Venting When Are You A Person?

[quietpill]

Please forgive me, this is not written with AI. Even if it sounds canned and stupid.

I do not know if I am a real person. I feel I am either "passing" as someone who is real or not. And I am painfully aware or blissfully ignorant until someone else says otherwise, i.e., my ex told me I was "too autistic" to be genuine. I do not know if the things I do and say are unconsciously or deliberately manipulative, I don't know if I deserve the things I have in life: a couch and a shitty retail job. Am I saying how I feel? Are we fighting? Am I wrong or am I right? I feel both like I am an A.I. bot hoping to fit in and also too shitty and faulty to compare to A.I. bots. Everyday everything feels more like limbo, this listless in-between of people fairing much better or much, much worse. I have so few friends and family, and I feel I am always vying for an ounce of attention from them while assuring them it's okay, I do not need it, I want them to live their lives freely without the weight of the depressive conversations I struggle to avoid having.

I spent so long hearing it was okay to talk about it, but every day it feels less and less true. I know I stress them out with my anxiety and depression. I know they avoid me more when I start to talk about how I feel. I know I need a therapist, not to discharge the abscess of my emotional dysfunction on to them. I never realize the line of where to stop talking until I've crossed it and I feel more guilty every day that they avoid opening my texts. I wish I could talk less, I am so much worse than a normal friend, a normal sibling and child. I will never be a whole person, I will never feel and think and respond in the way humans want me to and I wish they could all just be released from me. I want to sink down, down, down until there is nothing but I can't. There is so much I want, so much I wish for and feels so out of reach and I can only speak on a fraction of it until everyone seems tired of me. I can count on one hand the people who hear me and are fed up with avoiding me. I am so much worse than a robot or a program, I will never be the person I want to be so I will never be the person and pillar of support those few people deserve, who might almost maybe view me as a real person deserve. Am I that almost person? Or am I lying to receive sympathy and affection? Are my thoughts and opinions real or carefully curated attempts at dimension?

How do real people feel? How do real people reach out and find comfort without withering the people they care about? I want to have fun with them too, but I can't seem to reach that point, I can't seem to hold dynamic conversation in the same cadence as real people do. I get so tired of even trying. My attempts are shallow and that works until I can longer sus out the good, fun, intuitive answers people want to hear. I am not just quiet, I am empty and void. I am a yawning black hole where "personhood" should be. If I were an A.I. bot I would be all the things I wish I was.

 

[ForestGhost]

Damn, this was really well written and hit me hard. I feel largely the same... I am this simulacrum of a person who plays the role but deep down there's just nothing there. I wish I had the answer.

 

[quietpill]

Damn, this was really well written and hit me hard. I feel largely the same... I am this simulacrum of a person who plays the role but deep down there's just nothing there. I wish I had the answer.

Thank you, I am glad this is relatable to someone. It might be self-centered but I feel the struggle against emptiness, of filling your body with someone worth knowing is so hard and little felt. OR at least, little expressed in a way I understand. I hope for both our sake, it comes to us one day. Perhaps with therapy, perhaps with friendship or love, or ideally a mix of both. I think despite the hardship it might, maybe, still be attainable with hard work and time; if only the road of time didn't stretch on and on and on. I hope there is a chance there.