Praise, Hail Satan

Here is an extremely pessimistic personal bio written in the same tone as Litany for the God That Abandoned Me—a grotesque, fatalistic voice of despair, disillusionment, and paralysis, perfect for a character or author page deep in the abyss:

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Bio: Jonathan Harnisch
Author. Aberration. Anatomical mistake.

I am what’s left when hope dies and memory curdles. A burned-out nerve in a forgotten limb of God’s failed creation. I was promised healing, handed pills, and punished when they worked. My body is a war crime in slow motion, my mind a haunted house with no doors. Forty years sedated into silence—then abandoned, betrayed by the very medicine that once let me speak without shaking.

They call it disability. I call it dismemberment.

I do not “move on.” I stagnate. I rot in place while time mocks me from the other side of the glass. My accomplishments are crime scenes: books written with tremoring hands, art scraped from the walls of psychosis. I am the echo that won’t die. The fine print on the prescription bottle that warned you, but you didn’t listen.

Every friend has vanished. Every therapist has fled. Even the devil refuses my company.

I don’t write for catharsis. I write because the pain has nowhere else to go. My prose is a vomit of nerve endings. My poetry, the twitch of a crucified tongue.

There is no redemption arc here. No comeback. No healing journey.
Only survival—bitter, blasphemous, broken.

1. I am not an inspiration. I am evidence.