Behind the 4th Wall: The Psych’o’Desk requests assistance

some of you may know me personally, most of you know me through my posts on here and on Soundcloud and that never ceases to amaze me. I don’t often to do posts like this and I’ve been holding off on creating one for as long as I possibly can but can no longer.

A little background. Due to various mental & physical disabilities, I am completely unable to sustain a “normal” job.

No, it’s not laziness or apathy (ok maybe a hint of apathy but nonetheless), I can not work a traditional job.

Literally every time I leave the house I run the risk of having a debilitating seizure wherever I am, no matter what I’m doing. And thanks to doctors & their infinite wisdom, I’m no closer to figuring out what causes them than I did when I had my first seizure in the fourth grade.

It’s been making my life hell. I even had a pretty bad one earlier this week but refused to go to the hospital b/c I knew it’d only result in a hospital bill I can’t afford.

I’m starting college classes again at the end of August & since I’ll (hopefully) have all of my financial aid paperwork processed in time, it should be smooth sailing.

Except the refund for THAT, won’t hit my bank account the middle of September.

So here we are at the end of June and I have a grand total of ~$50 until the middle of September. I have medications to pay for. I have to eat. Everything you can think of that makes life possible, I need.

which is the hard part of this post.

I wouldn’t be asking for donations unless it was an absolute necessary.
here is the link to my paypal:

fastidiouslyme PayPal

I ask you now
if you are able to donate, even if it’s just one dollar, please share what you can. share the link. spread the word.

I want to do something special for anyone who donates (perhaps a poem or a song, specifically for those who have helped out.)

And if you can’t donate monetarily, please feel free to check out my other hundreds of posts on this site. seeing views on my posts does a lot for my self-esteem and helps in its own way.

Thank you very much.



Walking along a sidewalk, I tossed my empty coffee cup in a random trashcan when something inside caught my attention. Along the rim of the receptacle was a slightly balled up piece of green paper with a thin black sparkling strip bordering the edges. Curiosity got the best of me, not being able to stop my hands from reaching in and opening it up. In fine cursive writing it said:

In that moment, I knew exactly what you meant. Deep down I’ve always felt that machine-like drudgery of the so called day to day. You explained that it because the “so called Right Track of Life” was a futile effort, something about being a cog in a machine… You went on talking for some time.

But I had stopped listening at that point. Because I understood perfectly well what  you meant. And I realized that I wasn’t relating to it in the way you were.

 The rest was mostly illegible, due to the dirt and grime smudging the letters from an indeterminate of amount of time spent inside the can. The very bottom of the page was hastily ripped off, a section surely halfway around the universe by now.

Just above the rip I could just barely make out:

That’s why 1+1+1= 2
a single disillusioned specter with no face
1+1+1= 2, a phantom digit
Meaning you…

And I threw it back in the trash.

I Wish U Heaven

I’d like to pull back the veil that comes from posting content online for a moment, if I might.

There’s a lot about the minuscule space We occupy in The Universe that I truly do not understand and most likely never will.
Capitalism, why humans are so goddamn uncomfortable on this planet, Religion, Racism, Queerphobia, Transphobia, why good television shows are canceled before they even get started… just to name a few.

Surprisingly though, however, Death has never been a thing I haven’t understood. or so I thought.

There are far more dead people than there are living people, by a pretty huge margin. We all know we are going to die at some point. It’s a fact that can not be ignored and isn’t something that you can plug your ears with your fingers and screech “LA LA LA CANT HEAR YOU” as you sprint away in some indeterminate direction.

We’re all going to die. It’s a cold hard fact.

I learned this lesson at a very young age (and probably is a big reason for why I’m the self-proclaimed embodiment of Jadism in the flesh). I’ve never had a moment of deep existential dread of “oh no, I’m going to stop living at some point! oh noooo!”

No, my existential anguish has always come from “Why am I, or anyone, even alive in the first place?” A question only expounded by merely existing every moment of every day.

What I’m saying is, Life has always been more confusing to me than Death, leaving me rather -well- jaded to the whole death thing.

Or so I thought.  Or more accurately, what I wish I thought was the truth.

Because if this were actually true, I would have no strong reaction to anyone dying.

But that isn’t true. It’s never been true. So many tears I’ve shed at the loss of a life force in the state it was introduced into this world departing, once and for all.

If someone you grew up with moved across to the other side of the globe, thanks to the power of technology, you can keep in contact. So well in contact that it’s almost as if they’d never left at all. but Death…


I can think back to human beings dying that have had a profound impact on me. As much as the loss itself hurts, what really gets my goat is when I realize what I had been doing at the very moment that the person had breathed their last breath.

Failing an algebra quiz. Buying a shitty sandwich from a chain restaurant. Playing a video game. Masturbating. Fucking sleeping!

More so than the actual fact that Death is a very real entity…. it’s the fact that the asshole is creeping behind anyone, ready to strike, at any time.


There’s something to be said about raw feelings. Unprocessed, unrefined, pure, not dissected in the slightest. I don’t what to do with them. And I’ve been experiencing these sensations, of the Unknown, far too much lately. And, unfortunately, I know enough now to know that dulling these sensations with The Familiar isn’t going to work.

Meaning, I don’t know what the hell I’m doing. I don’t even know how to end this post. I don’t have a witty closing remark to end this post with that brilliantly sums up my point. I’m not even 100% what my point is at this time.

The Writer Side of me is frustrated beyond belief. The Human Side of me is just bewildered.

So I will end on a quote, sang by a true Immortal, who knew far more than I probably ever will:

If I don’t think about the fact that [you] left me
If I don’t see the pearls fall from the sky
If I don’t hear the accusations of blasphemy
If I don’t feel the tears in my eyes
This is the best day of my life.

God speed.