okay this is crazy but whatever

i think we got triggered by like the demon stuff or satanic stuff in suffer the child and we looked thru our flickr and found this drawing

um, demons

um, demons

i don’t know our leg shook alot and we realized it was actually called demons which was wierd but whatever.  anyway, we are crazy but we feel like something is coming up.  like a time or something.  not an event really ut a time.  i don’t know.

anyway, we think we maybe got triggered by the phrase “the father” in the book.  and, um, coincidentally we checked our mom folder (because we were looking for an email so we could remember when something happened) and there was a new email with a little story abaout her dad that was i don’t know cute and quirky and told with that same kind of wonderment and lack of pretense or clear motivation.  and i was like looking for what could be a cue and i realized she kept using the phrase “my father” over and over, even tho it was a bit reppetetive and awkward.

mom and dad both write tthese emails that are kind of like little stories but just told in this kind of wondering voice without like a clear style or purpose.  i always find them very disarming.  the stories are kind of wandering and pointless, but short, and something makes them interesting, perhaps just who is telling them.  whatever.  here it is:

——————————————————————-

subject: tidbit about my father

While we were all watching the first ever televised Presidential debate
(between Kennedy and Nixon), my father said “Kennedy has a much better
suit.”

I thought this was very out of character for my father

———————————————————

mom and dad both write tthese emails that are kind of like little stories but just told in this kind of wondering voice without like a clear style or purpose.  i always find them very disarming but i don’t know why.  they seem unpretentious to me.  like they are really confiding in me or telling me something.

i know the email triggered us.  it was just, odd.  all of these things we came across.  we looked at these pictures of ourselves on twitter i mean flickr and it was like ohhh that is like us or something that is all us like the people in that picture are me or like ar epart of this system.  i guess i don’t really get what that means.

but like there is something to the idea of thinking there is a separate person there who is doing things that you are actually doing.  i don’t know.  i guess that seems like the ultimate form of projection in an odd way and that seems very us.

s*ef’s parents lent/gave her this awesome book they read it was a murder mystery but it was REALLY good and had these paintings of women who were dead and like this girl and her twin who dissappeared and the killer was a MULTIPLE who didn’t even know and had been molested by his mother and father and brothers.  it was a food book.  it’s called dead sleep.

i am a bad girl.

i don’t know that picture seems.  it’s from a long time ago.  i just don’t get a lot of clear pictures i don’t understand at all but still see pretty clearly.  and it seems to maybe strike something now.  i don’t know (gymnasium at st. ann’s). help i want to die.

i think there is somtething wrong with me and that there are a lot of people here and that is uncomfortable and scary and unnerving and too much.  i don’t know if i can handle it

sometimes i wish things made sense and sometimes i am really happy that they don’t

i just know i’m doing everything wrong every second over and over

our overwhelming feeling with our mother always is sadness because she hurts so much and has so little support.  guilt that we can’t and don’t fix it.  fear that she will come find us.  fear that she is being punished because we have disappeared.

i have this incredibly wierd idea like e*a was like killed and like replaced with a different e*a which is insane even tho it feels true and i kind of know the difference becayse e*a was so different when we were little but i am insane i am so insane i am so insane i am so insane i should be asleep but i am a worthless bitch and am ruining tomorrow by not sleeping today

but whatever who says tomorrow would be more productive or whatever.  or just whatever i can only do what i can do.  the ideal is a fallacy.  it is bullshit, as irrelevent as anything.

it rains and i am scared that she will die

i am insane about this princess in the canopy bed i am insane i am insane i am insane i am insane i am insane i am insane i am insane i am insane i am insane i am insane i am  insane i am insane i am insane i am insane i am insane i am insane i am insane i am insane i am insane i am insane i am insane i am insane i am insane i am insane

i thiknk i want to kill myself.  the puzzle pieces are not coming together.  they are not.

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