perishsong
it/she
- Sep 10, 2025
- 73
I'll let myself vent a little because it's all becoming too heavy to bottle up. Plus I know I won't be bombarded with "such is life, get over it" anti-CTB slop. I'll be grateful for SaSu community until I happily expire.
I hate, hate, hate being sensitive on top of everything else. It's just not efficient to feel in the neofeudal world that I refuse to be a part of. My pathetic tears won't pay my bills. I can't give my landlady half a notebook of drabbles and be even. Chances of me using my "emotional brain" dialed up to 11 to make a living are virtually zero, a margin of error. I won't prepare a meal out of synesthesia and feeling sorry for a lone candy in a box.
I want to avoid saying "I was meant to" - these are empty noise, a meaningless filler. It's obvious I wasn't meant to CTB. Not now, not when I was 27, or 23, or 20, or 19, or 14. Yet, I still feel regret for never getting to live like my functional peers. My disorders and trauma have stolen my life. In my brain, I'm still a kid too scared to ask an adult for help.
I would've loved to carry on with my life. Have a nice routine job without anyone bothering me, or alternatively sustain myself through my creativity. Propose to, and marry my girl. Look for a house beyond renting, and create a home. Grow older, grow together, retire, go on stupid little dates to get our labs done or buy new plants. Pass away of the mythical old age together so one doesn't have to mourn the other.
That last sentence was an exaggeration, but the point is - there's a tiny sliver of hope in me, that I can miraculously find another job in my hermetic field, be able to hold it for another 30+ years, avoid burning out. But I cannot squeeze anything else out of it - no action to better myself, or to talk to anyone I love to help me stand up again. This wouldn't solve my fundamental issues with how the world works, either. It's a permanent problem worthy of a permanent solution.
I'm holding on, I still want to spend Xmas with her, welcome 2026 together, and then catch the bus.
I hate, hate, hate being sensitive on top of everything else. It's just not efficient to feel in the neofeudal world that I refuse to be a part of. My pathetic tears won't pay my bills. I can't give my landlady half a notebook of drabbles and be even. Chances of me using my "emotional brain" dialed up to 11 to make a living are virtually zero, a margin of error. I won't prepare a meal out of synesthesia and feeling sorry for a lone candy in a box.
I want to avoid saying "I was meant to" - these are empty noise, a meaningless filler. It's obvious I wasn't meant to CTB. Not now, not when I was 27, or 23, or 20, or 19, or 14. Yet, I still feel regret for never getting to live like my functional peers. My disorders and trauma have stolen my life. In my brain, I'm still a kid too scared to ask an adult for help.
I would've loved to carry on with my life. Have a nice routine job without anyone bothering me, or alternatively sustain myself through my creativity. Propose to, and marry my girl. Look for a house beyond renting, and create a home. Grow older, grow together, retire, go on stupid little dates to get our labs done or buy new plants. Pass away of the mythical old age together so one doesn't have to mourn the other.
That last sentence was an exaggeration, but the point is - there's a tiny sliver of hope in me, that I can miraculously find another job in my hermetic field, be able to hold it for another 30+ years, avoid burning out. But I cannot squeeze anything else out of it - no action to better myself, or to talk to anyone I love to help me stand up again. This wouldn't solve my fundamental issues with how the world works, either. It's a permanent problem worthy of a permanent solution.
I'm holding on, I still want to spend Xmas with her, welcome 2026 together, and then catch the bus.
