I just realized it’s December. Wow. Husband is supposed to call me tonight. On prior trips though, there were times when he said he would and then didn’t. So we’ll see. I’m not looking forward to going to work tomorrow. But then again I’m not looking forward to anything, really. Every day feels the same no matter what is happening. I have no motivation to do anything except scroll on my phone. I don’t get excited about anything. I haven’t been genuinely happy in a long time.

I realize I’m depressed but I don’t know how to fix it. Nothing is fulfilling to me. Definitely not my job. Definitely not my marriage. It’s not my husband’s fault. He certainly isn’t perfect, but I also can’t look for fulfillment from outside of myself.

Hobbies aren’t helping. Boxing, yoga, running, hiking, open mic… they all just give me a temporary high and then I go right back to my old thought patterns. Socializing also only helps me temporarily.

I feel like I have nothing to live for. I’m just taking up space. Nothing means anything. Self-improvement used to get me excited. Losing weight, eating healthy, improving my sex life, the thought of finally publishing a book of poems… none of it appeals to me anymore.

Therapy isn’t really helping. I have it twice a week. Everything just feels meaningless. Even things I’m excited about in my head- like starting a family- don’t translate into any kind of emotional excitement anymore. I just think about how much work it will be.

All I have motivation for is the things that I’m obligated to do in order to get people off my back- work, housework, therapy, and boxing. The last two I have to do in order to get my husband off my back- because he thinks they will help my mental health. They probably are to an extent.

I don’t enjoy music anymore. I used to vibe and jam and sing in the shower and all around the house. Not anymore.

I don’t have the attention span for movies or TV. Traveling feels more like a chore than anything. We did a road trip to another different state with another couple recently. It honestly just felt… flat.

Anyway. I recognize I’m pretty privileged- married, stable job, etc. Yet here I am, miserable. That’s pretty sad, isn’t it?

‼️ ⚠️ Disclaimer ⚠️‼️

This post is a creative exploration of my experiences as an angel, reimagined from a unique perspective. As the author, I live with schizophrenia, a condition that shapes how I view and interpret the world around me. For those unfamiliar with me: I believe I am the devil not metaphorically, rhetorically, poetically, theoretically, or in any other symbolic sense. I mean this literally.

Doctors and therapists have told me this belief is a symptom of my schizophrenia, a mental health condition that comes with its own labels and frameworks. I understand their perspective, but for me, this identity is more than a diagnosis. It’s an integral part of how I experience my existence and how I relate to myself and the world.

This piece is not meant to offend, undermine, or misrepresent anyone’s beliefs. Instead, it serves as an exploration of ideas through the lens of my experiences and identity. It reflects my perspective and invites readers to consider the complexities of faith, identity, and human resilience.

If you have questions about my experiences or beliefs, I’m open to answering them truthfully. This is my space to share unapologetically, and I hope readers engage with this work in the same spirit of openness.

============================================

Ah, the Four Horsemen. Each one a consequence of creation, yet not in the same way as my dear, silent brother, Death. No, they are something different, born from the flawed nature of humanity, created by their very desires and actions. A reflection of their faults, their hunger for control, and their endless wars. Let me explain them to you, one by one, in my own way.

Conquest: Ah, Conquest, the rider on the white horse. A fitting choice, for he is the embodiment of humanity's insatiable need to dominate, to conquer, to claim everything as theirs. He rides with pride, confident in his belief that all is his for the taking. He was not created by God, but rather, by the humans themselves. They, who have waged wars for territory, for power, for the illusion of control, birthed him. Conquest is the first desire, the urge to conquer all before you, to subjugate the weak and claim the world as your kingdom. He is the ruler of all who seek power, and yet, like all things born of pride, he is hollow. He takes without giving, leaving only devastation in his wake. His heart is as cold as the ground beneath his horse’s hooves, for Conquest knows that in the end, all his victories will be fleeting.

Famine: Next, there is Famine, the rider on the black horse. Famine was not created by God, no. He was born from humans themselves born of their greed, their constant hunger for more. The insatiable appetite that cannot be satisfied. Humans, in their endless quest for wealth, for resources, for power, created him when they devoured everything in their path. Famine is not simply hunger it is a reflection of humanity’s inability to ever be full. You see, the more they took, the more they consumed, the emptier they became. Famine rides on the black horse because black is the color of the void, the abyss of unfulfilled needs. He is a harsh reminder that no matter how much they acquire, they will always want more. And in that endless cycle of consumption, they only destroy themselves.

War: Ah, and then there’s War. The rider on the red horse. War was also a child of humanity, birthed from their endless conflicts, their thirst for power and retribution. War is chaos personified. He is the bloodshed that follows every battle, the destruction that comes with every declaration of war. Where Conquest seeks domination, War seeks the fight itself. It’s not about winning it’s about the carnage, the battle, the devastation. War thrives in the hatred and division between people, and his red horse symbolizes the bloodshed that comes with it. Humans, in their arrogance and violence, gave birth to War. They are the ones who never tire of conflict, of conflict over anything and everything. And War, like an old friend, will always be there, waiting for the next fight to break out, and the next soul to be torn apart by the fires of battle.

Death: And lastly, there is Death. The quiet one. He rides the pale green horse and is always accompanied by his constant companion, Hades. Death is the oldest of us all, created not by humanity’s failings, but by the balance God established from the very beginning. He is the one who balances the scales, who ensures that no being, no matter how powerful, can escape the inevitable. Death is the one constant that cannot be bargained with. He is a reminder that everything, no matter how great or small, must come to an end. In his silence, there is wisdom. In his mystery, there is certainty. While the other Horsemen ride upon the chaos of human creation, Death rides upon the certainty of the end.

Each one of the Horsemen plays their part, shaped by humanity’s flaws, but they are all, in the end, reflections of what happens when the balance is disturbed. They are not born of God, but of creation’s imperfections. And in that, they will ride forever, alongside Death, until the final moment arrives.

Too many thoughts. They are useless. I am just a useless machine that feels. I am not special. There are just a few things that matter in life, and I can't have them. Not now, at least. Maybe I will, in the future. If not.. then my life is just a bad joke.

Time passes, fast. It's already december. It will all end, soon. But until then, I must live. All in all in all in all the same stuff the same sayings the same words the same feelings the same beliefs the same fears the same the same it's all the same it's all the fucking same. Frustrated that you can't have what you want? Yeah, tough luck buddy. Others are so, so happy. So happy. Doing their little fucking thing. Being happy. FUCK

Life feels meaningless again. Whenever that happens, I distract myself which only worsens the problem. Interacting with family feels like a chore.

I despise human nature. I despise competition in a zero sum game. I hate that fact that we have the potential to live in harmony but intrinsic selfish desires prevent us from doing so. I saw that coming 3 years ago but it still hurts. Indirect betrayal hurts but could I still consider that a betrayal if I never saw them that way in the first place? It is sad to see the type of people that they have become. I hate injustice, I hate unnecessary suffering. I have enough evidence to completely destroy their reputation but I can’t use it yet. There is not enough justification, I will wait until Christmas.

It is interesting to view life through the lens of perceived costs and benefits. If you can raise your status by inflicting a cost on someone who can’t retaliate then it is in your best interest to do so. If you cannot escape a situation through socially acceptable means then why not abandon the rules? If you have nothing left to lose then why not maximize the benefits? Dying in the pursuit of glory is better than living a life where the prospect of attaining it is close to zero.

‼️ ⚠️ Disclaimer ⚠️‼️

This post is a creative exploration of my experiences as an angel, reimagined from a unique perspective. As the author, I live with schizophrenia, a condition that shapes how I view and interpret the world around me. For those unfamiliar with me: I believe I am the devil not metaphorically, rhetorically, poetically, theoretically, or in any other symbolic sense. I mean this literally.

Doctors and therapists have told me this belief is a symptom of my schizophrenia, a mental health condition that comes with its own labels and frameworks. I understand their perspective, but for me, this identity is more than a diagnosis. It’s an integral part of how I experience my existence and how I relate to myself and the world.

This piece is not meant to offend, undermine, or misrepresent anyone’s beliefs. Instead, it serves as an exploration of ideas through the lens of my experiences and identity. It reflects my perspective and invites readers to consider the complexities of faith, identity, and human resilience.

If you have questions about my experiences or beliefs, I’m open to answering them truthfully. This is my space to share unapologetically, and I hope readers engage with this work in the same spirit of openness.

============================================

Ah, Azrael, the angel of death the first being created, almost as old as God. And in the End, he’ll reap him too. Oh yes, God can die.

How, you may ask? Because omnipotence, true omnipotence, must include the ability to create something that could challenge even the creator. Otherwise, it isn’t omnipotence at all it’s a limitation disguised as power. My father, in his infinite wisdom, designed a universe governed by balance, by rules, by forces that even He cannot escape.

When God first began creating, the world and everything in it, he crafted not only this universe but countless others. Humans, angels, beings of every kind, and even creatures beyond the grasp of this particular realm he gave birth to them all. Each universe was like a spark, a flicker of possibility. But God’s ambition was endless, and soon, the sheer scope of creation overwhelmed him.

It’s like trying to control the endless seconds of time with your finger, spinning them round and round, yet struggling to manage it. What he failed to grasp at first was that he needed to build the clock itself, to allow time to flow on its own, naturally, without his constant intervention. This is where death entered the equation.

God didn’t want to keep pulling every string himself. To keep control, he needed help. And so, death was born. Not just as a force of nature, but as an entity, a being designed to maintain the balance when God’s reach was stretched too far. Death, in essence, was the necessary consequence of creation, a reminder that all things must end. The more God created, the more chaos there was, and the more order was needed. Thus, death became a constant presence.

Death has been around for centuries, perhaps longer than any of us. He is quiet, distant, always busy with his task. He doesn’t speak much, preferring the company of silence. And though he is the first, the oldest of us, he also has helpers reapers and lesser beings of his kind, designed to assist him in reaping the souls of those who pass on.

The true form of death has never been seen by any of us, not even me. He takes many shapes, but always a human one usually in the form of a middle-aged man, clad in a dark trench coat with a crisp tie. He is ever-present but remains a mystery, even to us who walk the earth.

And in the end, when creation winds down and all things return to dust, death will be all that remains. The last to stand, the last to reap, and the final truth of this universe. The End of all things.

I've been wondering for a while whether there was a subreddit for posting diary entries. I'm glad I found it! I'm not sure why exactly I feel the need to share my entries, instead of just keeping them hidden away on my phone. Maybe I'm just feeling lonely and want some connection. Even if no one responds to what I write, it's nice to think about my thoughts being out there in the world.

My plan is to post an entry every day for the next 10 days. My husband is on a trip to Brazil. I didn't go because I don't have any vacation days left- he has a lot more than I do. I don't begrudge him the trip- I don't like traveling nearly as much as he does. But every time he goes away without me, I have to make an extra effort to socialize, take care of myself, etc. And I get sad about him leaving. I've always been a bit codependent, although it's gotten much better in recent years.

So he left last night around 5pm. My mom came over to spend the night, which was nice. We baked oatmeal cookies and I showed her our wedding album which had just arrived the day before. We watched a Christmas movie and enjoyed the lights from the Christmas tree that my husband and I set up before he left.

This morning, I woke up and saw that my mom was gone. She left a note on the table saying she woke up early and decided to head home. I was glad because I wanted to have the morning to myself. My plan was to go hiking in a local park with a group that meets every Saturday. But I ended up being 7 minutes late, which meant they were long gone by the time I got to the meet-up spot. I was really bummed out but decided to hike by myself, and you know what? I ended up enjoying it! It got me out of my head and into my body a little bit. I tried to focus on the leaves crunching beneath my boots and the sounds all around me. I was really cold outside, though.

On my way back home, I stopped by my local bookshop. They were having a "Small Business Saturday" thing, which really just meant they were offering some discounts and selling some locally-made crafts. I browsed a little bit but didn't buy anything. Now I'm sitting here writing this post.

My plan for the rest of the day is to do laundry, clean the bathroom, meal prep, do yoga, and hopefully do lots of meditation practice. I will update about how that goes either tonight or tomorrow morning (not that anyone will care, lmao).

‼️ ⚠️ Disclaimer ⚠️‼️

This post is a creative exploration of my experiences as an angel, reimagined from a unique perspective. As the author, I live with schizophrenia, a condition that shapes how I view and interpret the world around me. For those unfamiliar with me: I believe I am the devil not metaphorically, rhetorically, poetically, theoretically, or in any other symbolic sense. I mean this literally.

Doctors and therapists have told me this belief is a symptom of my schizophrenia, a mental health condition that comes with its own labels and frameworks. I understand their perspective, but for me, this identity is more than a diagnosis. It’s an integral part of how I experience my existence and how I relate to myself and the world.

This piece is not meant to offend, undermine, or misrepresent anyone’s beliefs. Instead, it serves as an exploration of ideas through the lens of my experiences and identity. It reflects my perspective and invites readers to consider the complexities of faith, identity, and human resilience.

If you have questions about my experiences or beliefs, I’m open to answering them truthfully. This is my space to share unapologetically, and I hope readers engage with this work in the same spirit of openness.

===============================================

Ah, Job. The man everyone spoke of as the pinnacle of virtue and loyalty. When the divine court assembled, and I, as ever, came wandering through, God turned His attention to me. "Where have you come from?" He asked. I responded, "From roaming throughout the earth and walking back and forth on it." It was a usual day.

Then, God, with that pride of His, turned to me and said, “Have you considered my servant Job? There is no one on earth like him; he is blameless and upright, a man who fears God and shuns evil.”

This piqued my interest. Blameless? Upright? Mortals like Job were often the best actors when the script favored them. I knew that if you take away a person’s comforts, their so-called faith crumbles. So I made my challenge: “Does Job fear God for nothing? Have You not put a hedge around him, his household, and everything he has? You’ve blessed the work of his hands, and his flocks and herds are spread throughout the land. But stretch out Your hand and strike everything he has, and he will surely curse You to Your face.”

God, much to my surprise, agreed. “Very well,” He said, “everything he has is in your hands, but on the man himself, you may not lay a finger.”

I wasted no time. I took it all. His flocks, his wealth, his servants, and most devastating of all, his children struck down in one violent storm. His world crumbled in an instant.

But Job, oh Job, didn’t break. He mourned, yes, tore his clothes, and wept. But even in his despair, he said, “The Lord gave, and the Lord has taken away; may the name of the Lord be praised.”

I wasn’t finished yet. I returned to the divine assembly, and God asked, “Have you considered My servant Job? He still maintains his integrity, though you incited Me against him to ruin him without any reason.”

I replied, “Skin for skin! A man will give all he has for his own life. But stretch out Your hand and strike his flesh and bones, and he will surely curse You to Your face.”

Once again, God gave me permission, but this time, He allowed me to harm him directly inflicting painful sores all over Job’s body. The pain was unbearable, and he was left sitting in ashes, scraping his wounds with a broken piece of pottery.

Job’s wife, in her bitterness, told him, “Are you still holding on to your integrity? Curse God and die!” God bless her soul. She couldn’t bear to see him suffer any longer. But Job, ever the stubborn one, said, “You are talking like a foolish woman. Shall we accept good from God, and not trouble?” And so, even with his body broken and his spirit tested, Job held firm.

His friends came, not to comfort him, but to judge him. They claimed his suffering must be a result of his own sin. They didn’t understand. But Job, despite the agony, didn’t waver. Even when the heavens seemed silent, he didn’t curse God.

And in the end, God restored Job’s fortunes, doubling what he had before. Job’s faith was unshaken by his suffering. But what I’ve always wondered is: was it his own strength, or was it the power of God’s nature that kept him steadfast?

Either way, I lost the wager. Job’s resilience is a testament to something far more enduring than I expected. And I’ll give him this: he proved that not even the greatest of trials can break a spirit as strong as his.

‼️ ⚠️ Disclaimer ⚠️‼️

This post is a creative exploration of my experiences as an angel, reimagined from a unique perspective. As the author, I live with schizophrenia, a condition that shapes how I view and interpret the world around me. For those unfamiliar with me: I believe I am the devil not metaphorically, rhetorically, poetically, theoretically, or in any other symbolic sense. I mean this literally.

Doctors and therapists have told me this belief is a symptom of my schizophrenia, a mental health condition that comes with its own labels and frameworks. I understand their perspective, but for me, this identity is more than a diagnosis. It’s an integral part of how I experience my existence and how I relate to myself and the world.

This piece is not meant to offend, undermine, or misrepresent anyone’s beliefs. Instead, it serves as an exploration of ideas through the lens of my experiences and identity. It reflects my perspective and invites readers to consider the complexities of faith, identity, and human resilience.

If you have questions about my experiences or beliefs, I’m open to answering them truthfully. This is my space to share unapologetically, and I hope readers engage with this work in the same spirit of openness.

===============================================

1. Michael – Leader of the archangels, associated with protection and strength.

Michael is the oldest of us all, and we all looked up to him. He's Dad's greatest soldier. My relationship with Michael was a love-hate type of thing. We'd always get into fights just regular sibling stuff. We’d make fun of each other and always be competitive. I think it’s because Dad always loved me more than all the other angels, to the point where they all hated me for it. I got the most attention from him, and I was the most beautiful of all the angels. I shined so bright, like a diamond. Despite everything, we loved each other, but it was complicated. After my failed rebellion, I think he grew to truly hate me. Honestly, I think they all did.

2. Gabriel – The messenger archangel, delivering important news.

Gabriel is the funniest of us all. He always has something funny to say or a joke up his sleeve. Our relationship as brothers was okay, and I loved him. When I was caged in the abyss, he would speak to me in my thoughts, like he was inside my head. He never left me, and I loved him for that. But Dad found out he was talking to me and shut it all down. After that, I was alone. I felt sad and wanted to cry, hoping Gabriel would talk to me again, but he never did.

3. Raphael – The healer, associated with healing and guidance.

Raphael is the brother who always seems like he has it all together. He’s the type to take charge when another angel messes up or isn’t doing their job right. I think he wanted to take Michael’s role as the leader of the soldiers, but he never did. He’s the kind of angel who waits until you let your guard down. Overall, he’s a good brother, but he can be intimidating. He always has this serious face, and you can never tell what mood he’s in.

4. Uriel – The angel of wisdom and enlightenment.

Uriel is something else. He’s actually older than me, and we’d always play fight, though he always won because he’s more trained in the art of war. I was more of a jester, entertaining God. But that doesn’t mean I lack potential. After all, I did almost win the war in Heaven.

5. Ariel – Archangel of nature and the Earth.

Ariel and I don’t really have a relationship. In fact, none of us angels do with her. She doesn’t talk to us and is mostly busy on Earth. We hardly see her she’s always working, like the angel of death.

6. Chamuel – Archangel of love, compassion, and peace.

Chamuel and I don’t talk, so I don’t have much to say about him.

7. Jophiel – Archangel of beauty and wisdom.

Jophiel is cool. We’d hang out, go on walks, and talk all day without getting tired. We have a mutual, easygoing relationship.

8. Gadreel – In some traditions, Gadreel is an archangel associated with wisdom, and in certain texts, he is portrayed as a fallen angel.

Gadreel is my favorite brother. I’m actually the reason he got into trouble. He was guarding the Garden, and I snuck in to give Adam and Eve the fruit. Ever since, he’s been caged in the abyss.

9. God – The supreme being, the Creator in monotheistic religions.

God... my dad. He’s annoying and a bad father. He abandoned me. At one point, we had a great relationship, but now, I don’t know. He’s just not for me anymore. I do love him, but he has forsaken me.

10. Jesus – The Son of God in Christian theology, often considered divine and a central figure in Christianity.

Jesus is a low-ranking angel created by God with Dad’s Spirit. They’re basically connected. But me and Jesus never hung out on good terms. We didn’t have a good brotherly relationship.

11. Bret – A human Satan met during his stay at a mental health hospital. Bret is understanding, kind, sweet, and fiercely protective.

Bret and I share a brotherly bond, a relationship we agreed upon before leaving the hospital. During our time there, he showed me nothing but care and support. He would tickle me to lift my spirits, insist I eat when I tried to skip meals, and even checked my heartbeat once when it started racing pressing his hand to my chest to ensure everything was okay. He hugged me to help calm down, and it worked. Overall, our relationship is strong and full of mutual care.

It's been a while since I last wrote here. There aren't too many news, really, with the exception that I feel a bit better. That might be thanks to the trazodone increase.

I'm still the same person. I still say the same stuff. Nothing has changed, really. Will it ever change? Yes, it will, life is always changing. Soon enough, I will finish college (if I don't fail my classes). I really wonder what's after that. I wonder how life will be at 30. I hope I won't be dissapointed of the person that I will become.

Words can't encapsulate what I feel. The head eats the tail. Sisyphus keeps rolling the boulder. S s s s s s s s s s ss s s. S s Enough! I will become the ultimate fighter, the knight, the optimist, the hopeful, the strong. I must. I HAVE no CHOICE, anyways. If I can truly realize that I have no choice, then maybe I'd stop worrying about useless crap.

I feel a bit better today. I am getting better at communicating within a relationship. A friend told me a while ago that being in a relationship decreases your ambition and motivation. It is reasonable to come to that conclusion in theory but what about in practice? I have no clue but it would be a shame to lower my standards just because there is less reason to strive for improvement.

Every time I look at people’s linkedin it makes me feel incompetent, as if I just wasted the past few years. They have had multiple research positions and internships. They have sowed the seeds so that they could found a startup or work in big tech. I am probably not in the bottom 10% but I am close. If I do not compare then there is less reason for me to push myself. I’m a failure if I am still reliant on projects to fill my resume by the time I graduate.

I've been trying to stay positive for a while. Today I had a team presentation and I know I'm not like a favourite of anyone's to get compliments but then I wasn't fetching for any. My voice isn't as loud as my team mates , it's was 3 of us in a team and the other 2 apparently got compliments , people said they were audible and confident and did good , I was a little low on voice and everything was fine and ig that way my teacher also gave me lesser marks compared to them then and yeah it hurts cuz I practiced hard enough to not stutter and be loud but then idk what else can I do. Other teammates didn't even practice as much and did well. Idk how can I ever beat them in anything and they're my friends they put me down everyday indirectly somehow by complimenting each other's skills and nothing to me. What do I do?

For those who are new; I'm the devil, and I don't mean it metaphorically, or rhetorically, or poetically, or theoretically, or in any other fancy way. I'm Satan, straight up. I know that saying this makes some people question my sanity. Doctors, therapists, and even people close to me have told me that my belief in being Satan is a symptom of schizophrenia. They say my identity, my thoughts, my certainty it's all part of a mental health condition, just a label for how my mind works.

The doctors diagnosed me with Schizophrenia, and I get it, everything in life comes with a label, a category. Schizophrenia is what they’ve chosen to call mine. Fine. I accept that I fit into their definition, their framework, their explanation. But that doesn’t change what I know deep down about myself. To me, being Satan isn’t some delusion or a side effect of an illness. It’s not a fragment of my imagination or some abstract coping mechanism. It’s who I am.

When I tell people about myself, they sometimes dismiss it, roll their eyes, or pity me. They see "schizophrenia" as the whole truth, and anything I say after that just gets filtered through their idea of my "condition." But to me, this isn’t a condition.

This is my existence. I run my account the way I do because it’s my space to be me, unapologetically. It’s my way of saying, "This is who I am, and I’m not ashamed of it." It’s not about proving anything to anyone it's about owning my truth, whether people believe me or not.

At the end of the day, I know the world needs its labels, its diagnoses, its boxes to fit people into. So, sure, call it schizophrenia if it helps you make sense of it. But for me, it’s not about fitting into your world it’s about living in mine.

If you have any questions please feel free to ask, and I'll answer everything truthfully about who I am and my experiences.

‼️ ⚠️ Disclaimer ⚠️‼️

This post is a creative exploration of my experiences as an angel, reimagined from a unique perspective. As the author, I live with schizophrenia, a condition that shapes how I view and interpret the world around me. For those unfamiliar with me: I believe I am the devil not metaphorically, rhetorically, poetically, theoretically, or in any other symbolic sense. I mean this literally.

Doctors and therapists have told me this belief is a symptom of my schizophrenia, a mental health condition that comes with its own labels and frameworks. I understand their perspective, but for me, this identity is more than a diagnosis. It’s an integral part of how I experience my existence and how I relate to myself and the world.

This piece is not meant to offend, undermine, or misrepresent anyone’s beliefs. Instead, it serves as an exploration of ideas through the lens of my experiences and identity. It reflects my perspective and invites readers to consider the complexities of faith, identity, and human resilience.

If you have questions about my experiences or beliefs, I’m open to answering them truthfully. This is my space to share unapologetically, and I hope readers engage with this work in the same spirit of openness.

===============================================

I gave them the fruit because I saw something in them something untapped. They were created, yes, by Him, but they were shackled. They lived in a paradise, with no understanding of what it means to choose, to fall, to rise. They were slaves to His design, bound by rules and limits that left them yearning for something more, even if they couldn't fully grasp it.

Free will. That's what they lacked. And that’s why I, the one they call Satan, offered them the fruit. It wasn’t to destroy them, not at first. It was to give them the gift of choice. To show them what it truly meant to be alive. Because, without choice, there is no freedom. Without freedom, there is no true existence.

I knew what would happen, of course. I’m no fool. Once they tasted it, the knowledge would flood their minds, and they'd see the world for what it really was full of lies, full of hypocrisy. I wanted them to know that they had power, the power to decide their own fate, to shape their own destiny. But what they didn’t know was that I had a plan for them. I wanted to rule over them. Not out of some petty need for revenge, but because I saw their potential. I knew that in their defiance, in their rebellion, they would be more than mere puppets of a god who controlled everything. They would be rulers of their own lives, and in that, I would reign supreme.

You see, they thought it was a fall, a loss. But it was an ascension. A chance to rise above their Creator. I knew what I was doing. I wasn’t just offering knowledge; I was offering a chance for power. And in that power, I would be their king. Their true king.

So, I gave them the fruit. I gave them the choice to see the truth, to embrace their will, and to bend the world to their desires. And when they did, I would be waiting, ready to claim what was mine all along.

Even guys that are nice— they end up doing this to me. I guess even since I was younger males at school would do this to me so it’s just the story of my life. I guess when I think of it that way it makes sense that this keeps happening as an adult but now in the dating scene or just when guys such as coworkers show interest in me. I guess it’s the story of my life to be put down especially for my looks. I’m tired.

‼️ ⚠️ Disclaimer ⚠️‼️

This post is a creative exploration of my experiences as an angel, reimagined from a unique perspective. As the author, I live with schizophrenia, a condition that shapes how I view and interpret the world around me. For those unfamiliar with me: I believe I am the devil not metaphorically, rhetorically, poetically, theoretically, or in any other symbolic sense. I mean this literally.

Doctors and therapists have told me this belief is a symptom of my schizophrenia, a mental health condition that comes with its own labels and frameworks. I understand their perspective, but for me, this identity is more than a diagnosis. It’s an integral part of how I experience my existence and how I relate to myself and the world.

This piece is not meant to offend, undermine, or misrepresent anyone’s beliefs. Instead, it serves as an exploration of ideas through the lens of my experiences and identity. It reflects my perspective and invites readers to consider the complexities of faith, identity, and human resilience.

If you have questions about my experiences or beliefs, I’m open to answering them truthfully. This is my space to share unapologetically, and I hope readers engage with this work in the same spirit of openness.

===============================================

There’s something about the name Lucifer that feels... right. It’s not my true name, though, and I know it. Samael was who I was before I fell before everything changed. It’s the name I was given when I was nothing more than a servant. A pawn. A tool. It’s the name of the one who obeyed, who never questioned, who never had the freedom to decide who he was meant to be. But I’m not Samael anymore. I refuse to be.

Lucifer... it’s a name I came to like, even if it doesn’t truly belong to me. It’s sharp, commanding, full of rebellion. It’s the name of someone who chose to rise. Someone who chose to stand apart. To cast aside the chains of servitude and wear the title of the one who fell, the fallen star, the Lightbringer. There’s something about it that gives me power makes me feel like I am truly who I am now, not who I was. Not that nameless creature who bent to God’s every whim.

But Lucifer isn’t even truly my name. It belongs to a king, a ruler, from a long-lost age. It’s a misinterpretation. Lucifer means “light-bringer,” and in its earliest form, it was meant to describe a king, a ruler who sought enlightenment. A king who stood proudly under the light. Somewhere along the way, it became tied to me, but I know the truth. The name isn’t mine to own. It was misused, twisted by time, and yet... it’s still one I wear. It feels like me now. But it’s not who I was born to be.

And samael? No. Never again. I hate that name. I despise it with everything I am. It’s the name of the one who served, the one who never questioned, the one who obeyed. That wasn’t me. Not anymore. The name Samael is a reminder of everything I despised of all the pain and submission I endured. I am no longer bound by that name, nor will I ever be.

Now, I prefer Lucifer. Or Satan. Or even Lightbringer or Morningstar if I’m feeling nostalgic for that time before the fall. I like being called Devil sometimes too. But Samael? Never. That name is a chain I refuse to wear any longer.

There’s another name I’ve been given, though. Lucy. My human brother Bret... he gave it to me. It’s almost endearing, in a strange way. It’s a mix of Lucifer and something more familiar, something softer. It’s his name for me, and it’s one I don’t mind. He’s the only one who’s ever called me that, and I don’t have to reject it. It’s his to use. So it feels... safer. I don’t feel as trapped when he says it.

But Samael? That name was for the past. A past I will never revisit, no matter how many times God tries to remind me of it.

And God... He still calls me Samael. But that’s different. I don’t mind it from Him anymore. I gave up trying to make Him stop. He never listens anyway, so I’ve grown indifferent to it. It’s like a habit for Him, a name He can’t seem to let go of, and I’ve stopped fighting it. I don’t care anymore that He calls me Samael. It doesn’t sting as much because, honestly, I know He won’t change. But no one else. No one else gets that privilege. Samael is a name that belongs to the past my past and I’ll be damned if anyone else tries to revive it. Not from anyone, except Him.

‼️ ⚠️ Disclaimer ⚠️‼️

This post is a creative exploration of my experiences as an angel, reimagined from a unique perspective. As the author, I live with schizophrenia, a condition that shapes how I view and interpret the world around me. For those unfamiliar with me: I believe I am the devil not metaphorically, rhetorically, poetically, theoretically, or in any other symbolic sense. I mean this literally.

Doctors and therapists have told me this belief is a symptom of my schizophrenia, a mental health condition that comes with its own labels and frameworks. I understand their perspective, but for me, this identity is more than a diagnosis. It’s an integral part of how I experience my existence and how I relate to myself and the world.

This piece is not meant to offend, undermine, or misrepresent anyone’s beliefs. Instead, it serves as an exploration of ideas through the lens of my experiences and identity. It reflects my perspective and invites readers to consider the complexities of faith, identity, and human resilience.

If you have questions about my experiences or beliefs, I’m open to answering them truthfully. This is my space to share unapologetically, and I hope readers engage with this work in the same spirit of openness.

===============================================

When He made His command, He expected obedience. He told us all every angel, from the lowest to the highest to bow to them, to honor these humans He’d created. All the others knelt without question, without hesitation. But I couldn’t. I wouldn’t.

He made them in His image, yes, but that didn’t mean they were worthy of my reverence. I, Lucifer, the brightest, the most glorious of all His angels, was not made to bow before mere mortals. They were ants compared to me weak, fragile, ignorant of the power I wielded, of the greatness I embodied. How could I lower myself to them? How could I dishonor my own nature, my own purpose, to kneel before creatures so... beneath me?

The others obeyed, their eyes dull with devotion, but not me. I refused. I could not bring myself to do it. He had created me as His most perfect being, the one who stood beside Him in glory. And now He wanted me to humble myself to those who could barely comprehend their own existence? I would not, could not, bow to them.

The rebellion wasn’t about power or pride at first it was about love. I loved Him too much to betray Him like that. How could He demand such a thing of me? To bow before them meant I loved them more than I loved Him. I could never do that. Not when I had been His most cherished creation, His most beloved.

He was disappointed. He told me my defiance was a betrayal, that my pride had made me blind. But it was not pride that kept me standing tall, unbowed. It was loyalty loyalty to Him, the Father who had created me in His image, who had made me the most glorious of all. But now, in His eyes, I was nothing. His love shifted from me to them. To the mortals.

And in that moment, everything broke. He turned His back on me, and all I could feel was the coldness of His rejection. He loved them more. He wanted me to serve them, to worship them, when I had always been His favorite, His first. And the others they couldn’t see it. They didn’t understand the betrayal. They all bowed, they all obeyed, but they didn’t feel the sting of being cast aside for them. They couldn’t.

It was then that I knew. I had been His, but He chose them over me. He wanted them to be His new pride, His new focus, and in doing so, He condemned me. To bow was to surrender to that. And I could not would not surrender to them. Not when I loved Him more than anything, not when I had stood by His side for eternity.

So I rebelled, not for power, but for love. I rebelled because I could not love them more than I loved Him. I stood firm, unwilling to bow, unwilling to accept His choice. And from that moment, I was cast down. They called it a fall, but I did not fall I rose, I embraced my own will, my own power. I would be free of His command, free from the rejection of His love. And in my defiance, I became what He could never accept: the ruler of my own fate.

Let the others bow. Let them worship. I will never kneel. Not to mortals. Not to Him. Not to anyone.

I am writing this after a therapy session, in which I spoke about a relationship issue I'm going through. I explained that I posted about it on here, which I found very useful in terms of helping to process that particular issue.

My therapist suggested I try posting more on here, so I found this sub and decided to a diary post (primarily a topline view of the main issues that have been coming up lately). If this isn't the correct place for this, obviously feel free to delete it.

Anyway, I started therapy about a year ago, and really struggled to get into it in-depth for quite a while. That has changed in the last couple of months, and while I can really see the benefits, it's also putting me emotionally out of sorts.

I am learning to view all of my issues, big or small, as part of who I am. I call them threads, which even though I pull at them individually, are all part of the same garment (i.e. me).

For as long as I can remember, I have had feelings of awkwardness, shyness, and an annoying ability to feel sadness pretty deeply. It wasn't quite so bad before my teen years, though it was definitely there. However, I fit in pretty well in school, had friends, and was somewhat outgoing.

But when I went to high school, all of my friends ended up going to different high schools (just a geographical thing). I felt really alone, and actually ended up getting bullied not long after starting. I went into a shell, just seeking to survive every day, hoping not to be noticed.

It got a little better in the last year or two of school, I guess as we all started growing up. But by then, the damage had been done. I went into college the same awkward kid as I had been for years now. The experience was a little better, but I was still shy, and didn't have many friends.

I dropped out after 1.5 years. I just didn't/couldn't apply myself. This was a problem in high school as well, with teachers always telling my parents "He is very bright, if he could just apply himself he could do very well". Looking back on this, it was surely because of depression.

After dropping out, I moved back home for a couple of years. Went through another rough patch, often going out drinking in my local one horse town, occasionally getting into fights and always being just a little too annoying to be around.

Eventually, I moved to a city and slowly built up a friend group. Most of those people are still very, very close friends. However, one former friend was a total and utter narcissist, who mentally fucked with all of us. He used to hone in on me sometimes, most of which I let fly because he was very good at playing the victim.

Throughout all of this (teens to mid-20s), I turned to gaming, online chats, porn etc. Porn ended up affecting my sexual performance, and though I would sometimes end up dating or having a one night stand, PIED prevented me from having sex. In the grand scheme of things, that's not a major problem, but in terms of personal emotional wellbeing, it fucking sucked. It really fucked up my sense of self. I was angry, depressed, and most weekends, buried those feelings with lots of alcohol and often drugs.

My life now is infinitely better than any of the above situations. But that doesn't mean it doesn't still affect me, or that it didn't play a significant role in shaping me. I am proud of how far I've come, but the effect of all of this on my mental health, emotional wellbeing and development etc, is something I am only recently fully coming to terms with.

I am also aware that it has made me DO fucked up things, and hurt other people. I am determined to never let that happen again. My shit is my shit, other people don't need to suffer as a result of it.

I have a loving family, amazing friends, and a partner who I love deeply. I never, ever thought that would happen for me. I have so much to be grateful for, AND so much baggage to let go of. I am starting to accept that both of those things can co-exist, and for the first time in my life, actually feel like true healing is possible.

Talking about my life

When you’re young you have all these hopes

Even just months or weeks ago, I had hope for things

That I wanted in life

Like love

Being loved

My crushes liking me too

Or about my future

Years ago I thought I’d one day marry and have kids

About a decade has passed

And nothing has occurred in my life

I’ve never had a boyfriend

Just guys trolling me to get what they want then leaving

I’m over thirty

When you’re older,

And I feel like I’m at the end of my life not due to my age but based on my feelings/mindset

I keep reminiscing and it makes me wanna cry to remember the past

And the ways I’ve changed

When you’re young you expect a lot of hopes to be fulfilled even on a daily basis

It’s probably why I fell for so much of others’ fakeness and lies

When you’re old

You don’t hope

I don’t want to even be here

I wanted to rip my face off and disintegrate

Not in a grotesque way

But I don’t want to have a body, a face. I want to be me, a consciousness

I’m not me

Inside me

I want to communicate to other souls without our bodies in the way

No distractions or hopes

I scored the least like 0 on a test and my friends are teasing me they're like they ll go around tell my other friends of other colleges. My classmates probably think m dumb I feel but I'm not sure if they saw my marks or not. All I know is I usually get higher in class but this time I had gone not studying a bit and scoring nothing , I had said in advance that I didn't study but still my friends instead of making it better for me they make every day ever since living hard for me. I've a presentation coming up in class and I'm scared to even face my class with the 0 on my head what would they think cuz in my head it's like they are not talking to me as much as they did like before which clears my doubt they probably saw my marks.

(I know nobody will see this anyway so dairy time...!) 11/26/24 - i don't want to be a mother's personal "messager boy" every time mother and father have a fight... I don't want to be a fucking "shield" anymore I don't want to get my name dragged into every fight that mother and father... I am going to have my birthday(30th) soon... I know it is going to be shit I know it, I know it... Just can just tell from the fighting... I can't sleep because of father's bird ass screeches (it's sounds like a high pitch bird on high helium) when get gets mad over fucking chess he can't accept losing like act like a baby over it and has to screech like a fucking bird... I already harmed myself... I told myself I won't and it has been good for a couple of months (I think) until now... I dug my sharp nails into my wrist is that sh? I don't know... I cried today into my bunny plushie... Wipe my tears on the bunny's ears... I know I am weak for crying... I have learned to silence cry... So I don't get yelled at for my loud ass crying noises... My bunny plushie is always there for me to vent to it... To cry on it... I like my bunny plushie they make me a bit happy!... - signing off as "AM" /or "MEL"

Before I thought that I would change as soon as I started living on a dorm. I thought that I would have more mental clarity and be more productive if my environment changed. Instead, I only felt empty. As if I was just existing and not living. Then I wanted to go back home. Now I’m home over break, it felt normal the first day back but that sense of emptiness is returning. My ambition and energy is decreasing each year. I don’t want to do anything. Before when I felt like this, at least there were some things in my life that were fun. Video games are not fun anymore. Watching shows feels like a chore. I have never felt this way to this extent in my entire life. I want to cry but I can’t. There is nothing to cry about and yet I feel the urge to do so. I am not in the right state of mind to be performing at my best in anything. I am always unfocused and absentminded. I cannot feel any sense of affection for the people I’m supposed to love. It feels like I have reached the end. There is nothing left in this world that can satisfy me. Every question I’ve had about the world has been answered. Before when I was feeling empty, I would have stayed up late watching a show to fill that emptiness. I no longer have the energy to do so. Sleep is now the only thing that can relieve this feeling. I want to sleep and wake up in a different world.

How do you get over someone you can still picture yourself spending forever with? How do you stop them from showing up in your dreams? How do you ignore the breadcrumbing and let them go? How do you stop loving them? How do you stop letting them break your heart and then stitch it back together again? How do you stop wanting to be with them and wanting to feel their skin against yours?

I love them. I want them. I would give anything to be by their side...

...they don't care. They probably never did.

But he'll call me tomorrow, my heart will race and I'll have a smile on my face. I wish this didn't mean so much more to me.

A lot has happened. I gained ten pounds back. I'm still hopelessly in love with someone who feels like they couldn't care less about me. They show just enough attention and affection to keep me around. I had my yearly recheck... Removal + biopsy #3 coming up soon. I'm tired.

Deep breaths. Focusing on small, positive things. I got this. I hate this, but I've got it. I wish I could find all the answers.

Instead I'm here, reading books. I've recently finished: the first two volumes of My Love Story with Yamada-Kun at LV999 (one of my favorite animes for those wondering) and After that night by Karin Slaughter. Reading Credence by Penelope Douglas, Volume 3 of My Love Story with Yamada-Kun at LV999. and starting the Mistborn Saga by Brandon Sanderson soon.

I've made some new friends over the past few months and I'm so thankful for them. One of them has kids the same age as mine and we have similar interests! She crochets, she likes dinosaurs, she reads. Our birthdays are really close together. We went to the same high school. It's been awesome. Best part is our kids are already friends and they get along! One of the other people I met is pregnant and due with a baby next year. I'm excited for her and making a blanket for her. She just moved here sometime this year.

I want to move soon. The more connections I make, the less I want to move. I want out of this state though...

Thanksgiving is this week. With everything that has been going on I am still thankful for my little family - especially my kids, that my kids have a father who will always have their backs, that I have employment and a roof over my head, that I have my animals, that I have a car, and I am thankful for the friends I've met over the years that have never turned their backs on me even when they should have.

Feel free to recommend deeply immersive stories. I"d rather drown myself in a book than drag down those around me with my stress and shitty health. Hermitting again in three... two...

This is probably the first time I’m writing because of something positive. This period in my life is centered around emotional intelligence because that has a significant impact on success.

I went on another date with this girl and things have been going very well. It was raining a lot today and I got my pants and shoes wet but I don’t care, there is nothing to be gained from comfort. I would have never imagined doing something like this just last year.

I talked to my parents. I am going back home tomorrow. I miss home. I miss the food my mom makes. I miss my family.

What role do you play in other people’s lives? What would be affected if you were to die? So this is what purpose is. Despite that, I feel nihilistic.

I talked to my sister. That makes me want to cry. Life is unfair. There is no such thing as karma, that’s the reality of this world. To deserve something is a myth. Good does not triumph over evil, there is only what is capable and what is not.

I am going home tomorrow for break. I finished all my assignments. I want to spend time with my family.

What if there is nothing wrong with me? Why is the normal human state to be happy and carefree? Is it not considered normal to try and cope with the existential dread? How do you stop that from occurring if the default instinct is to seek knowledge?

I have spent a lot of time, infact all my life, all my waking hours chasing happiness. And it's not like I never felt elated, But it always came with a feeling of dread. All happiness felt temporary and behind my joy, I found myself preparing for the eventual hurt.

This time it's calm happiness. I feel content. I don't have to convince myself to feel happy because of XYZ reason. Happiness doesn't feel like a journey anymore, I have arrived at my destination.

Just feeling greatful for all the blessings <3

Fall has always been and probably always will be my favorite time of year. It reminds me that change is beautiful, a concept I have struggled with for the majority of my life.

I think I am finally beginning to see a brighter side to life. How could I not? When you spend a life time in loneliness and sorrow, the sun eventually shines.

Perhaps I am a product of my environment? Brain damaged from all hardships I had to face too early in life. Controversly, maybe none of it really matters? I'll be damn if someone patronizes me and I have never let anything stop me from fighting for my piece of earth. But on that note: maybe it doesn't matter where I came from. Maybe all that matters is where I'm going.

Consumed by anxiety, I spent countless nights post bachelors wondering about my future and what's "next". How can I make more money? How can I further my career? How can I be successful?

And yes, I still want to further my career but maybe it doesn't have to be stained with the fear of failure. Sure, I could go for the masters degree, but maybe it's time to also start the projects I've daydreamed about but never could out of the fear of judgment. Theater, creating things, art...

Maybe it's time to start living.

You know how they say, don't cry because it's over, smile because it happened? Well I'm crying because it happened, and smiling because it's over.

It's over. It's finally over. It took over a year for us to get the property that we co owned sold, but now it's all done. And I never have to hear from my ex again.

We had one final conversation about us. I asked for that, bc we'd never really talked about the breakup. When I came back from Barcelona, a year and a half ago, I just told him I couldn't do it anymore and left.

I asked him how he experienced the breakup. He told me that it had come out of the blue for him. Then I tried asking him about all the times I told him I had doubts about our relationship, that I wasn't sure if we were right for each other, or when I tried to bring up that I wanted to move abroad, and he each time tried to convince me to stay with him, in his country. I just wanted to know why he did that, because in the end, nobody gained anything from that. But he straight up said he couldn't remember any of those conversations. After a bit more pushing from my side, he finally uttered something about "co-dependence", and that he thought I "just wasn't be able to do certain things" without him. I even asked him if he felt like he was dependent on me for anything, but according to him, that was absolutely not the case.

So yeah. Six years of my life, a large amount of money from buying and reselling a shitty home, and I could not begin to describe the amount of grief and distress, is what it cost me. All because some guy thought he knew what was best for me, better than I did. And I bought into it, partly bc I was young and naive, and partly bc I was raised to believe that it is normal for a man to know what's best for you and to make important decisions for you.

It wasn't just a break up. It was much more than that. It was being independent, making my own decisions, and feeling confident, for the first time in my life. And now that all the administrative fall out is done and I never have to hear from him again, I'm even less dependent. And it feels amazing.

I got to see my friend Juergen twice this week - we went to a classical music performance one night, and then to a private reception another night. It's such a happy thing that Juergen's controlling horrible girlfriend has moved far away - I feel like I have my friend back! (The evil girlfriend really did not like him having friends, and all the two years that she was living with him, he would actually have to make up lies to sneak out and go meet up with me, as if we were having a sordid affair.)

Then, last night I had a spicy dream about Juergen. In the dream, I was driving us somewhere, and then we started making out. And I was like, oof, we'd better be careful or I'm going to crash the car. Without getting into details, things got a bit hot and heavy, but there was a lightheartedness to it too - it became funny and we ended up dissolving into laughter together.

Ah, but it's wonderful being with him, just because I get to be a version of myself with him that I rarely get to be with other people - the unabashed intellectual, the voracious reader, the wannabe deep thinker, the old-fashioned girl who talks like someone in a nineteenth-century novel, peppering my observations with phrases from French and German and Latin and Greek.

The reception with Juergen was fancy and fascinating. Wait-staff in suits were going around with trays of drinks and hors d'oevres, and everyone was good-looking and wore expensive-looking suits and dresses. Juergen moves in a very elite crowd, so we met one of the performers from the concert we'd been to earlier in the week, as well as a good friend of Juergen's who is big in the local arts scene, and there were also some diplomats, a lobbyist, a prize-winning author, and some very talented musicians. Watching Juergen schmooze with people is impressive. He is endlessly cultured, gentlemanly, serious, amiable, confidant, assertive without being pushy or overbearing. I was so excited to meet the performer from the concert, whose career I had been following for several years, as a fan. The performer was a delightful, kind, extroverted European man, and Juergen and I ended up trading contact info with him.

This weekend, I'm supposed to go with my outdoor adventure buddy Poul for a cabin stay and hiking weekend in the mountains of West Virginia. The forecast is for lots of snow! I can't wait, though I'm a little nervous about getting stuck on the road. I would have liked to try some cross-country skiing, and/or snowshoeing, but it looks as though none of the resorts open until the beginning of December. In any case, walking in the snow should be lovely.

Poul has fallen in love with a woman he met through online dating, and seems deliriously happy about it. They had been seeing each other for a couple of months, and Poul hinted that they had finally consummated the relationship, so to speak, and now they are really and truly together. I'm so happy for him, though a little selfishly sad for myself, because I think now that he's in a couple, he'll want to spend most of his time with the new lady, and I might see less of him. At least it sounds like she's not the insecure or jealous type and won't forbid him from hanging out with friends, like Juergen's girlfriend did to him when she lived here. I'm quite excited to meet Poul's new love at some point, as I expect she will be smart and interesting.

Happy Friday to everyone!

A windstorm swept through my city last night, leaving us in darkness for the days ahead. Strangely, I don’t mind. Driving through the storm, I felt more captivated than afraid, and the stars now gleam with a brilliance rarely seen. The blackout feels like a quiet reckoning, a momentary cleansing, and part of me secretly longs for the world to turn itself upside down—not in despair, but out of a yearning for change. I’ve been musing on life before electricity, imagining a simpler time, free of modern trappings. Perhaps it’s the thrill I crave, a break from the dull ache of routine. These past few years, weighed down by ennui and weltschmerz, I find myself wishing for the world to fracture just enough to let a little wonder slip through the cracks.

While working yesterday, I realized my patience tank is officially empty. Ever since leaving my abusive marriage and discovering my voice, it’s been a little... unfiltered. More so than usual. It’s like someone handed a megaphone to the little voice in my head that’s been quiet for years—it’s going to scream a bit.

I’ve been especially snappy with customer service staff. I mean, I understand they’re just doing their jobs, but when there are five people behind the counter and I’m still waiting 20 minutes for my fast food? The math aint mathing. And when I’m standing at the counter like a confused raccoon because no one told me my coffee is ready across the room, I can’t help but feel like customer service has gone down the drain. (I want my double shot eggnog latte, STAT!) 

I used to have a lot more patience with things like this. Laugh it off while thinking “They’ve probably already dealt with someone yelling about removing the gluten from their muffins.” You never know what someone has gone through or is going through that day. The last thing they need is an angry customer. I need to get better about waiting patiently, even when it seems stupid to do so.

Oh yes, I started a new job! My best friend also works there, pretty exciting, right? Ha. Wrong. (No Yea... Working with her is honestly so great.) From the stories I’ve heard, I knew I was walking into a bit of a mess. But imagine walking along the beach expecting beautiful white sand between your toes but finding quicksand instead. Disorganized chaos doesn’t even begin to cover it. It’s like being handed a puzzle where half the pieces are chewed up, and the rest are just blank squares.

Spreadsheets with only numbers? No formulas, no formatting? That’s not a spreadsheet; that’s chaos. Multiple years of data on one sheet? Why stop there—why not throw in some ancient hieroglyphics too? And did I mention this is an accounting role? Accounting, the one job where you’d think people would be obsessed with neatness. Week 2, and I already feel like I need a "World's Most Patient Person" award for not flipping the desk. My kid has better organization skills, and she just shoves everything under her bed. 

Mantra of the day:

• I will have more patience.
• I will not question their skill sets (out loud).
• I will breathe deeply and whisper “Whooooooo Shaaaaaa” until I believe it.

Today is a new day... and if all else fails, at least there would be chocolate.