DoodleBug
Just a guy passing by
- Dec 9, 2019
- 134
Well, shit.
Most thoughts get encapsulated in half-lit images as if I am just a domesticated animal. A lot of things were broken in my noggin for the longest time, but I had dreams, passions and at least some personality. Then I started having repeated, destructive breakdowns. Something officially had shifted here two years ago, when family found out about my self-harm scars and alcoholism. Soon after they found out about the only trauma I had and until this day they're trying to associate my weird behavior with it, despite the fact that I've been dead inside long before it happened. Then I've just went down a nasty path of escapism. I quit doing my master's after yet another breakdown, spiraled into a low-paying, uninspiring job and spent every day smoking weed, drinking and working 10hrs a day in a clothing store for but a nickel a day. I've lost almost every single promising part of myself, and I lie everyday in order to keep some face. In reality, I've isolated myself from friends and family, throwing excuses left and right, and since nobody tends to confront anything in my environment, no emotional closure was to be had. Even if I knew something's wrong, that I've fulfilled my long awaited "destiny" of becoming a full blown black sheep in the household, nobody ever wanted to say anything else outside a few passive-aggressive statements. After I manage to articulate the boiling frustrations, I only meet half-assed, sarcastic stares and constipated facial expressions, as if everybody's just biting their tongue. When I think I'm overthinking it, I eavesdrop on sentences that only confirm everything they might've thought about me: useless, screwed up, unmotivated, a has-been. I deserve it, truly. I'm 24 and for almost two years I've done absolutely nothing. It's not like I've been headed towards greatness with my pointless degree either. I promised I'd learn how to code, how to help my father in his business, but I lost every shroud of personality and flare I might've had. I get narcoleptic when I read, and I used to read lots. I can't focus on anything, even on gaming - when I get into a round, I'm just...there, being super average. I can't call myself neither a writer nor a gamer nor a rapper nor a worthwhile person. I half-ass everything and spend most of my free time just staring and hoping to find enough will to end it. Depression and other shit have been eating me for over a decade, but now they're fully reaping what they sowed. Every session of motivated learning soon dies and I forget all of it in minutes. Quitting drinking made my mind even more blank, as expected. The very last thing I had, which is writing pretentious poetry, became impossible to commit to.
So I'm laying and I can't talk about anything with anyone, because thoughts that were so easy to get to years ago are now inaccessible. I have to google words and most basic stuff. I lurk everywhere and I avoid talking to people in fear that I'll be truly discovered as the ultimate fraud, which I will sooner or later. My father hates me and he has every right to do so, since I've lied so much that most of my supposed potential is irrecoverable, and the damage irreversible. It was me who jumped into alcoholism and weed abuse, it was me who avoided every piece and factor of life, it was me who avoided eye contact and conversing about specifics of my plans. He's an antisocial hard-ass, but also a fair, strong, talented person, who overcame household violence and bankruptcy. I, on the other hand, always hated living and was overwhelmingly weak since the kindergarten. Nobody at home knew how to get to me for the past 2 years, but they hardly ever tried. Why bother when I don't show any initiative and my whole being is blank?
Now, is that rant going to cover everything? No, I'd be surprised if anybody even reads this. Is this enough to ctb? No, since life is all about pushing through and I don't want to fully punctuate the wasted potential of my life, but on the other hand: why even bother. I've almost succeeded twice and had the displeasure of having my father pick me up from toxicology after doctors rinsed my stomach and tried to force me into a mental institution. Will my mental illnesses subside in those trying times, when I actually have to figure out how to help make money for my overworked father? No, I'm fully expendable at my wageslave-y "work," will get laid off soon enough, I hardly have any money and I gotta figure a lot of shit out. I lie about my savings anyway, because weed is expensive. I brought all of this on myself: my lack of brotherly bonds, my lack of skills, lack of initiative, lack of any social skills, my discombobulating thoughts, me failing driver's license test 7 times, me fucking up my master's because of panicking and breakdowns. I want to die and I don't fear death, since this purgatory of semi-activated consciousness is a nightmare. I tried to escape to numbing substances, which obviously didn't work, but rather intensified the brain fog. I've done a lot of stupid shit during my secretive benders, and its a miracle I only had to go to hospital once because of them.
But, all in all, I guess that if I don't want to truly be a shunned, despised chapter in my family's story, I should get my shit together at least during the quarantine. Despite everything, my death will destroy my parents. My memory is failing, but at least my sobriety is doing alright. My method has been ready since the beginning of march, but I'm just going to use it as a reminder, at least for now. I have to give myself one final shot to see if I have anything left. I tried, I truly did, to do anything since I've changed for the worse, but and all I met was thick, nightmarish fog. Therapists never helped, pills only made it worse, booze and weed ate most of my money and the very rest of my motivation, despite the fleeting reprieve they've provided. I have nothing to say, nothing and everything to do, so its now or never, I guess.
I'm just a lurker, who found unprecedented amounts of comfort in this site. During my breaks at work I'd just scroll through threads and feel at ease, reminding myself that not only the line between life and death is insanely thin, but also that there's a lot of beautiful people out there, who didn't deserve what they got. I wished them my best, internally of course, and flowed through my days, hoping that they'll pull through, even if shit seems to be at an end. Stay strong, if you can.
Most thoughts get encapsulated in half-lit images as if I am just a domesticated animal. A lot of things were broken in my noggin for the longest time, but I had dreams, passions and at least some personality. Then I started having repeated, destructive breakdowns. Something officially had shifted here two years ago, when family found out about my self-harm scars and alcoholism. Soon after they found out about the only trauma I had and until this day they're trying to associate my weird behavior with it, despite the fact that I've been dead inside long before it happened. Then I've just went down a nasty path of escapism. I quit doing my master's after yet another breakdown, spiraled into a low-paying, uninspiring job and spent every day smoking weed, drinking and working 10hrs a day in a clothing store for but a nickel a day. I've lost almost every single promising part of myself, and I lie everyday in order to keep some face. In reality, I've isolated myself from friends and family, throwing excuses left and right, and since nobody tends to confront anything in my environment, no emotional closure was to be had. Even if I knew something's wrong, that I've fulfilled my long awaited "destiny" of becoming a full blown black sheep in the household, nobody ever wanted to say anything else outside a few passive-aggressive statements. After I manage to articulate the boiling frustrations, I only meet half-assed, sarcastic stares and constipated facial expressions, as if everybody's just biting their tongue. When I think I'm overthinking it, I eavesdrop on sentences that only confirm everything they might've thought about me: useless, screwed up, unmotivated, a has-been. I deserve it, truly. I'm 24 and for almost two years I've done absolutely nothing. It's not like I've been headed towards greatness with my pointless degree either. I promised I'd learn how to code, how to help my father in his business, but I lost every shroud of personality and flare I might've had. I get narcoleptic when I read, and I used to read lots. I can't focus on anything, even on gaming - when I get into a round, I'm just...there, being super average. I can't call myself neither a writer nor a gamer nor a rapper nor a worthwhile person. I half-ass everything and spend most of my free time just staring and hoping to find enough will to end it. Depression and other shit have been eating me for over a decade, but now they're fully reaping what they sowed. Every session of motivated learning soon dies and I forget all of it in minutes. Quitting drinking made my mind even more blank, as expected. The very last thing I had, which is writing pretentious poetry, became impossible to commit to.
So I'm laying and I can't talk about anything with anyone, because thoughts that were so easy to get to years ago are now inaccessible. I have to google words and most basic stuff. I lurk everywhere and I avoid talking to people in fear that I'll be truly discovered as the ultimate fraud, which I will sooner or later. My father hates me and he has every right to do so, since I've lied so much that most of my supposed potential is irrecoverable, and the damage irreversible. It was me who jumped into alcoholism and weed abuse, it was me who avoided every piece and factor of life, it was me who avoided eye contact and conversing about specifics of my plans. He's an antisocial hard-ass, but also a fair, strong, talented person, who overcame household violence and bankruptcy. I, on the other hand, always hated living and was overwhelmingly weak since the kindergarten. Nobody at home knew how to get to me for the past 2 years, but they hardly ever tried. Why bother when I don't show any initiative and my whole being is blank?
Now, is that rant going to cover everything? No, I'd be surprised if anybody even reads this. Is this enough to ctb? No, since life is all about pushing through and I don't want to fully punctuate the wasted potential of my life, but on the other hand: why even bother. I've almost succeeded twice and had the displeasure of having my father pick me up from toxicology after doctors rinsed my stomach and tried to force me into a mental institution. Will my mental illnesses subside in those trying times, when I actually have to figure out how to help make money for my overworked father? No, I'm fully expendable at my wageslave-y "work," will get laid off soon enough, I hardly have any money and I gotta figure a lot of shit out. I lie about my savings anyway, because weed is expensive. I brought all of this on myself: my lack of brotherly bonds, my lack of skills, lack of initiative, lack of any social skills, my discombobulating thoughts, me failing driver's license test 7 times, me fucking up my master's because of panicking and breakdowns. I want to die and I don't fear death, since this purgatory of semi-activated consciousness is a nightmare. I tried to escape to numbing substances, which obviously didn't work, but rather intensified the brain fog. I've done a lot of stupid shit during my secretive benders, and its a miracle I only had to go to hospital once because of them.
But, all in all, I guess that if I don't want to truly be a shunned, despised chapter in my family's story, I should get my shit together at least during the quarantine. Despite everything, my death will destroy my parents. My memory is failing, but at least my sobriety is doing alright. My method has been ready since the beginning of march, but I'm just going to use it as a reminder, at least for now. I have to give myself one final shot to see if I have anything left. I tried, I truly did, to do anything since I've changed for the worse, but and all I met was thick, nightmarish fog. Therapists never helped, pills only made it worse, booze and weed ate most of my money and the very rest of my motivation, despite the fleeting reprieve they've provided. I have nothing to say, nothing and everything to do, so its now or never, I guess.
I'm just a lurker, who found unprecedented amounts of comfort in this site. During my breaks at work I'd just scroll through threads and feel at ease, reminding myself that not only the line between life and death is insanely thin, but also that there's a lot of beautiful people out there, who didn't deserve what they got. I wished them my best, internally of course, and flowed through my days, hoping that they'll pull through, even if shit seems to be at an end. Stay strong, if you can.
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