Sakura.
NienawidzÄ™ siebie.
- May 1, 2024
- 117
Yesterday, for the first time in six months, I decided to post on SaSu because I wanted to celebrate Ichiko Aoba's first concert in Poland this way. I wasn't able to attend, but it was still incredibly important to me. It was probably the only event this year, or maybe even in years, that managed to spark any enthusiasm in me - and I had no way to tell anyone about it, except here...
I wanted to post another song by Ichiko Aoba here, but today I realized that it has a much bigger meaning than I thought just a moment ago...
I listened to this song "Ikinokori Bokura" during perhaps the last happier moment in my life…
And it stayed with me for the next few weeks - the last weeks of my life, when I still had any hope for myself...
It was October 18, 2025, morning, around 10:00 AM. That day, a manga and anime convention was taking place in my small hometown, and I planned to attend. Earlier that year, in July, I had attended three such conventions for the first time. It was the first time in my life, at almost 24, that I had the opportunity to participate in anything... The first time in my life, at almost 24, that I had the opportunity to participate in some kind of activity, to have some kind of pleasure, to participate in something interesting or enjoyable, to make some kind of memories in my life... It soon turned out, however, that this was merely a false hope...
In early October, when I returned from a summer vacation devoted to manual labor to my university city and my studies, I was immediately forced to confront reality. I, a retarded, dysfunctional, and repulsive-looking autistic person, had to be confronted with all the incredible and wonderful people I met at university, on the streets, on trams, and trains. People who, unlike me, weren't dysfunctional, who looked beautiful, made an amazing impression and were liked, not rejected and hated like me, who had the opportunity to talk to others in a friendly way, to socialize, and to lead normal lives. Who had friends, who had passions and interests, and who were happy. I was in the most terrible mental state at that time... I can't remember the last time I felt so horrible...
And yet, not long after, on October 18th, I was happy for that one moment. Ichiko Aoba's "Ikinokori Bokura" was playing softly in one of my headphones, and I was preparing Hello Kitty stickers to hand out to people I met at the convention. Although it was quite cold that day, the sun was shining through the window beautifully. Even the fact that my dad was sitting right next to my room, which always made me feel uncomfortable in my own room, didn't irritate me this time, in fact, it suited me.
For that one moment, I was happy. Even though nothing happy was happening at the time, even though things were still so bad for me, even though I was still conscious and aware of my situation, I was practically intoxicated by that tiny bit of happiness...
I thought my life was finally starting to take a turn for the better. That I'd finally found something that would allow me - at least a little, at least for one day every now and then, at least partially, at least spot-wise - to live a somewhat normal life. To have something that would bring me pleasure and happiness. I even thought that if I had actually committed suicide earlier, I wouldn't have been able to experience it, that it would have been in this part a needless loss.
…
From today's perspective, it's hard for me to believe that everything that happened in July, October, and November (as well as the hope I harbored in August and September, when, due to my return to my hometown, I wasn't able to travel and participate in such events) actually happened. That I believed I had the potential to recover, even partially, even a little. That I - a retarded, dysfunctional, repulsive-looking, autistic monster in horrible mental state - just a moment ago, I was trying to live a normal life. That I was trying to live as any normal person without the same problems as me might live. That I was trying to reach out to other people, make friends, and talk to other people. I did this repeatedly in October and November, and by December, what I had been doing just moments before seemed simply surreal. After all my attempts, continuing to try became impossible. Because that, too, had never been possible...
I kept trying to make friends and have friendly conversations with others, despite the fact that it was impossible all along, that it didn't work all along, that because my autism makes me completely different and incompatible with other people. I was deprived of the opportunity to make friends with others, and my attempts at interaction were completely incompatible and different from those of non-autistic people and therefore didn't work in the slightest. Despite this, I kept trying to make friends, kept going to conventions and trying to change my situation, kept believing it was possible. Today, I can't even imagine trying to participate in such an event again. My attempt to get better, my attempt to live in a way that everyone else takes for granted, only traumatized and destroyed me.
Recently, I've learned all the answers. For the past year and a half, and now almost two, I've tried every possible means to heal and change my situation, and each one has proven utterly impossible. Living any kind of normal life with severe autism is impossible. Living a normal life at university and in related activities is impossible for me. Living a normal life at work, or even just working, is impossible for me. Making friends with anyone is impossible for me. Making friends with anyone at university—despite being the best student there—is impossible for me. Making friends with others who share the same passions and interests is impossible for me. Making friends even with other suicidal and suffering people is impossible for me. Making friends with other, ordinary people with autism is even more impossible for me. Making friends with people in a support group is no possible for me. Participating in any other activities is even more absolutely impossible for me. And it's not just about having friends and spending time with them, although that's truly the most important thing to me. Autism excludes me from absolutely everything, not just the possibility of making friends. My life is completely empty, and I have no possibility of leading any kind of normal life. I can only experience unbearable suffering and pain because of it.
I always want to live the truth, I always want to know what reality really is and live it, instead of happily living something that isn't true. But even though my previous situation, when I was already a completely lost and dysfunctional autistic person with no possibility of getting better, paradoxically was much better for me than my current situation, when finally, without any help or support from anyone, I became capable of trying to get better on my own. Only to discover that it wasn't possible. That there was no way I could lead a normal life. I tried to live normally as a person with autism, I tried to live normally on the terms set by autism, but it wasn't even remotely possible. All possibilities for recovery had already been tested and vanished. They were the slightest possible hope in my worst possible situation, but now they're gone. Nothing works when you're autistic and I can't change it.
And that's it. There's no deeper meaning behind it. There is only my emptiness, pain, and terrifying suffering. And the necessity of living this way for another dozen or so years, completely in vain, without any hope of recovery, just so I don't destroy the lives of my family with my suicide. And only so that when my family members die, I will immediately commit suicide myself. I have suffered so terribly for a 14 years, and now I finally know all the answers that recovery and changing my situation are impossible. Despite this, I will have to live and suffer this way for another dozen or so years, knowing this answer and living without any hope... In vain...
I wanted to post another song by Ichiko Aoba here, but today I realized that it has a much bigger meaning than I thought just a moment ago...
I listened to this song "Ikinokori Bokura" during perhaps the last happier moment in my life…
And it stayed with me for the next few weeks - the last weeks of my life, when I still had any hope for myself...
It was October 18, 2025, morning, around 10:00 AM. That day, a manga and anime convention was taking place in my small hometown, and I planned to attend. Earlier that year, in July, I had attended three such conventions for the first time. It was the first time in my life, at almost 24, that I had the opportunity to participate in anything... The first time in my life, at almost 24, that I had the opportunity to participate in some kind of activity, to have some kind of pleasure, to participate in something interesting or enjoyable, to make some kind of memories in my life... It soon turned out, however, that this was merely a false hope...
In early October, when I returned from a summer vacation devoted to manual labor to my university city and my studies, I was immediately forced to confront reality. I, a retarded, dysfunctional, and repulsive-looking autistic person, had to be confronted with all the incredible and wonderful people I met at university, on the streets, on trams, and trains. People who, unlike me, weren't dysfunctional, who looked beautiful, made an amazing impression and were liked, not rejected and hated like me, who had the opportunity to talk to others in a friendly way, to socialize, and to lead normal lives. Who had friends, who had passions and interests, and who were happy. I was in the most terrible mental state at that time... I can't remember the last time I felt so horrible...
And yet, not long after, on October 18th, I was happy for that one moment. Ichiko Aoba's "Ikinokori Bokura" was playing softly in one of my headphones, and I was preparing Hello Kitty stickers to hand out to people I met at the convention. Although it was quite cold that day, the sun was shining through the window beautifully. Even the fact that my dad was sitting right next to my room, which always made me feel uncomfortable in my own room, didn't irritate me this time, in fact, it suited me.
For that one moment, I was happy. Even though nothing happy was happening at the time, even though things were still so bad for me, even though I was still conscious and aware of my situation, I was practically intoxicated by that tiny bit of happiness...
I thought my life was finally starting to take a turn for the better. That I'd finally found something that would allow me - at least a little, at least for one day every now and then, at least partially, at least spot-wise - to live a somewhat normal life. To have something that would bring me pleasure and happiness. I even thought that if I had actually committed suicide earlier, I wouldn't have been able to experience it, that it would have been in this part a needless loss.
…
From today's perspective, it's hard for me to believe that everything that happened in July, October, and November (as well as the hope I harbored in August and September, when, due to my return to my hometown, I wasn't able to travel and participate in such events) actually happened. That I believed I had the potential to recover, even partially, even a little. That I - a retarded, dysfunctional, repulsive-looking, autistic monster in horrible mental state - just a moment ago, I was trying to live a normal life. That I was trying to live as any normal person without the same problems as me might live. That I was trying to reach out to other people, make friends, and talk to other people. I did this repeatedly in October and November, and by December, what I had been doing just moments before seemed simply surreal. After all my attempts, continuing to try became impossible. Because that, too, had never been possible...
I kept trying to make friends and have friendly conversations with others, despite the fact that it was impossible all along, that it didn't work all along, that because my autism makes me completely different and incompatible with other people. I was deprived of the opportunity to make friends with others, and my attempts at interaction were completely incompatible and different from those of non-autistic people and therefore didn't work in the slightest. Despite this, I kept trying to make friends, kept going to conventions and trying to change my situation, kept believing it was possible. Today, I can't even imagine trying to participate in such an event again. My attempt to get better, my attempt to live in a way that everyone else takes for granted, only traumatized and destroyed me.
Recently, I've learned all the answers. For the past year and a half, and now almost two, I've tried every possible means to heal and change my situation, and each one has proven utterly impossible. Living any kind of normal life with severe autism is impossible. Living a normal life at university and in related activities is impossible for me. Living a normal life at work, or even just working, is impossible for me. Making friends with anyone is impossible for me. Making friends with anyone at university—despite being the best student there—is impossible for me. Making friends with others who share the same passions and interests is impossible for me. Making friends even with other suicidal and suffering people is impossible for me. Making friends with other, ordinary people with autism is even more impossible for me. Making friends with people in a support group is no possible for me. Participating in any other activities is even more absolutely impossible for me. And it's not just about having friends and spending time with them, although that's truly the most important thing to me. Autism excludes me from absolutely everything, not just the possibility of making friends. My life is completely empty, and I have no possibility of leading any kind of normal life. I can only experience unbearable suffering and pain because of it.
I always want to live the truth, I always want to know what reality really is and live it, instead of happily living something that isn't true. But even though my previous situation, when I was already a completely lost and dysfunctional autistic person with no possibility of getting better, paradoxically was much better for me than my current situation, when finally, without any help or support from anyone, I became capable of trying to get better on my own. Only to discover that it wasn't possible. That there was no way I could lead a normal life. I tried to live normally as a person with autism, I tried to live normally on the terms set by autism, but it wasn't even remotely possible. All possibilities for recovery had already been tested and vanished. They were the slightest possible hope in my worst possible situation, but now they're gone. Nothing works when you're autistic and I can't change it.
And that's it. There's no deeper meaning behind it. There is only my emptiness, pain, and terrifying suffering. And the necessity of living this way for another dozen or so years, completely in vain, without any hope of recovery, just so I don't destroy the lives of my family with my suicide. And only so that when my family members die, I will immediately commit suicide myself. I have suffered so terribly for a 14 years, and now I finally know all the answers that recovery and changing my situation are impossible. Despite this, I will have to live and suffer this way for another dozen or so years, knowing this answer and living without any hope... In vain...
