Some of my faintest memories from my early youth were the nights I spent pondering suicide. I would sneak into the kitchen at night after everybody had fallen asleep so I could grab the knives and press them against my skin. A different knife and a different body part each time, and I thought about what would happen if I decided to take that plunge. I wondered, "What if I take the plunge into my chest? My arms? My throat? What if I made a deep slash across my belly or sent this blade delving deep into the socket of my eye?". And when I thought about what would happen to me I imagined life would hand me a cool cup of distillate solace, just a state of purity, and the very prospect was euphoric. I really wanted that for myself but I never really had the courage to take the dive. Why? Because I thought about all of the pain it would cause to those around me. Could you imagine the weeping fallout of families to lose their young like that? Just one night, without a word, a child curls up alone in a corner and kills itself. So I decided to show others mercy by pushing onward. For them. I lived just for them. So my compulsion to live, not for myself but for others, set a precedent that would influence the rest of my life. In retrospect I realize I was unusually and profoundly existential for a 2 year old. It makes one wonder what would cause such a young child to adopt such a strange nightly ritual.
Have you ever heard of high place phenomenon? It is an urge to jump many people get when standing near a high place ledge or railing. People don't ever really jump because they would die, but that strange compulsion is there. I have felt this underlying pervasive feeling my whole life, not when I am high in the sky, but when I am grounded on my feet. Again, I never take my own life because I feel compelled not to hurt others. I never had the courage to hurt my parents, my adopters, but as time went on I realized how neglectful and abusive they have always been. I was told I was "loved" but that they did not really like me. That was rending, and I didn't understand it but I accepted it anyway. Then, as time went on, I realized that their so called "love" for me was conditional. They adopted me so I could be their little fantasy child and I think they genuinely love the fantastical version they have of me, but I do not know how close it is to the real me. I just do not know, but it can't be too close. Regardless, it is not me whom they love. I don't care about them or their feelings anymore because I realize I only ever had my own back. I am the outsider. I am the black sheep.
When I met my biological parents earlier this year it felt like things were really changing for me. It felt like I had met people with whom I finally belonged. Like I met people I could live for. My birth-father told me he loved me just as he loves all of his children, and with him I met two half-siblings whom I adored. In fact, I still smile when I think of my little sis and I feel dejected when I realize I will never get to spend time with my little bro. Because my birth-father disowned me and banned me from speaking to my siblings all because I had once mentioned he had made me feel uncomfortable on one occasion. That's it. He let his personality disorder get the better of him and he threw his "love" for me out the window and turned my siblings against me because I dared to feel comfortable enough to mention I felt uncomfortable. I will mourn that loss for the rest of my life. When I told my adoptive mother about what had happened she didn't care about my feelings, she seemed... pleased. So why, oh why, do I keep on living for people who don't honestly care about me? Why do I keep trying to do what is best for others and give them what they want just so I can ignore what I want. All I want is to die. I have one more shot though. I have my birth-mother, and I really love that woman, but a part of me feels like it has always been too late for us to have a relationship since before I drew my first breaths. She says that she loves me and that she will never let me go. Earlier on during my reunion with her we had a moment when I broke down sobbing and pleaded her not to let me go without peace and closure. She took me into her arms and told me she will never let me go. Now only time will reveal if she spoke true.
I have noticed something about my life and others' lives: we never, or rarely, really live for ourselves. I notice that everything around me is playing a game of omnidirectional tug-o'-war and I am the rope. So many factors trying to pull me in their own directions and shape me to their image. Like I'm some whorish piece of clay being molded and pounded into some artificially grotesque shape. It's not just my parental figures that I let dictate and influence how I live: it's everything. I let the ground determine how I walk. I let the people around me control my talk. I let the signs by the road determine how I drive. I let my job determine if I thrive. I let food tempt how I shit, and even if I stay fit. Culture determining what I value. Everything. I am doing this perpetual dance with everything and trying to follow the footwork. I am getting so tired though, so weary, and I want to dance by myself. I want to seize the reins in this tug-o'-war and pull myself into my own selfness instead of being the bitch of this earth. I am doing that right now, and maybe I will soon realize that I still want to die just like I always had, but maybe not. It's okay if I want to die. If that's how it shall be then I shall soon die. I have heard several times the saying, "It's better to live as a king for a day than a pauper for all one's life.", and I will be a king by getting what I alone truly want even if for a fleeting second.
When I was in high school I failed someone once. I failed miserably. There was this new girl and she was always really friendly, but she had a lot of trouble acquiring new friends. She would always come on way too strong with people and get pushed away. She was really struggling and aching inside and I felt bad for her. Even though we had never really talked, she came up to me a few times calling me her bestfriend. I never really reciprocated anything she said, I was very standoffish I'd imagine, but it was because I was just so... jarred with how she kept approaching a stranger like me. I realized she was lonely and in need of friendship though, so I eventually began thinking about how I may provide her with the friendship she needed. When I finally felt ready to start that relationship, I waited for her to appear. And I waited... but I never saw her again. Apparently, she had killed herself the night before... I could have been there for her. I never even knew her name. I never wanted to fail someone like that again, and I got a chance to make up for it once. A friend of mine was contemplating suicide and came to me about it. I told him it was okay if he wanted to, but I would miss him and that I would like to ask of him a favor before he offed himself. He accepted my favor. The favor I asked of him was that he write a book before he departs. I don't remember what I asked him to write about, if anything. He began writing, which had primed him for some serious introspection just as I had hoped, and I don't think he even finished the first chapter before he gave up. Ha! The bastard went back on his word! He still owes me a favor! He actually, in his time of writing, realized he still wanted something out of his life and that he wanted to make something more of it for himself. He now seems to have an extremely promising future ahead of him. We never talk anymore and he will never read this but, I'm proud of you buddy.
Following suit, I sat down here to write this just to see if some sort of inspiration emerged, and I find that I have only two desires left: to die and to have a loving relationship with my birth-mother. Since I now know what it is I truly want out of my existence, I don't have to be caught in the crossfire of life trying to make me into something I am not. I am pulling myself up by my own bootstraps now and pursuing what I want without distraction. I want to really connect with my mom and find peace and closure with her, and then if I get no further inspiration or I fail, I will die. Of course, I think it would only be fair that I ask her if I can do her any favors first, just as my friend once did for me.
Anyway, several years ago I decided I would be a philosopher and try to uncover the secrets of reality. I figured such an endeavor would keep me busy forever, but well, I don't really work on that anymore because I think philosophers are fools. So, like an old man, I will pass on a few of the more rare insights I had during that time. Hopefully someone will find them useful for something. Maybe a paperweight? Haha!:
All concepts/ideas/things are tools, so everything and anything has utility. If anything over on your slice of reality is failing to provide you with utility, then you simply are not using it right or you are wrong about its demonstrable lack of utility and thus could make use of trying a different perspective/skill/technique/goal in which you can use what is actually available to you. Don't deny nature's bounty, I guess.
If I have an electric drill with a bit that doesn't spin it can't drill anything, so I wouldn't call it a drill. Maybe I bash a nail with it or stir my pot of stew, which would make it more of a hammer or spoon than a drill. A chair without an ass isn't much of a chair, so maybe it is more of a decorative piece. Assless chair is an aesthetic to behold. Let things define and speak for themselves in each moment and they will demonstrate what they really are, so don't try to tell something it is what it clearly isn't. Or do, if that's what gives you your utility. But when you turn away from household objects and apply that to deeper topics like God or one's self, then that can be pretty cool, ya know?
Furthermore, I have found that the utility of ignorance is hard to beat. All of your blindspots, everything you have forgotten, and failed to comprehend are what allow you to make anything of existence and get anywhere. Think about this, you are walking along a path through the woods and suddenly it forks into three different paths. Which one do you chose? I mean, which is the right path for you? If you really want to find out which path you should take then you will have to stop and consider all of the different variables latent in each path, and if you're smart you'll realize that the effective variables are infinite and that you could not possibly make a single correct decision because the partisan veracity of each path is rendered with a null equilibrium. There is no correct path. Those who seek total enlightenment will be made still by this reality, never moving. But, if you could only just ignore some of the variables then you could definitely narrow down your options to one path. Correctness would be totally arbitrary and you could proceed with gusto, but to have made a decision you must have been stupid and ignorant about something. It is the dark idiocy that propels the light forward. Every smart person has a stupid dark side, for that is why they are smart. If you ever meet any fools, look closely and you may catch a glimpse of a sagacious twinkle in their eyes, when you notice it you should thank them kindly for the journey. You owe everything that you have ever made for yourself to your own moronic proceedings, you smarty-pants!
I have also learned how to spot true mastery. True mastery is recognizable by the replacement of hard work and efforts with playful artistry. There is no need to look for any signs of prestige or grandiosity, just look for the playful artist who knows what they do is perfect just how it is. They have no standards to meet. Even if one achieves the highest prestige and skill they can, what happens next? Well, since there is nothing left for them to achieve, they just live on as playful artists, but that is something anyone can become at any point. It just takes acceptance.
As for socionics, I once wanted to consummate it with mathematics. I even once wanted to expand upon the idea of IME dimensionality into something way greater, like, string theory-type dimensionality kinda shit. Socionics fundamentally has something ubiquitous and fractal to it, so hopefully some asshole can capitalize on that.
Oh, whatever. I'm tired, getting bored, and losing my mind over here. To my biological parents who will probably never see this:
Dad, fuck you. Your genes made me a neurodivergent mess. ADHD, autism, bipolar disorder, borderline personality disorder, and ffs probably narcissistic traits too. You also gave me an aberrantly high IQ but that never really did much for me, in fact, it has been more of a detriment. You liked to brag about that being in the gene pool. Yeah, you're so fuckin smart dad. Fuck you, you discarded me like trash. Twice... but I love you and forgive you nonetheless. Fucking bastard.
Mom, I... I don't know... I love you. I wish you'd smile when you see me. I wish you had the courage to really look me in the eyes. I wish you'd talk to me. I wish you never gave me away. Please save my soul. I don't know what to do anymore and I am scared.
Irony Irony Irony
so much irony. I am on a road to nowhere but that's just where I wanna be. Maybe.
"Should I kill myself, or have a cup of coffee?"
- Albert Camus
I have been sipping on a cup of coffee ever since I was two years old. Sometimes I wish I'd drink a little faster, but now that I am running out I don't know if I want to finish. Or I don't know if I even want to know...
But hey, now when I tilt the mug back for a sip I can see its shiny bottom and my reflection is right there staring back at me. And look, I have a coffee mustache! Pfffft, I look so silly!