Why Moth?
I am... normal, common, brown, I am. Almost like a butterfly, but sad. It's really okay though, we need moths. Drawn to flame, creature of night, has trouble drinking water, incredibly stupid at times. I think they're very pretty.

I heard a story once, there was a time when all the color had vanished from the world, and the moths saved it by sacrificing their colors when the butterflies would not. And as a reward, God lets their colors show as the rainbow. I like that story.

I used to have a few rose bushes in front of my house. They were beautiful and smelled amazing. I wanted to be like those flowers. But you can't call yourself a Rose and be a boy, so I called myself Lotus. It's a stupid pretentious name, and I have many more too.

I wish to be easy, comfortable, perfect, graceful. Graceful is the word. But comfortable and lazy and easygoing is the practice. Sorry, self-hate is an addiction.

When I watched the Matrix, I realized I couldn't prove anyone else was real. I can only prove that I am real, that I exist, that I think. Therefore alone. Ofc Matrix is kiddie drugs compared to ExistenZ, but it's the same idea, "reality isn't real." Pretty dangerous idea. Reminds me of the Hedgehod Dilemma. They need to get closer together, but can't without hurting each other.

***

HABITS OF MOTH
* Pacing
* Homeliness (Shut in)
* Sleeping in
* Loneliness
* Writing and creating obsessively poor unfinished material
* Prefers long clothes to show less skin

CHILDHOOD OF MOTH 
* Neon Genesis Evangelion
* Mirrormask
* The West Wing
* Backstage Concert Life
* Semipresent Dad
* Travel to Taiwan, Italy, France, South America


***

I've heard ADHD and Autism feeds into anxiety, I bet it's because you're different so you fuck up a lot, at what other people find easy. It gets worse, because it can be hereditary, and the functional autistic parent who has learned how to build and use systems to cope is now having all of their systems destroyed by a disruptive child (which all children are). And their kid may need severe help.

Gee, I wonder if maybe a specific 12 year old asshole should have taken the goddamn IED instead of prizing his ego and not wanting to be seen as disabled. People should really stop calling me smart, it made me stupid.

Anyways, once you're seen as a fuckup, once you start seeing yourself as a fuckup, the stage is set for anxiety and depression. Fuckups, black sheep, neurotic, loners, losers, outsiders. Once you're a fuckup, it's hard to break that frame of mind.

No matter what you do, you're stressed because you're going to fuck something up. When you do the wrong thing, you get yelled at, punished. When you do the right thing you get snide compliments. No matter what you do you feel like shit. So what's the point in doing anything? You may as well do nothing. If you're always doing the wrong thing, you may as well do what feels good. And that, my friends, is the thought that ruined me. I realized that this year. Along with the self pitying "I should kill myself with a kitchen knife" at 12. Those two thoughts happened in the same room not too far apart. Not that it's important, but it's a neat view of a potentially pivotal moment in the life of a moth. After that, it was pretty much downhill. Lie, cheat, and steal your way to the pursuit of happiness. Hallelujah! He IS an American. 20 years old and washed up with no degree and no job and no life and no girl, but has some poor witticisms and bad music taste and takes on every subject under the sun. All to make up for a lack of a soul. Anyways, that's what I mean by a need for change.

The catch 22, arbitrary, ambivalent, zero sum game, damned if you do, damned if you don't, heads I win, tails you lose bullshit that breeds psychosis. Yippee ki-yay, I bet it breeds apathy and depression too. What are these double standards, fuckin expectations anyways? "Be a rockstar, but conform" "Make a lot of money, but don't be greedy" What the hell am I supposed to do? No matter what, you'll be criticized.

You get so used to feeling bad, you don't know how to live any other way. Habits are a double edged sword; they may also be known as addictions. You can get addicted to depression.

I was always a heavy sleeper. I slept through two earthquakes and a fire alarm. I was sleeping like twelve hours a day when I was about 14, 15. I always slept in because I didn't want to wake up, so I'd get stuck in a state of half-asleep half-awake limbo for about three hours after I actually woke up. I still do that sometimes. It's a symptom of depression, I think.

Then you look for other people like you, and now you can reaffirm your problematic behavior as your identity. It's not an addiction, it's not a mental illness, it's who I am, it's what makes me different and cool and "in" with the freaks.

If you can't contribute to society like a normal person, maybe you can make the next great work of art. Not like other people, no, you're different from all of them, you'll get it right this time, they'll see. If you could figure out the meaning of life, dive deeper than anyone else, maybe you could save yourself, convince yourself into enlightenment. Maybe you could spread the truth and get famous, get respected.

Or maybe you could just get a job and eat some food and find bliss in the everyday, breathing in every moment, but there you are again complicating everything with philosophy and politics and religion and spirituality. You really think too much, you just need this one thing, but that's never quite it, is it? No, you'll never figure out the solution. You're damned for life and nothing makes sense, it's not just the precarious result of your inputs and your tingling sense of sanity, it's everyone around you that you hate, and the books you consume with liquor, and the God that put you here to suffer (which he definitely did, that bastard), and the struggle for pointlessness that you still can't abandon until POP! BANG! FIZZ! You blow like a fuse. You blow a bullet in your fucking head. You blow across the page and put your head down to sleep.

Maybe tomorrow will be better. Maybe it'll make more sense. You can't give up the search, can you? What you really want is to feel good, Madonna. 

I'm sorry life is confusing. We do love you, and wish you get better.

Whatever it means.