“Hello slip Wooolllf”
Thanks guys adjusts position on chair, grabs and kneads tail
I’ve been a scribo-holic for oh, about seven years now. I think. I was never diagnosed with this problem formally. I just came to realize it…for what it was.
I dunno why, but life just seemed…wrong unless I could put things into a narrative. I couldn’t carry on a conversation for more than a few minutes without wanting to get away and put random thoughts on paper that scratched inside my skull. Most often they were just rambles. sometimes little nuggets seemed like life-affirming genius that when put to paper in a dark lonely place, but wound up being slightly more coherent rambles later on.
I tried to fight it of course. Took up yoga, meditation, reality television, anything to thoroughly empty my head. But the voices clambered so I scored a word processor from some shady back-alley website in exchange for a quick Salacious Crumb/Dom-Leia fanfic that robbed me of my last shred of dignity. I can still taste those oily, adjectives.
Soul expelled, I started feeding my addiction whenever I wasn’t working, eating, sleeping, or reading. My mate says we used to have sex… Now going anywhere without a smart phone to tap stuff on gives me shakes. I don’t know whether that’s truly rock bottom but I don’t wanna go there if it isn’t. It took my very last shred of willpower to come in and speak with you about my affliction rather than simply sit in some dank basement and write about it.
Thank you for listening to my story.
