/lit/ - Literature

I'm leaning in and out from the brink of sanity. I've regressed to a terror of society I haven't felt since my mid to late teens. I feel dazed and confused going in to the city, or outside at all during the day time when people can see me. I've developed twitches the past half year as a result, mostly involving my face: tugging my nose, pulling my moustace, sniffing every time I walk by someone, maintaining rigid, and what some might call aggressive, eye contact, etc. I'm sure a psychoanalyst would have some notions what the face focus is all about, something rooted in my multifarious insecurities. I feel horrid and dysfunctional.

My mother is also driving me towards this brink. She's old and lonely now, and quite mad. She talks to herself constantly but she's been doing this since I could form memories, some tick of her own from her formative years. The silence I love and hate is rudely broken by this and her other OCD symptoms. I can't find it in me to love her, how do I find love for someone? Can I construe it from the notion that she is my mother and birthed me? I've tried and I can't. The only thing that provokes a tinge of what I'd moreso term sympathy than love for her is her utter vapidness and toxic personality, which I can see coming about through her difficult time rearing my brothers and I by herself, and her unenviable childhood. But I can't love the woman. I wonder a lot how much of it is her and how much comes from myself and my own shittiness, but they're probably just feeding in to each other in a shitty loop, so then I feel guilty.

I have nobody to confide in but this imageboard I've spent my life on, nobody I could. This is the only place I could admit things to myself and "others" on, others in quotes because for all the anons that may or may not read this blogpost, I see it as manifesting introspection to feel a bit better about myself, and leech the thoughts out of my encumbered, schizo-adjacent mind.

I'm gonna take my tent and savings and walk until I'm truly truly exhausted next year. Months of walking. I only feel fully human when I'm living like this. I want to stop fucking dwelling so much. All I do all day is dwell. I need a damn job and to stop being a NEET waster, but that can wait until I've had my fill of walking. A couple of nice, hard, memorable seasons of walking will cure me of being such a bastard. Thank you for your time anons.