Society's obsession with positivity and optimism is really starting to rub me the wrong way. Positivity and optimism are essentially the result of a "normal" person's inability to comprehend the mind of a profoundly disturbed individual. Allow me to illustrate.
I argue that these things are nothing more than wishful thinking based on sympathy rather than any real empathetic compassion towards another person. I understand that no one wants to see another person in pain. It's inherent in our wiring, our DNA. But to be presumptuous and arrogant enough to believe that you actually understand the mind of a mentally ill person when you yourself do not suffer from any such affliction is insulting and highly ignorant. To any normies reading this, do you know what it's like to wake up every morning with a feeling of intense anxiety of the coming hours because of the stress of not knowing what is and is not going to send you crashing down into the pits of despair? To stare into the mirror and look with contempt, calling your reflection a worthless piece of human refuse? You fucking people are disgusting. You know nothing of the pain of the someone else's existence. I hate myself in every way imaginable. I can't even take a simple compliment at work, that I did a good job and went above and beyond what was expected of me. I tell them that it's no big deal and that it was just work that needed to get done. I was doing what is in my job description and nothing more. Whenever something bad happens, I blame myself every single time. Even if I know it's something entirely out of my control. Because it's easier for me to blame myself and feed my ever growing self-hatred than to accept a compliment. I don't know how to accept a compliment. I never learned. And I never will.
Do you truly understand what it's like to have the impulse to walk into oncoming traffic? To just end your life because it's better than the circumstances of your life? You say that you need to be strong, to move past the pain, to ride out the storm to a better tomorrow. Well guess what. People are weak. Just look at the number of suicides every year. Every single one of them, weaklings. We choose to end it because we know better. People generally don't change. That is something that I have come to learn. People are stubborn and stuck in their ways. I'm a miserable piece of shit and I don't even want to change. This is all I know and it's comforting in a twisted way. At least I have some semblance of identity through my pain. My pain is who I am. My constant mood swings, my unresponsiveness to medication, my lack of a moral compass, my hatred of myself and everything around me. Even not having a stable sense of identity is my identity. It's easy, it comes naturally to me. The ignorant people in my life tell me that I need to get back to me, to who I am during the breaks in my negative mood. Those moments are so few and far in between that they hardly define who I am at all. The bullshit that they see, the suicidal, self-destructive, self-harming, cry-baby, alcoholic, emo bitch is who I am. It's more me than anything. There isn't a shred of good in me. I fail to appreciate how comfortable my life actually is. I know that I am independent, to the degree that I can live on my own, have some friends, am appreciated at work, have food and shelter, have a loving family. That makes it all worse. I know I have all these wonderful things but I still feel this way, I still hate everything and everyone regardless. I know how ridiculous and paradoxical that sounds. It makes me feel worse about my situation because there is no reason why I should be feeling this way. There are so SO many people in the world who have it worse than I do, but here I am hating it all and constantly questioning why I should even be alive. I'm a hateful monster and I accept that. But it doesn't make the hate go away. It festers inside and consumes me. All I can do release the tension of these feelings of hopelessness and emptiness by drinking, popping whatever pills I can find, and slicing myself up. I swear, cutting is such a pleasurable activity, you don't even know. It's not the endorphins or anything like that. I don't get the same kind of rush stubbing my toe or whacking my head off of something. It hurts and I hate the pain. But when it's all over, my body goes limp, I tilt my head back, and relief overcomes me. I feel light-headed and I giggle a little bit. I exhale slowly, take it all in. Then I dab the cuts with some peroxide on a cotton ball so that it doesn't get infected and I can keep doing it. Can you understand what that feels like? Unless you're as disturbed as I am, I highly HIGHLY doubt it. You normal people are just as worthless as I am. You're ignorant to the plights and pain of everyone around you. You just share your fucking Facebook images and think you're making a difference. You go to sleep at night smiling because you believe you're doing good. Miserable cunts. You deserve to die more than I do. Yet you'll live on in your ignorance while my rotting corpse is discovered in my bathroom a month after I kill myself, found only when my landlord can't get a hold of me due to bouncing rent checks. No one fucking cares, not any single one of you. Why the hell should you? I don't, so why should anyone else? Just don't pretend you care. That's the worst of it. Straight up tell me that what I'm going through means nothing to you. Abandon me just like all the informed people. You can't handle the real me. I can't handle the real me. No one can. So don't subject yourself to me. Because you can't help. Because you can't understand. I think, therefore I am. All we know is that we exist. Everything else is up in the air and subject to interpretation and conjecture. Oh yes, I realize how many paradoxical statements I'm making. I realize that the lack of understanding applies to me as well, that I can't comprehend how a normal person's mind works. I don't, I'll admit that straight up. But therein lies the issues. A lack of understanding on both sides results in a sort of incommunicability. I don't know you and you don't know me. Nothing can ever change that. You will never understand the comforting idea of suicide, the nearly orgasmic high of self-injurious behaviour, the lack of knowing who you are or what you even like or want, the overwhelming physical and emotional pain of eternal emptiness. So don't nose your way into my mind, thinking you know me or can predict what I'll do next. That's why everyone leaves. They can never predict what I'll do or say or how I'll react. That's what Tiffany did and good on her. She got the fuck out before I wrecked her any further.
Which is why I need to contain myself. Prevent others from getting close to me, subjecting them to my madness. I've been keeping to myself this past while and it's been making the world a better place. At work, I'm just known as that quiet guy and who shows up, does his job, then goes home. I don't interact with anyone unless it's required of me. I'm not opening the floodgates this time, I can't do that to myself or anyone else any more. I did that at my last job and it made things so much worse than it would have been otherwise. I'm done opening up to people. You know, except for this blog. It's emotionally exhausting but it is therapeutic in a way. Doesn't make me hate myself any less but I enjoy bitching about my frustrations.
Do you follow? If so, good on you. Keep up the good word and I'll somehow track you down, dox the living shit out of you, and mail you a gold star. If not, well then I can't say I blame you. This was meant to be a small rant that was sparked by a stupid Facebook post and at its core, it still is. Just a little longer than expected. I apologize for the profanity, I was emotional. But I'm not sorry enough to actually go back and edit anything. I really don't care that much.
Until next time,
- K
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