Sylvanna Devlin

You stupid assholes.

I’m tired of your minor sometimes near insignificant instructions.

You are part of the reason I’m suicidal

Again

Don’t like that?

Don’t do it or don’t talk to me.

You all seem to think I need it because I’m not like you. Like somehow you need to “correct me” like a broken robot.

I’ve waited out the cumulative bullshit and all it’s done is mean some people watch everything I do and still don’t understand me.

You’re not going to stamp out my individually, creativity, intellect and identity.

And stop using an AI based on my writing and making “suggestions” saying an AI wrote it you slimy, insignificant bastards.

I don’t need an AI to write.

And I don’t need your micromanaging, microcritisms, and commentary.

Shut the fuck up.

If I am upset and disruptive?

I know. And I don’t like it.

But there’s always a trigger involved.

And I have to settle my shit down on my own.

But I can’t calm down with every fucker in the universe telling me what to do. You’re not helping you’re stirring the pot.

And since that would piss anyone off I get angry.

And anger makes me suicidal for reasons that are none of your fucking business.

But I do think you’re trying to kill me. Because either you can’t grasp the idea I need to be left alone and can’t help yourself? Or you’re trying to make me commit suicide.

It’s not on the victim to never be angry. It’s on the obnoxious bully without the ability and self control not to bait and stir.

Control your tongue assholes, you can’t piss someone off then get upset they’re angry.

Like seriously,

Also.

I don’t obey anyone.

I respect actual authority

I follow rules

I listen to polite requests

And some rude ones.

And I might agree with reasonable suggestions.

But I’m not your marionette, we are not in a relationship. I don’t know you. Who the fuck are you to harass me?

Is this really entertaining for you.

You sick bastards.

For some reason you have studied every detail of me – which is creepy.

Yet (again) don’t understand a fucking thing about me.

You don’t like that. It’s uncomfy. And you can’t just leave me the fuck alone.

I’d like to go back to my own thoughts and what’s between the ears. You have no idea what’s going on there. No one – now Oregon killed my sister with an invasion of her privacy – has any remote clue of what is happening in my internal world.

If you are scared of an internal world and think it means I’ve lost touch with reality for just sitting and thinking?

I fucking worry about you.

Leave me alone to study mathematics above your level of understanding. Sort my health out. Sort my head out. Plan my writing. And sometimes just sit and think.

If I need help? I’ll ask. Thanks.

PS

I am sometimes using my imagination to immerse myself in thought and the world of fiction.

Because I write fiction and need to do so to work.

I know reality. Thanks how about you don’t comment and bitch just because you don’t understand.

Are you that incapable of imaginative thought?

To the point you fear it?

And have to harass and bitch at me, even when I’m sitting quietly.