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N O T I C E : : m e m o r y _ s t r e a m _ l o c a t e d
I D : : h o a r d i n g _ b e h a v i o u r
T Y P E: : E X P E R I E N T I A L
Mhm. So strange, so strange.
I stare at my screen in something of a dissociative state. There is a hard-to-describe pressure, somewhere between my head and in my chest, that has been continually building for several minutes now. It has put me on edge, but I cannot understand what its source is; or what my form wants me to do to relieve it. The only thing I am aware of is a strange, compulsive desire to organize my belongings.
I do not mean physical belongings; rather, the hoard of digital artefacts which I've collected over the years. By far the largest part of why I still think of myself as partly draconic even after
████████'s departure, I brood obsessively over like some precious stash of gems. The behaviour serves no tangible purpose in and of itself, but it is immensely satisfying somehow, and performing it well enough tends to cause the pressure to abate.
My hoard consists of a mixture of things, but above all it is a means of archival. The various pieces of digital media I've collected, I have done so with the purpose of ensuring that they are not lost. The vast majority are images; the hoard started out as a collection of the rare few - it displeases me to call them this, but I suppose the correct term is 'smut images' - that I found somewhat titillating. 99% of such content that is shared in Fleetnet communities that I am or have been a part of is uninteresting to me, and so it once occurred to me to attempt to preserve and catalogue that which I did like. Another reason was so that I might share it with my friends: Few would likely understand, but there is something remarkably intimate about being able to share something which you know will excite another person, and doing so skillfully is something I still take great pleasure in.
That was only how it began, however. In the years after that, I became much more interested in collecting ordinary artwork; particularly as my libido went on to decrease when I changed my medication. Some pictures, I found, meant an awful lot to me: I could see captured within them emotions that I had reason to wish to investigate, and the way that they were frozen in time meant that I could ponder them at my leisure. So it was that a great deal of these pictures became very dear to me, and I grew proud of having obtained them.
Yet, despite this, there are still times when it does not feel quite right to me.
Strange. I stare at the browser window.
What's missing? What is it that bothers me so much about this? I don't know. I genuinely do not. There is no clue anywhere that I can examine for any hint as to why my mind draws me to think so obsessively about my hoard. It is the same phenomena that used to draw me and
████████ to the lake's edge; that pulled me into the depths of the forest, where I would cast my gaze about in search of embodiments of that most frightful and strange sensation. This variant is not fearful, but I can tell somehow that it is intrinsically of the same make. How terribly strange that, even years later, I would still find myself hounded by it.
I don't understand. I don't understand at all.
In the end though, try as I might, I cannot understand what I am experiencing.
I do not know what is going on.
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N O T I C E : : m e m o r y _ s t r e a m _ t e r m i n a t e d
