puppet_nihilist
cogito, ergo sum
- Jan 8, 2021
- 227
I release a lot of my overflowing emotions through writing although I never get better at it because I don't write in a proper, systematic way. As Michael Jordan once said, "You can practice shooting 8 hours a day, but if your technique is wrong, then all you become is very good at shooting the wrong way." So apologies for the lack of coherence.
I have berated myself and exposed most of my faults so I won't be doing the 'fuck myself' part. I even sentenced myself to death as one user here put it, although I think it is an unnecessarily crass way of referring to my unhinged psychosis which my self-esteem suffers a great deal because of. But it's true so, fair enough. I tend to not be in my right mind while writing, it isn't madness or anything severe, however it does make me say things that I won't ever be brave enough to admit to my self or even try to vocalize. It is also not as if these seemingly unhinged things that I say are right in themselves, they may be false, the product of hysteria, but they clog my heart and chest and keep adding a lot of pressure and anxiety. I can feel physical aching pains in my gut because of how much of these emotions I keep bottled inside of me for a long while. Whatever the fuck I end up writing is indicative of the suffering I was withholding up until that point. So, let's see why 'fuck people'.
I have a really good friend that I'll refer to as douchebag or simply douche. Douche is an interesting person who I share similar interests with but also a completely different mindset. That's no biggie, me and douche know each other's differences very well and we also engage in well mannered conversations involving these contentions simply for curiosity's sake. It's hard to find people interested in talk that contains any substance because everyone seems so hellbent on talking about themselves (me included, although I sacrifice more of myself than the people I have met do). Douche has one problem that became apparent to me only after a relatively long time; the person is too self-important when it comes to misery.
My home country is a godforsaken, putrid socioeconomic shit soup. Of course people of a higher social class have it better, right? No, you're fucking delusional to think that. When there aren't sufficient resources (resources... such a big word. I literally mean things as necessary to survival as salt, sugar, water, fucking ice (some households don't have refrigerators so they buy ice) and all stuff nutrition related) what good is your social class, economic status, or the money you have in your pocket. Now, I come from a lower middle class family and have lived as such for 10 years in that stinking shithole of a family house in an equally stinky village away from the capital city. In fact I only got to live in the capital city for 6 months. It's very fun being alive. "Money isn't everything." Fuck your pretentiously lofty idealism. There's so much wrong with this idea that I'm not willing to even take it seriously. One must have sustained severe brain damage to hold such a view. It might be better to say "money isn't everything as long as you have enough money to provide for yourself humane living conditions." See how redundant and stupid the quote becomes? I won't even mention the daily power outages that could easily last a week or more, the thieves and burglars, the family conflicts, school pressure (and how I survived through it all like it was nothing back then). But I digress.
Douche, according to his own words, haven't suffered nearly as much as I did in comparison. He'd been living here his entire life, what a stable life that must be. I wish for nothing more than to have had a stable beginning in this world, I cannot deal with constantly moving from shitty to shittier to better to worse. In fact, douche loves his childhood very much. I love the me in my childhood, but my childhood was brutal. I wish it was only my childhood, my teen years, seeing as how they're approaching their end now but hopefully I die before 20, were and still are the most unpleasant years of my life.
Surviving COVID-19 and its devastating consequences was definitely not on anyone's 2020 new year's resolutions. It's something that affected all of us, delayed highschool grades, and created unnecessary complications for people in the workforce as well. It's just one massive nuisance, like a giant blob of dark and sticky maple syrup staining the new white shirt you just bought three days ago (true story). Anyhow, douche changed a bit after the incident. We are both immigrants for context, and douche is doing perfectly fine with respects to both his parents keeping their jobs here. Douche doesn't even come from a rotten village submerged in shit somewhere in the middle of nowhere, douche has a soft blanket to fall on if something unforeseen happens. Douche delayed his highschool examinations because of grade issues while I took my grades and went to university. (That went really good then ended really horribly about two months ago).
We were once talking and douche was in a good mood, he'd just finished the exams that he had delayed and said that he performed well. As a matter of fact, such was the case as all was later revealed when the grades appeared. Hey, that rhymed. We both celebrated, I got decent grades in my semester, and his exams went well. Come the next semester for me and it's absolute hell. Two words: severe depression. And the stakes were high, I had too much to lose if I didn't pick myself up. Douche postponed university to take rest. According to douche, he had developed some health issues that appeared to be caused by vitamin deficiencies. He would complain a lot while I was in the meat grinder and I listened to him. I listened to every single syllable with profound care, didn't offer obnoxious advice, accepted what he said as it is and wished him well. He kept complaining. I kept listening. The days carried on and douche won't take a hint, have I even provided proper hints? I shy away when it comes to dealing with sticky situations, so I might have not given him proper hints as to how much negativity I've been taking up from his monotonous complaints.
At some point the complaining ceased. But I kept asking him, "how are you doing? I really hope your health has improved now, has it?" Douche admirably didn't write me paragraphs about his weird and minute health disturbances and instead replied like a normal fucking person who have had his fair share of "it's very tough for me." I really care but when a conversation is only incessant complaints without any symbiosis whatsoever then what's the fucking point of listening? Douche doesn't hold any punches and exaggerates his issues while using pretentiously professional medical jargon that he would often find upon googling his symptoms. His complaints ceasing means that his health has improved and are on the road to being resolved. What angers me is this; after a failed suicide attempt (that I wrote about here on SS literally the night after it happened) where I had been beaten by my father (I'm in university and still get physically abused, life is great) I wanted someone to talk to. I didn't make any friends here on SS yet, in fact I haven't made any friends here except for like literally 2 or 3 people who I had never interacted with at that time. Perhaps I am too weird or too uninteresting even for other suicidal people, and I don't mean that in a passively aggressive tone, I really do believe other suicidal people can find me pathetic or even weaker than they are, perhaps that I don't fit in with all of you. Anyhow, I went to talk douche.
Here's what I did not tell douche about. I did not tell douche that I had failed to hang myself in my bathroom, I did not tell douche that I scarred my nose and got red marks on my neck, I did not tell douche that my father beat me. Our parents know each other and if douche told his parents about it, either accidentally or with well intentions, I would end up in worse hell. So I had strong, ironclad reasons to keep such things to myself, not even counting privacy since I actually know the guy irl it's all the more reason to keep all this to myself. Here's what I told douche; I am not able to enjoy watching anime or playing video games anymore. Slowly moving towards the topic of anhedonia and how I have been incapable of enjoying anything for the past two years and wondering how the fuck I got to where I am through all of these emotions that I am too sensitive to handle or talk about with someone who actually knew me in person. It was hard, gut-wrenchingly difficult. But I burst out, I couldn't even kill myself during a time when I needed death the most. I wish I had died even if it was partly accidental, now I am more trapped. My conversation with douche was very general, it was all about depression and how much shit I had to go through for absolutely nothing. I of course didn't say it was for nothing, in his mind I'm the same person still going strong through university as usual, still a success. But I was miserable and I was failing. I then said something along the lines of "I wonder how people are able to cope, why can't I cope as well as they are." I said it half to myself half to him, I was referring to fellow classmates at my uni at the time who were doing fine grade-wise. I know he doesn't fully understand my circumstances but his response was just the pinnacle of revulsion. He lashed out, I could hear him screaming through his text. It was a grizzly response that I couldn't make head or tail of. "You think people are coping? People are suffering, they're not even coping at this point." Very rich coming from you fatass, it's not like you're the one who was a born in a piece of shit, impoverished country if you can even call it that. So I am to be lectured by the embodiment of a stereotypical bourgeoisie, self-important piece of— about the levels of suffering present in this world and that people have to live through and endure? I. I who suffered through the most dismal circumstances was to be lectured by such a person who hadn't even experienced an ounce of suffering in comparison. That's not even the point, I don't even gatekeep suffering, what the fuck? The point is that no matter how small a complaint he made about his health I listened to him, but when I don't even complain about a specific incident and only talk about how dejected I've been feeling especially about as something as trivial as watching shows or playing games, I get to hear an outburst about the levels of suffering present in this world. I didn't text him back to this day. May our bond burn in hell.
Mine is a life constantly filled with people who aren't capable of shutting the fuck up. Just shut the fuck up, I don't need others to tell me how much suffering exists in this world. I saw with my own naked eyes a woman get run over by a bulldozer when I was 8. I am not to be lectured about how much suffering this world contains.
Hoof! Alright, I'm done cussing. Wait, one last time. Fuck! Alright, that's the last drop of anger. My post is so incoherent, I was supposed to come off as misanthropic and make vast generalizations about the evil of human nature but I think douche must suffice.
I feel so relieved that for once, just for fucking once I was brave enough to write about something and someone else. It's only me who has been the subject of criticism of my posts. Although, I'm still a nuisance, a pestilence, and failure. But fuck this world that I didn't ask to be born into. Oops.
I have berated myself and exposed most of my faults so I won't be doing the 'fuck myself' part. I even sentenced myself to death as one user here put it, although I think it is an unnecessarily crass way of referring to my unhinged psychosis which my self-esteem suffers a great deal because of. But it's true so, fair enough. I tend to not be in my right mind while writing, it isn't madness or anything severe, however it does make me say things that I won't ever be brave enough to admit to my self or even try to vocalize. It is also not as if these seemingly unhinged things that I say are right in themselves, they may be false, the product of hysteria, but they clog my heart and chest and keep adding a lot of pressure and anxiety. I can feel physical aching pains in my gut because of how much of these emotions I keep bottled inside of me for a long while. Whatever the fuck I end up writing is indicative of the suffering I was withholding up until that point. So, let's see why 'fuck people'.
I have a really good friend that I'll refer to as douchebag or simply douche. Douche is an interesting person who I share similar interests with but also a completely different mindset. That's no biggie, me and douche know each other's differences very well and we also engage in well mannered conversations involving these contentions simply for curiosity's sake. It's hard to find people interested in talk that contains any substance because everyone seems so hellbent on talking about themselves (me included, although I sacrifice more of myself than the people I have met do). Douche has one problem that became apparent to me only after a relatively long time; the person is too self-important when it comes to misery.
My home country is a godforsaken, putrid socioeconomic shit soup. Of course people of a higher social class have it better, right? No, you're fucking delusional to think that. When there aren't sufficient resources (resources... such a big word. I literally mean things as necessary to survival as salt, sugar, water, fucking ice (some households don't have refrigerators so they buy ice) and all stuff nutrition related) what good is your social class, economic status, or the money you have in your pocket. Now, I come from a lower middle class family and have lived as such for 10 years in that stinking shithole of a family house in an equally stinky village away from the capital city. In fact I only got to live in the capital city for 6 months. It's very fun being alive. "Money isn't everything." Fuck your pretentiously lofty idealism. There's so much wrong with this idea that I'm not willing to even take it seriously. One must have sustained severe brain damage to hold such a view. It might be better to say "money isn't everything as long as you have enough money to provide for yourself humane living conditions." See how redundant and stupid the quote becomes? I won't even mention the daily power outages that could easily last a week or more, the thieves and burglars, the family conflicts, school pressure (and how I survived through it all like it was nothing back then). But I digress.
Douche, according to his own words, haven't suffered nearly as much as I did in comparison. He'd been living here his entire life, what a stable life that must be. I wish for nothing more than to have had a stable beginning in this world, I cannot deal with constantly moving from shitty to shittier to better to worse. In fact, douche loves his childhood very much. I love the me in my childhood, but my childhood was brutal. I wish it was only my childhood, my teen years, seeing as how they're approaching their end now but hopefully I die before 20, were and still are the most unpleasant years of my life.
Surviving COVID-19 and its devastating consequences was definitely not on anyone's 2020 new year's resolutions. It's something that affected all of us, delayed highschool grades, and created unnecessary complications for people in the workforce as well. It's just one massive nuisance, like a giant blob of dark and sticky maple syrup staining the new white shirt you just bought three days ago (true story). Anyhow, douche changed a bit after the incident. We are both immigrants for context, and douche is doing perfectly fine with respects to both his parents keeping their jobs here. Douche doesn't even come from a rotten village submerged in shit somewhere in the middle of nowhere, douche has a soft blanket to fall on if something unforeseen happens. Douche delayed his highschool examinations because of grade issues while I took my grades and went to university. (That went really good then ended really horribly about two months ago).
We were once talking and douche was in a good mood, he'd just finished the exams that he had delayed and said that he performed well. As a matter of fact, such was the case as all was later revealed when the grades appeared. Hey, that rhymed. We both celebrated, I got decent grades in my semester, and his exams went well. Come the next semester for me and it's absolute hell. Two words: severe depression. And the stakes were high, I had too much to lose if I didn't pick myself up. Douche postponed university to take rest. According to douche, he had developed some health issues that appeared to be caused by vitamin deficiencies. He would complain a lot while I was in the meat grinder and I listened to him. I listened to every single syllable with profound care, didn't offer obnoxious advice, accepted what he said as it is and wished him well. He kept complaining. I kept listening. The days carried on and douche won't take a hint, have I even provided proper hints? I shy away when it comes to dealing with sticky situations, so I might have not given him proper hints as to how much negativity I've been taking up from his monotonous complaints.
At some point the complaining ceased. But I kept asking him, "how are you doing? I really hope your health has improved now, has it?" Douche admirably didn't write me paragraphs about his weird and minute health disturbances and instead replied like a normal fucking person who have had his fair share of "it's very tough for me." I really care but when a conversation is only incessant complaints without any symbiosis whatsoever then what's the fucking point of listening? Douche doesn't hold any punches and exaggerates his issues while using pretentiously professional medical jargon that he would often find upon googling his symptoms. His complaints ceasing means that his health has improved and are on the road to being resolved. What angers me is this; after a failed suicide attempt (that I wrote about here on SS literally the night after it happened) where I had been beaten by my father (I'm in university and still get physically abused, life is great) I wanted someone to talk to. I didn't make any friends here on SS yet, in fact I haven't made any friends here except for like literally 2 or 3 people who I had never interacted with at that time. Perhaps I am too weird or too uninteresting even for other suicidal people, and I don't mean that in a passively aggressive tone, I really do believe other suicidal people can find me pathetic or even weaker than they are, perhaps that I don't fit in with all of you. Anyhow, I went to talk douche.
Here's what I did not tell douche about. I did not tell douche that I had failed to hang myself in my bathroom, I did not tell douche that I scarred my nose and got red marks on my neck, I did not tell douche that my father beat me. Our parents know each other and if douche told his parents about it, either accidentally or with well intentions, I would end up in worse hell. So I had strong, ironclad reasons to keep such things to myself, not even counting privacy since I actually know the guy irl it's all the more reason to keep all this to myself. Here's what I told douche; I am not able to enjoy watching anime or playing video games anymore. Slowly moving towards the topic of anhedonia and how I have been incapable of enjoying anything for the past two years and wondering how the fuck I got to where I am through all of these emotions that I am too sensitive to handle or talk about with someone who actually knew me in person. It was hard, gut-wrenchingly difficult. But I burst out, I couldn't even kill myself during a time when I needed death the most. I wish I had died even if it was partly accidental, now I am more trapped. My conversation with douche was very general, it was all about depression and how much shit I had to go through for absolutely nothing. I of course didn't say it was for nothing, in his mind I'm the same person still going strong through university as usual, still a success. But I was miserable and I was failing. I then said something along the lines of "I wonder how people are able to cope, why can't I cope as well as they are." I said it half to myself half to him, I was referring to fellow classmates at my uni at the time who were doing fine grade-wise. I know he doesn't fully understand my circumstances but his response was just the pinnacle of revulsion. He lashed out, I could hear him screaming through his text. It was a grizzly response that I couldn't make head or tail of. "You think people are coping? People are suffering, they're not even coping at this point." Very rich coming from you fatass, it's not like you're the one who was a born in a piece of shit, impoverished country if you can even call it that. So I am to be lectured by the embodiment of a stereotypical bourgeoisie, self-important piece of— about the levels of suffering present in this world and that people have to live through and endure? I. I who suffered through the most dismal circumstances was to be lectured by such a person who hadn't even experienced an ounce of suffering in comparison. That's not even the point, I don't even gatekeep suffering, what the fuck? The point is that no matter how small a complaint he made about his health I listened to him, but when I don't even complain about a specific incident and only talk about how dejected I've been feeling especially about as something as trivial as watching shows or playing games, I get to hear an outburst about the levels of suffering present in this world. I didn't text him back to this day. May our bond burn in hell.
Mine is a life constantly filled with people who aren't capable of shutting the fuck up. Just shut the fuck up, I don't need others to tell me how much suffering exists in this world. I saw with my own naked eyes a woman get run over by a bulldozer when I was 8. I am not to be lectured about how much suffering this world contains.
Hoof! Alright, I'm done cussing. Wait, one last time. Fuck! Alright, that's the last drop of anger. My post is so incoherent, I was supposed to come off as misanthropic and make vast generalizations about the evil of human nature but I think douche must suffice.
I feel so relieved that for once, just for fucking once I was brave enough to write about something and someone else. It's only me who has been the subject of criticism of my posts. Although, I'm still a nuisance, a pestilence, and failure. But fuck this world that I didn't ask to be born into. Oops.
