Monday, February 27, 2012

Improperly Diagnosed

So I was doing ok for a little while there, probably. I suppose I’m at a poor vantage point to judge. Regardless of how I had been up to that point, I read Joseph’s comment and was insanely worse. I had a reasonably violent panic attack.
I sat there for what felt like forever reading the comment over and over. The first time I read it I thought he was insulting me, the second time I thought he saying something playful that just went over my head, and the third time I thought he was threatening me. It went back and forth like that until I was frustrated enough to chuck the laptop at the doctor.

I rolled over and tried to go to sleep. That was quickly interrupted by the doctor pushing the laptop in my face and insisting that I needed to answer the comment now. So I had to keep going over the comment trying to force a response but it’s very hard to respond to something with no fixed meaning. As soon as I finally responded I read the comment again and just knew my response was gibberish. The whole time the doctor kept asking me stupid questions about my thoughts and what I was doing.
It wasn’t until Josephs second comment that the fog started to clear and I was able to think clearly again. It wasn’t until this point that I realized the doctor had been intentionally fucking with me to make me do something stupid. So I grabbed his wrist and started twisting until his arm snapped. I have not heard a more satisfying snap in a long time. His girlish scream was good too.

Suddenly the doctor started saying things. They seemed random at first and they were hard to understand over his sobbing. Then I realized he was spewing secrets. Answering questions I hadn’t asked. I guess he thought I was going to kill him or something and was trying to give me a reason not to? I don’t know that something like that could have stopped me had I decided I was going to kill him. Either way I snapped his other arm as a little favor for my superiors. I figured the only one who was going to be in bigger shit than me for breaking his arm was him for spilling some of their stupid secrets.

There were some talks with my overseers after that. As it turned out the doctor wasn’t a proper medical doctor. He was a psychiatrist. He’d been evaluating if I was a controllable asset. Then the doctor and my superiors had a conversation on their own. This takes us back to the title of the post. The doctor came back with a little speech prepared about how I had been misdiagnosed those long years ago.
He explained that when it was determined that I was afraid of people, it was during a time in my life when, socially, I was only around proxies. It has apparently been newly determined, through observation of my interactions with runners and my panic attacks in response to Joseph, that it is proxies that I fear. That it is very specifically proxies.  

He was very happy to inform me that this has made me an uncontrollable asset; that I was a liability and a degenerate. He was still going when I finally punched him in the gut. I proceeded to pin him down and started twisting his leg until I heard something snap. Then I threw the moron out of my room. I suppose it’s time to move. I’m not running though. I just don’t want to be around when they find that shit head’s body. Someone will start asking questions.

I’ll be waiting in that building I tried to burn down. 
Send someone strong. I want a beautiful death.
"Ugly Duck" out.

Friday, February 24, 2012

Cuddles and Rainbows

Please ignore the title. My overseers are a little bit sore at me still and apparently one of them thought this was funny. My first instinct was to throw this machine at the wall. I actually did that. Can't see in the corner of the screen anymore.

It occurs to me that this is what they're looking for. Reasons to cut me lose. I'm trying not to give them but it's difficult. I'm calmer then I have been in two years but all I can think about is how much I want to break the doctors bones. I want to hear them snap. I slug him whenever hes stupid enough to make eye contact. I'm finding it hard to stop at a slug though. He's fortunate to have caught on. I need to stop hurting my help but he keeps pissing me off. I had friends once,... I couldn't have always been like this. Right?

The doctor deserves at least as much as I've given though. I'm almost certain.
All that aside I'm actually feeling pretty good. Stitches are holding and I can see properly again. I would be absolutely peachy if I could take down this stupid blog. I hate that this is seen. I promised I wouldn't try to scare off viewers anymore but I have a panic attack every time I see that I have more views. I dig my nails into my flesh every time I see a new comment.

I'm told this will help in the long run but I think they just want to see me destroy myself slowly.
They believe my mental break down was caused by my Anthropophobia. Its a fancy word. It means people are monsters and can't be trusted. I could see where they might think that's what caused it.

They gave me rules.
1. I must follow 6 blogs at any one time.
2. I must respond to any post I read reguardless of how inappropriate that might be.
3. I must post on this blog atleast once a week.
4. I must respond to any comment made on this blog reguardless of how inappropriate that might be.
5. No more profanity. This is also rule 6 though 10.

I'm told failure to obey will end in punishment.
I have no friends, possessions, or position. I would hope that means humiliating me further but I halfta assume that will get old. So if I piss them off enough they'll probably just off me. I hope the doctor gets to do it. He has to want to by now.

Wednesday, February 22, 2012

Violent Return

If your reading this I hate you. Change the page. Now.

The following was the first time I had reported in for over two years. It also doubled as an informal "Form for Apology." In addition to being forced to start a blog for 'monitoring purposes', as further punishment the first posting in this had to include this report in what I must assume is an effort to shame me.

Damn it. Damn it, damn it, damn it. How is that even fucking possible. The only thing I haven ever fucking loved taken. God damned moster. Terrible fucking monster.

... Before I did dig my grave any deeper, this is proxy number 09260... fuck. Two whole years without this shit. Designation "Ugly Duck" checking in.   ...Verification? Something in my file, something in my file... 11 proxy kills, 106 runner kills, 43 misc.

Confirmed, yay.
This is apparently formally rouge asset "Ugly Duck" checking in on behalf of who ever the hell it is you people sent to recover me. He's very dead now as well as the four other people who I assume were living in the room next to him. The building was torched, current location is editted. Incase he never got a chance to report in, I'm in shit shape. Four stab wounds. One stitched. I apparently ripped the other three open killing the man who recovered me.

Request of Information.
I would like to know why I was recovered at all. I was pretty sure you assholes didn't do that forgiving thing. I would also like to know if you assbags know anything about what was taken from me. That's a pretty fucking sick way of punishing me and I want it back.

Cursing and all the disrespect each and every one of you deserves aside, this is me issuing an apology in hopes of creating more paper work for you as per protocol... I assume. It's been two years and I don't know what the current freaking protocol is.
I apologize for abandoning my position, duties, and protocol to pursue a personal vendetta after I was specifically told not to dispite the fact that I deserve that kill. I apologize for going crazy with rage during that two year hunt causing me to kill 5 proxies that inhindsight were simply trying to help me in one form or the another. I however do not appologize for killing the 3 who were specifically sent to kill me after the other 5 incidents. I apologize for the unreasonable amount of exposure my method's over those two years must have caused.
I am at your mercy and accept any punishment deemed necessary.
Even the loss of the thing I loved.

Reason for Late/Unscheduled Report
Abandoned my post, went on an unauthorized hunt/killing spree, was stabbed to death by prey, somehow woke up, wants what is mine back. Oh, and is sorry. Restitching time.

If you have read this far your high on my shit list.
On a more recent note things have started going blurry in one eye and I can't seem to stitch myself for shit.
If I die, know that I hate you.