I am currently sitting in my room as I reflect on what happened a couple nights ago. You see, I am supposed to be studying computer science in college right now, but all I am realizing is my severe mental illness that I have kept under wraps for so long that it's painful. I've never been one to really feel many emotions, I've had to actively get myself to act out what other people describe as emotions. Or rather, I can't feel any of the good emotions people feel. I can laugh, and I can feel validated by making others laugh, but I can't remember feeling love for someone. I always thought that love songs and things of the sort were exaggerations on how people felt. I've never had a crush on someone before, and the one time in my life that I did fall in love, I'm questioning. I'm almost positive that I had not fallen in love, but rather fallen in lust. It's in this sense that I can now understand what was so terrible about my first (and only) relationship, but it begs an even bigger question: what should I do? A year ago around this time I wrote out the alphabet in a notebook, along with short sentences to show off my handwriting, and I found the act of handwriting to be incredibly satisfying and my penmanship to be just as. Since then, I have started to write out the alphabet everywhere. On margins, in classes, at home, etc. And since I've been studying japanese, I also do it with hiragana to see if I still remember it all. I'm realizing now that this is probably a way to use my tactile senses to distract myself, the same way that I use youtube to distract my eyes and ears. It's automatic, I don't have to think about writing the alphabet I've used my whole life and yet it requires me to focus on how I want to swoop my q's and curl the bottoms of my f's. It's truly fun. My brain is turning to mush as I write this. I can't remember why I started typing all of this out. Ok I just read the first line again I remember. A couple nights ago, I missed yet another critical assignment in my CS class, and had basically solidified my F in that class. I recognized that nothing is getting better and I got so angry at myself that I went into something of a manic state. I don't know if this is what being manic is, but I suddenly became super decisive, creative, and unhinged. I liked myself for a while, as well. I started drawing and writing phrases, whatever could come to my head, really, on paper after paper. "Blood in a bag Blood in a bag Blood in a bag Blood in a bag Blood in a bag" "Save it for later Save it for later Save it for later Save it for later" "Only now, when I cannot & should not pretend, am I free" "It is rational -to kill oneself -to never speak -to never be" "Rationality is a scam" "My preferred medium is UNIMPORTANCE" "And yet they still keep coming" "What will they think" I came to the conclusion that I already knew and believed, which was that it's never going to get better and that the rational decision in my situation, a life where I cannot feel love but can feel pains much greater than heartbreak, is to kill myself. But I live by principle first and desire second, and in doing so prolonged my suffering, while realizing that I have nothing to live for but my decision to stay alive. It felt freeing, in a weird way. I recognized that nobody was home, I could be as loud as I wanted and water the garden and write whatever I want on these silly papers and tape them to the wall. I could line my room with my concerning art and nobody would come in and stop me, or ask me what it's about, or make me feel shameful. Nobody would judge my embarassing outburst, they wouldn't claim that it's "out of character" while not knowing that I play a character all day long, they wouldn't be here to tell me to stop being dramatic. I wouldn't be silenced by the expectation of rejection if there was nobody here to reject me. Even though I myself was cringing at my own actions as I took them, I felt free in my judgment as much as my creation. 4/18/23
I'm sorry for writing this letter to you and still being too pathetic to send it but I need some way to get these feelings out of my system and stop my heart from wavering whenever I think about picking up my bass. The truth is, after quarantine, which I spent entirely with my now-ex-girlfriend, I was feeling really lonely. It was after a couple months of sulking and the school year starting up that I finally decided, on a whim, to FINALLY get the bass I had been thinking about getting for 4 years at that point. (I have a problem with putting off what I want so I know whether I TRULY want it or not) Because I wanted to give myself no excuse for not getting it, I asked you to come help me pick one out. To be honest, I was really nervous to reach out to you though. After all, we hadn't talked since we stopped being classmates, which was almost 2 years ago at that point. I felt like such a fake because i was trying to dive into this world I knew nothing about as if I could somehow waltz in and conquer it. I knew I wasn't motivated enough to pay for bass lessons, and I had no idea how to even START learning the instrument, so I was really at a loss and felt way out of my depth. Comparing myself to you, who had been surrounded by music and instruments for seemingly all your life, I felt like I looked really shallow and that I needed a better reason for playing. I felt like when I compared my level of commitment to yours that I would be laughable. Reaching out to talk to the only person I know involved in any kind of music to help me out felt like I would be seens as using you; I fel tlike I should figure SOMETHING out myself or at least become better friends with you first before I should have asked. We weren't close to each other, I had no connection to bass, and I had barely listened to much music at all at thta point. Simply put, I felt like a fake. I was really glad when, after reaching out to despite everything in my body telling me not to, that you responded not only kindly, but offered to go with me to the store and pick out a bass. It felt unreal to me. I was hoping now, that after I had met such a kind person who was so easy to talk to, that I could become closer if I learned how to play. I never acknowledged this feeling, but it was always there and it is real. When you invited me into the band, I knew it was because I was conveniently available, but I didn't want to let the opportunity run away from me for me to have a real reason for playing the bass. It's not like I had any songs I wanted to play, and I didn't even consider that after picking up the bass I could be in a band, I just got it because it sounds nice (and partically cos it looks cool). I figured being in the band would give me a reason to practice that I couldn't run away from: I didn't want to dissappoint you guys. I couldn't care less about the croud, I wanted approval from the people around me who played batter than me. I wanted not to be "the guy who plays bass with []" but "the bassist in []." And after the first show went decently, I thought I could be that. I got so much support and it felt great, but after that i once again could not get myself to pick up my bass. I would only be able to pick it up when we had a show coming up. I didn't actively try to search out materials for studying my instrument, I didn't even listen to any new music that I might want to play, I just stayed stagnant. I joined the band so I would be forced to play and get better at bass, but all I actually did was make [] worse by not learning how to play bass. This gap in skill between me and seemingly everyone else around me made me feel even more like an outsider, no matter how much everyone was inviting, kind, heplful, and supportive. I felt like at the end of the day, everyone's support was making me feel worse because I knew I wouldn't do anything to fix my situation. I would not get better. People WOULD notice. They WOULD realize. They WILL talk about me behind my back as "that guy who picked up bass and never got even a little bit good." Eventually, they would stop playing nice and just ignore me. It wasn't that I didn't appreciate their support, it was that I felt the support you and so many others gave me was misplaced, and that I WOULD let everyone down, no matter what. Fast forward one year, and now we're in college, and you all are playing shows a LOT, so many fun pictures on instagram, all of them without me. It's not like i didn't see it coming; I gave permission for you to get a replacement bassist down in U of I, but I think that was a decision I made out of cowardice. The truth is, I want to be part of the band and I want to be close to all of you as actual friends, but I felt so insecure in my skill and my capability to learn that I took the easy way out and, by not assering myself, allowed myself to slowly fade out of the band without appearing as if I had quit. 1/16/23
I'm concerned that i truly cannot feel positive emotions anymore. I feign happiness when others around me are happy, but truly the only thing that can make me happy is distracting myself. My internet addiction does not stem from any sort of desire to engage with media, but rather from a desire for media to shut myself off. When I think of suicide, the only thing that I can think of to stop me from committing such a crime is the image of my mother cleaning my blasted brains out of the shower, or my parents finding my hanging body and being so horrified that they can't tell what is happening. I realize that these images pain me, and they stop me from acting rash. However, I have never been convinced that anything will get better. Never have I used happiness to dissuade myself from ending my own life. It begs the question of if I really think things will ever get better. I think I've come to thie conclusion that it will always be the same. I gain no joy from anything I do. Even the simple act of gardening is a distraction from my thoughts. I wear my headphones and I blast my music so that my head cannot be filled with anything but. It will go louder and louder until my ears run deaf. I will write and write and yet nobody will see any of it, because to admit this horrible reality is embarassing. There is no "cheering up" someone like me. I am simply broken. I can only cry and yell sincerely, I will never feel rewarded. I boldly claim that moving out can solve this issue, that I feel my disease is dependence, however I'm not even sure I believe it. I pity myself. And I'm embarrassed that I pity myself. And I try not to wallow but every time I prove myself incompetent it all spirals downward again. I am broken. I have operated under the assumption that I could be fixed for so long that I hadn't realized that I cannot. And yet I refuse to bend my principles even once and harm another person. And harm my "self" whom I feel so farm away from. Even my memories of being happy are near inaccessible from here. I can feel my head attacking itself. The pain I crave is physical; the kind of scars I can be proud of for they show my struggle, however I refuse to self harm. To bend my pacifist principles is to bow to the absurdity of my pain. I want to be remembered as a betterer. That's all. 4/17/23
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