I am the creep in your Dms

Flatulence blowing into the mattress, eyes focused on the screen between my hands. I am stalking a person. Whenever I see a delicious specimen of a human being I have to fight the urge to lick the screen. The struggle is real. Stalking at times serves as a distraction. Drugs are expensive so this is a good escape from reality. Why do I need to escape reality? Because I am a coward and I can not face it.

This isn’t about the person being stalked. That's just… the symptom. The hobby. The proxy war for my mind’s inability to shut up. Because when you’ve got a brain that insists on reminding you of every missed opportunity, every social misstep, and every phone call you never return… you learn to cope.

Since Escaping is impossible. Designer drugs are unaffordable. Murder is illegal and Therapy is inconsistent.Meanwhile Stalking is free and oddly soothing.

I know. It’s creepy. I am creepy. I admit it before you do dear reader, because owning it makes it hurt a little less.But I won't give up I never do. I am as motivated and as shameless as Billy McFarland.

Sure I struggle to fall asleep and struggle even more to stay asleep but I am not a quitter. Sure I don't believe in myself, self sabotage follows me and I feel like I have zero skills but I believe in trying to better myself 1% every day.

Have you ever got into your own head so deep it starts to echo? That’s what insomnia feels like. Every night I tell myself, tonight will be different. But my brain, that petty little witch. She whispers, “There is no rest for the damned,” and laughs while throwing old memories like knives. And that’s when I reach for the screen. I sink myself into someone else’s joy to avoid the hurricane that is mine.

And yet, amidst all this chaos, I hope. I really, genuinely do.

I hope for the day I can go to bed without mentally writing my eulogy. I hope for mornings where my first thought isn’t “ugh.” I hope for a life worth living. I hope to stop being scared of ringing phones.

Speaking of, Phone calls. The anxiety-inducing symphony of modern torture. Just thinking about them makes my palms sweat. And no, I’m not going to unpack that trauma here because this is a monologue, not a therapy session, and because denial is cheaper than introspection. But just know every missed call is a mini panic attack in a glass.

Still. I don’t give up. I can’t afford to. My self-esteem might be living in a cardboard box behind my brain, my self-worth might be glued together with sarcasm and day dreaming, but I try. One percent better. Every day. Yes! Even if that means the bar only goes from “stalking” to “lurking without liking.”

I don't know why I keep repeating the same thing like a broken record over and over. Am I trying to convince you or myself? I don't think I want to find out the answer.

Some people fight obstacles for themselves. I fight myself. I am the obstacle. I am the chronic disease that eats away the life in me. I am my very own enemy.

So yes. I’m the creep in your DMs. But I’m also a work-in-progress. A haunted house still under renovation. A person with hope duct-taped to her ribs. If it tries to flutter away I will carve the word "Hope" on my skin(I was in med school I cut with precision hehe).