All the donations have been returned. I paid for all the fees, so the amount should be returned in full. Luckily, the money I had was just enough. Although it is very late, thank you for the support.
I apologise for being a burden all of these years. I think having bothered people with the knowledge of my existence has been an ireedeemable regret, so I'm relieved to have lifted one of these burdens even just a little. It's simply miserable, and the misery is pointless because it makes nothing better, and it's impossible to get rid of because it's well-deserved.
Well, here's my final (final!) complaint.
I understand that I'm seen as a strange and cumbersome person too emotionally fragile for anybody to tolerate, and I've always been too weak to commit to keeping myself away from people out of my own loneliness, even though I understand this is the closest thing to 'good' I can do.
For a little while I could tolerate the feeling of being seen as unlikeable and useless, under the pretense that I mattered too little for anything I say or do to affect anybody. But now I realise being so miserable a person is a moral indictment against me, and that people are actively burdened just by knowing I'm alive. I often feel like there's no point in action towards the future because the ideal is to never have existed in the past, and there is no erasing yourself retroactively.
It's been long enough that people don't remember me though, and even the people I used to know in the past have stopped talking to me. Even this blog has been shadowbanned so I don't think people will read these posts, but I'm leaving a message behind anyway. Sometimes years later you stumble onto something old and meaningless, after all.
I feel relieved because it makes it feel easier to think with a clear head when you're alone. I'm sorry for making you aware of somebody so terrible as me, so this time I'll try harder so that there won't be a trace or a reminder of me for you, everybody.
It was a nice enough time, but it wasn't worth the shame and humiliation. I feel something too close to guilt these days.
I have a tendency to come back and leave in cycles, but I'm tired of it too, as much as anybody else. The less I feel I owe anybody the easier it is to never come back to them. This was a bad habit I've had, I couldn't leave people alone because I felt I owed them recuperations for letting them meet me the first time around. The problem and solution are the same and paradoxical. Despite everything, I feel a little happy to have talked to everybody, even though I can't rub off the feeling that I've caused so much incovenience and discomfort by existing. Some people just aren't meant to exist among others, and material reality will make that very clear.
I had wished in the past that somebody would say goodbye to me, now I'm out of wishes. If I expect anything out of anybody, or anything out of the world itself, I'll only feel resentful and lonely. I can only expect things out of myself, because my own decisions are all I can control, if that's the word to use. In the past few years, it seems the people I used to know who no longer talk to me live better lives, and have forgotten I exist, or that I ever did. It makes me happy to know about such things, maybe in a bittersweet way, but happy nonetheless.
The past month has been more peaceful for me than usual. It was hard 'recovering' from my months-long psychotic episode before my suicide attempt last year, and the humiliation I felt when I realised people who approached me first also left without saying a word. There's no poetry about it, it sucks to be psychotic alone. The world falling apart around you with nobody around to even say a thing to your face. I wished you would have at least said goodbye, at the time, though not anymore. A voice in my head tells me wishes are only for ethical people. I can neither hope for people to say something to me or to say nothing at all anymore. It's weird, but in a good way, you know, this feeling that whatever anybody else chooses doesn't matter because it won't change the outcome. I won't say anything to the things said to the facsimile taking my place in the past, switching myself towards a different realm away from this alienating reality.
The past two or three or four or five or six years have all blended together so much I can't tell them apart. There's only this vague period of feeling like it never stops, and recently a vague transition into thank-God-it's-over. There's nothing in the world that you can't learn to stand, and something that may take so much courage to decide may only require you to be courageous for a moment. Nothing changed, and everything's different.
Goodbye, and live peacefully.