This story is dedicated to my close friend Seriff Pilcrow. While this isn’t everything he likely desired it to be, I nonetheless did my best given the circumstances that have transpired around this one write-up. Thank you for everything, bud. I greatly appreciate your assistance.
This story’s cursed. I swear on a Bible, it’s cursed. Every time I try to write about it, something bad happens. Don’t believe me? Let’s take a look at the track record for it.
September 2019: I suffered a terrible nightmare about my ex-girlfriend that led to me contemplating grabbing my father’s service handgun and shooting myself in the head.
November 2019: A group of friends that I frequently hung out with got into a major argument. I played the mediator for weeks (this began around the time as the event mentioned above too) upon weeks and I finally broke down from the constant fighting and bickering. The two groups fractured and I was forced to abandon my plans for last year’s Decemystery. I ultimately scrapped this story because of how stressed I was; how I managed to not miss a single day of Decemystery 2019 is beyond me, but I consider it an act of God (and my sheer unbridled will to not fall behind on my work, though at what cost, I’ll never know).
January 2020: My acid reflux began to flare up extremely badly and I was forced to take time off; this did ultimately lead to me deciding to make the megalist of 500 conspiracy theories. This is also the only time that anything good came from this nightmarishly awful mystery.
March 2020: I suffered from a severe depressive episode due to my Yellow Lab dying; I scrapped covering it as a surprise for a friend of mine.
May 2020: I ended up having a complete and total mental breakdown in the middle of the month the week I’d begun to work on it once more. I’m still recovering from the breakdown because it was triggered by a year’s worth of pent up emotional distress and anger; the end result was five separate suicide attempts, losing a close group of friends I’d made four months ago, and being diagnosed with bipolar disorder.
July 2020: The day I started to cover this, I nearly had a breakdown due to the regret I’ve experienced due to the above mentioned breakdown. This culminated in a terrifying 3-hour-long mood swing where I became lucid to my desires to slit my wrists with razor blades and repeatedly contemplated other methods to end my life.
Lucky for me: seven is one of my lucky numbers. So on this seventh attempt, we’ll be covering J376.
