to swap those out for bullet proof glass or something. I'm tired of seeing so much blood. So much blood. It's been over two years since I started. I feel sick. It's all I know how to do. It's the only thing that gets me a paycheck. I'm without a car or license, I'm disabled, I don't have more than a highschool diploma, I have 4k in medical bills and 1k in the bank... if I lose this job I'm dead. I like to put a brave face on it. I listen to audiobooks about Taoism and Stoicism, tell the people who are struggling how I attack the "be like water" stuff, and I clean the bathrooms and the group rooms on the units. Mopping feels like painting, like I'm making some ephemeral work of art that disappears the moment the shiny liquid evaporates. I like how it's almost always the last thing I have to do in a room. It makes me happy, it smells good. I don't like mopping up blood, piss, and shit though. This is the best it gets for me. I'm sorry. I don't want to have to e-beg. I feel disgusting. I don't want to have to do this for the rest of my life. I have a system for how to get things done even when I lose time. There's a specific order I do all my stuff in, so I can tell the time of day and what I've already done by the things that I'm currently doing. I'm worried that I'll take too long to make a new system if I ever get a new job. This is... this is the best it gets until I somehow make money from posting things online. I'm worried this is going to kill me. I don't want to die like this. I don't want to die. I don't want to get institutionalized. I just want to make things and stay out of everyone else's business. I don't want to die. I don't want to die. I don't want to die. I know I'm an anomaly. Someone could study me. I document myself rigorously. I could help Science. Study me. Keep me alive. Get me out of this fucking box or I'm going to die. I'm going to die if I don't get out of here.