Author's Note: In retrospect, the warning signs of self-abuse and work immersion were visible, but being ignored. There's something comforting about tunnel vision. Looking back now, I can see that I was killing myself. I don't think I ever believed, somehow, that I was going to make it out of Virginia.

15mg melatonin/1.2g piracetam

I've gone back over to night shift, and the single most noticeable thing about this is that I feel sick and old all over again. It's a high-contrast sort of sick. I'm sleeping through the day and waking up at night foggy-headed and full of malaise; I'm wandering through work and despising it. Personal issues have kicked in - again. Something minor has managed to burn into something, gestalt combining, hints and therapy combining into a comprehension that's left me raw and not a little bit broken.

And I can't talk about it, can barely think about it. I'm huddling inside of myself a bit, licking my wounds - there's this vicious cycle that's been ongoing for four or five years now. My sudden understanding of where it's come from and what it means hasn't softened things at all. Part of my inspiration, part of where I've drawn my strength from, has become a liability. And I can't get any more bald or detailed than that.


It's all in abstract. Work is a set of abstracts, variables. Sleep is a set of abstracts. Electronica is forming the backbeat, the theme, the purgative, the recreation of myself as something separate from the element. Tarot has become an abstract, and a blueprint. Server details, filesystems, rows of racks full of identical servers. Windowless buildings. Natasha accelerating, shifting under my hand from fourth to fifth gear.

Tired, raw, roaring, howling, a thundering backbeat: everything EVERYTHING everything everything has become the nature of my heart breaking. Again. As it has, over and over, for the past four or five years. Underneath it all, there's a roiling, tired resentment against myself, against the offender, and a cold disgust.

Meanwhile, it's all "live through this, and you won't look back" which I'm aspiring to. It's time to get to the point where I just don't care.

And there's a whole lot of disgusted self-pity and self-loathing in between point A and point B.