I am feeling psychotic

I am beginning to actually be psychotic. Before I felt as if the diagnosis of psychosis was simply a thing I had. Now I believe it is something I am. The distinction is clear in my mind. Being a psychotic is actually kind of fun, once you get past the part where you have living nightmares, insects on the walls, and seeing people who aren't there. Besides that, it's gravy.

Just like this guy's brain.

This asshole was trying to rob my fellow brethren. His higher-up asked me to take part in the robbery, after which I immediately told my bros about the plan. I followed the bandits into the ambush, and when the shooting started I shot them all in the back with my semi-automatic rifle. 

This particular anus-cretin was unlucky enough not to die immediately. I pictured that he began his day thinking about all the nice shit he was going to rob from his targets. Instead, I shot him in the leg and then the torso and then the face. I could have finished him off the first time, but I allowed him to writhe around a bit before I put one in his skull. It felt pretty good to watch him suffer. I am so proficient and covering myself up in a mask of happiness that I forget what it feels like to show emotion.

I have discovered that neoclassical is my new favourite genre of music. Right now I'm listening to Mediæval Bæbes and they are pretty good, although the spelling of their name makes me think I should have used that special character in creating this site. Oh well. 

This [entirely-separate] bandit is screaming at me that he's the one who will actually take off my head. The ensuing action was too fast for me to capture, but immediately after this bit of dialogue was complete I put an arrow directly through his face. My ensuing reactions were mixed. On one hand, I wished I'd been stealthed as I had initially meant to be. On the other hand, it was pretty hot outside that day and I had old man balls because of how hot it was. I can't exactly concentrate on sleuthing about when my nuts are flopping all over the place. This bandit also had a friend a little further to left, and I only shot him in the ribs because he made me mad and I couldn't focus.

Here, I was in a casino or somesuch shit just minding my own business. I was bothering no one and was only trolling for spiffy loot. I had a Weathered 10mm handgun and doesn't afraid of anything. I generally use the hunting rifle but it was indoors and I didn't want to frighten the rats with such a ruckus.

Anyway this butt-ass-thief jumped out from the other side and tried to fire off a couple shots in my direction. At least that's what I assume he tried, since I promptly shot him in the face.

And by 'shot him in the face' I really mean 'I shot him in the face with so much awesome his head popped off.' Because that's exactly what happened. One of his pals ran up from the adjacent hallway and the situation culminated in the following:

He had nothing of value on his person, despite the fact that he was seemingly gifted from birth with the ability to detach his head at will. One 10mm round would (at least in my opinion) not detach a man's cranium from his spine. But what do I know, I'm psychotic.

The third member of the group got face-shot so hard he lost not one, not two, but THREE eyeballs. I presume he kept a third eyeball stashed in a little packet in his hair for something precisely like this to occur. Or maybe the amount of terrificism with which I shot him simply altered space-time and also every other form of matter physics currently known and as the energy was released from his skull a third eyeball simply appeared. I would place my bets on Harry Potter.

I keep seeing this shadowy shape flash up to me on my left side. It first happened when I went outside for as smoke following a particularly bad panic attack. I don't smoke that much, but when I do, it feels pretty good. It should be noted I am speaking of cigarettes and not any of the other things which might be smoked, including assholes. The shape starts off three or four metres away, then 'flashes' to two or three, then one or two, and then he's right up in my business. It was startling the first time, but now it's simply irritating.

I am now listening to Nolwenn Leroy, and she's rather excellent. Before that I was listening to Timoteij, and that was remarkable. They are like a folk band mixed with power pop. It's fucking great, and I've listened to them 171 times in the last two days. I know this because I keep track of my played music. You should do that too, since it's really convenient.

I also got a package in the post on Saturday. It was from my aunt and it was the medical records of my father from 2006-2007. He was homeless and went to the hospital because he had a heart attack. I didn't really care about it, but my mother was fascinated by it all. I feel no biological or emotional attachment to the physical entity who caused me to exist. I would rather I didn't, so I simply add it to the pile of baggage I'm carrying around. If I had more money I would buy a lot of drugs and go live in the mountains in a tent. 

I have to go trim my fingernails again. This is ridiculous.