Rogue_Gendarme
Ten Thousand Years
- Apr 22, 2024
- 84
Exactly as it says. What's your 13 reasons why? (Let's make it 13, just 'cause. I haven't watched the show, though, lol.) I'll start.
Gendarme's Thirteen Reasons Why (In No Particular Order of Importance)
With love, Gendarme
Gendarme's Thirteen Reasons Why (In No Particular Order of Importance)
- Empty feelings and constantly feeling isolated and starkly different from everyone. I could be in a room, sympathize with people, but never "fit in." I'm not the best of personalities. I'm a people-pleaser — I know that much. But even if I'm disagreeable, no one likes me, which brings me to point number...
- Nobody loves me anyway. If we're talking about 'true love' there's this popular song in my country titled "Pag-Ibig ay Kanibalismo" (Love is Cannibalism) and it talks about how visceral and how brutal and how raw true love actually is. Ergo, you have to sacrifice something to love, and in turn that person loves you unconditionally. I have never met a person like that, whose heart I feasted on and whose love I ate as much as they ate my flesh. Additionally...
- All my closest friends have either abandoned me or are slowly fading away. So the closest I can get to that visceral, raw love is nothing. It's a nothing burger with a nothing patty. My crush and close friend Clem left me some two years ago, and my dear best friend Rose left me after he did. And me and my friend Sof, we're drifting apart. I can never heal from that nor find any people as intimate I can be with as I could be with them.
- I have no will to fight. I'm a coward. I'm a desperate loser barking for attention and begging to be euthanized. Death is the only thing keeping me happy and self-harm is once again reinvigorating me. I remember now how it feels to have blood dripping on my skin, like pools of it, and how good it feels to hurt myself because it means I'm in control; I don't want others to hurt me, so I do it myself.
- I have an "immense soul," "an intelligent mind," and a "handsome face," but all of that matters little when faced with the fact that I'm not happy. The purpose of life is happiness and leisure and progress, but here we all are, desk-ridden, office workers with cactus butt plugs in our asses working ourselves to death while the rich get richer. This future I don't want to continue. I want happiness. I want salvation.
- I'm not perfect. I've sinned so many times and the accumulated effects of pain and trauma and constant, negative change in my body have made me feel like I'm just wearing decomposing skin and I want to take it off and wear a new one. Body horror in the superficial level, a bit of dysmorphia here and there. I want to wash myself of my sins and wear a new skin and wear a new face. Move far away.
- I want to end it because I feel stuck. When we get down to the bare reason why I want to catch the bus is because I just want change. That one quote, "the abolition of the present state of things." I want that, along with the guarantee of improvement. I want that, for everyone also, but nobody's willing to fight for it and the few that do are so out-organized and so few, truly. I want to abolish the present and live in the truest, fullest potential the future can bring.
- Because I'm so misunderstood, even if I don't want to be. People always blame me, nobody asks about my side so I stay quiet and hushed while they make stories about me behind my back. This is that cowardice again. Some of it's my fault but some of it is not. There are genuinely complicated situations in which I didn't do shit but still get blamed anyway because of Occam's razor. Everyone hates me, and I hate everyone.
- Even if I dream bright, which I always do, and hope for a better future, deep down, I know that that shit's impossible. I see no hope for this planet. World leaders are butt-fucking each other and here we all are breathing in their gas. There is no way in hell any change will happen so long as we live subdued under the comfort of attention-depriving reels and media videos and TikToks and all that shit. I doubt the next generation will even be able to read.
- I've just decided this, for a long time now. I know this is my fate. I'm a sickly child with asthma who picked up smoking as a side-hobby. I'm do alcohol on the side and I've been on prescription meds since I was 17. Does that sound like a motherfucker who can live up until 120 and still be able to shit on his own? I'll let you decide, but my most rational estimate is that, because I can't even withstand these 19 years of existence, then how the FUCK do I even get to another decade past that, hm?
- Because I'm in constant, chronic fyucking pain awlll the fucking time. If it's not my hips, it's my head, then my pelvis, then oo-goo-gaga wherever the fuck else my piece of shit twink body decides to hurt. If not physically, too, then mentally. If I'm not having a breakdown, I'm having an episode of reckless rage, and if not that, then I'm constantly feeling empty inside. And that last bit is actually the best feeling, because when I feel empty, at least I don't experience the past abuse, bullying, sexual harassment, trauma, and the 10,000 reasons why I hate my family. Speaking of...
- I hate my family, and my family hates me. I have no traditional virtue to attach to: I find church cultish, I find school to be too fucking lousy at actually educating even though I'm class valedictorian for like a few years now, and more. My sister vents out all her frustrations at me. My entire family has cordial relations and I'm the black sheep. And for fuck's sake, I live in this house too, all the time, I see their faces, they see mine. The Tagalog term for house is 'Tahanan' (Ta as in Tarrega, Ha as in have, Nan as in Naan bread). It means "place for calming down." Guess fucking what, it's opposite for me, and what a big surprise that is, lemme tell ya.
- I just can't afford living like this. Continuous suffering. Day and night, ceaseless. If I could get one break, fuck would that be the perfect prelude to the most perfect suicide. But again, even that's a luxury that is barred from me. The simplest things break me down. I want a whole restart, a fresh change. I want to stop feeling like an animal and a prostitute and more like a dignified human. I want to make decisions on my own and not be belittled by my mother all the time. I want freedom and independence. But all my dreams are, again, so much, but for nothing. My passions, my talents. For fuck's sake my guitar skills are conservatory-level, my writing is publishing-level, and I bet I can get slated for a top-Univ slot in my country soon. But again, alas. All for nothing. Because, I know, even then, that I would not be happy. And that's the root cause of why I want to just stop walking the way life points me to and just sit down and wait for the bus.
With love, Gendarme