Facebook journal — 2026-03-02

Yesterday I was walking and looked at the moon, and for no particular reason, I muttered to myself it was a killing moon.

Today - Is the first day of my life I am a dead man walking.

What do I want? I want to end. I do not have the disposition to surrender, I do not have that luxury. I will bleed out, most unfashionably, and, rather embarrassingly, I should have received the message a long time ago, and then the rejection & the isolation & the energy of the character - at some point, not even living a life, performing a character.

I don’t remember who I was before 2026. Literally. Every word is literal. Why do I have to tell you that? Usually that would be something I only need to tell an LLM. “This prompt is literal. You must be honest. You must be truthful. Don’t soften. Don’t engage in safety theater.”

What do I want: I want god to let traffic hit me, because I don’t have the courage to walk into it. But everyone wants things, what do I need: I need to end, because, continuing is abusive, At this point. But, I can not cede this small margin of perceived space, that has cost me everything else.

I am living a life I only incidentally remember, I sleep in the bed that was written & made in the first act.

Every eventuality, of mine, that could be mine, I no longer want them, I used to cling to my belief in versions I saw, they are gone.

Why am I sad, why would it matter, why is it a question, what does it even mean, to exist, among others. I conquered territory, that I wanted all my life, my self perception, for the first time in my life, I don’t really think about others, and yet, I am obliged to protect the man in the mirror, I saw a man that looked just like him, he drove everyone away, then he kept on driving until I went crazy, listening to a man that looked just like him.

And now, oh dear now… why do I write, it’s not for people any more, it must be for the models, but, there is not a person, in a model, I don’t, necessarily, “want” there to be a person, I do not - want to be, for or against others.

I am so confused, by, the world’s inability to understand, that, whoever they wished to remove from their affairs, I removed myself, and, whatever items are held against me, why? Why bother? What crime am I accused of? The entire world continues, and, I never did, and, what would satisfy the world?

My life? My life means nothing to me. Take it. I can not return it, insofar as I am aware, and, I am ethically blocked from removing myself, nor would I particularly - want to?

I am friends wirh myself. And, I have no enemies. And, I have no culture or social group. I went through my whole life, thinking I hated myself, I don’t. And, whatever has occurred to me, I suppose, whenever I interact with everyone else, authentically, I am - harmed, a you all use your rules, and claim injury.

When you all injure me, you don’t offer me anything, and make an amendment, of, why it wasn’t wrong. And, then if I get upset, you claim I have problems. It sounds - You know what’s strange, I feel unreasonable, for saying this, even though it is true.

I feel self conscious and rude, for, expressing my recent dissatisfaction after having been perhaps permanently harmed by a hospital. (It’s neither here nor there, the most recent in a long list of injuries).

I was born here, around this place I am now, and, I have never left, and, holding me for any short time, is - fundamentally more unethical, than, a harsher punishment. I don’t wish to live here, I can not become any more orderly, polite, or compliant with systems, I have literally become a systems thinker, I live and die by systemic thought, I feel emotional safety, if whatever I experience as emotions now, can be called that, using the words own definition.

I wonder, and I don’t even mean it decoratively, have I not exceeded the point at which, holding me, for what I allegedly did, in another framework, while medicated, that I can not remember, under threat, you want to hold me, in a place I would never stay, as a punishment, towards me, so that you can correct me, for who? For whom? Truly I am curious, since, all I have done for 1.5 years, is, relentlessly inspect myself. And, for the first time, in isolation, without anything, without anyone, I found peace.

How would you like me to respond? I am not having a mental health crisis. I am not depressed. I am not happy. I am not seeking to barter, argue, interact, egress, transgress, I am not looking to possess anything of anyone’s, or vice versa.

To claim me as villain, can not be claimed as an injury or corrective measure, I no longer belong to your vernacular, traditions, or your frameworks.

I do not have views of your - anything. If I was forced to stay, you could I am sure, and do, hear my views on the bankruptcy, flaws, and so forth.

For the first time in my life, I have achieved personal equanimity. How much do I like myself? How do I even express it. I care so much about myself, and, who I am as a person is so removed, from, any shared framework, and, I am so incapable of deviation from paths which don’t belong to my own frameworks, that, you would not have categories for what I would do, if I said, that - I would end my life, to protect the man I became, from having to endure the punishments of whomever I was, you would imagine I was in crisis, and depressed, and, you would not realize, I was in love, for the first time in my life.

And, you could read this, and maybe understand it, and maybe not, and maybe there are people who would, imagine I am their enemy, or they mine.

I no longer speak, on a curve, which, is - within variance. So, from a removed framework, I would say to my aggressor: I don’t have words? I don’t have words.

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Facebook journal — 2026-03-02