I am here not to make friends, but not to make enemies. I'm here to speak without any more censorship than I think I should have without being crass. Welcome to my personal blog. Everything's a trigger, try not to get shot.
She’s the real hero of Phantasy Star IV. This game was a childhood favorite, and the overarching themes of sacrifice and loss really stuck with me. Rika’s outfit really feels like a distinct product of Japanese sci-fi in the 90s, so there’s some added effects to make it look a bit more like an old CRT television.
It’s taken quite a while for me to accept that having a large frame is an actual Thing, and I have one. I’m a big ass dude and always have been since ~6th grade with some fluctuation between “big” and “fat” because hey, I was a kid with hormones trying to figure out what goes where. The difference from then, or from even maybe five years ago, is that I know more about how to eat and work out to counter my tendency to gain muscle any time I end up in the gym. Looking at my weight is disheartening because it’s at a number that I don’t want it at, especially when I’m comparing myself to all these pretty boys in media. I keep stressing about things like heart disease and diabetes, things that hit overweight people more than they do normal people.
Normalcy is relative, is another thing I learned, and have to keep reminding myself every single time I look into the mirror.
While my primary care doctor did agree that losing some pounds would do me good and take pressure off my cyatic nerve, he also said that my bloodwork and every other number that matters is excellent. I’m healthy, fit, working out often either in the gym or the arcade-- anyone who’s ever played Pump it Up, DDR, or anything like it knows that past difficulty 5, it’s a workout, and I play 6-9 songs-- and outside of the times my roommate orders out, I generally eat well, calorie-wise. I need to adjust my diet to fit my needs, and if needed actually eat some type of breakfast. Opportunities for improvement exist, of course, but according to the doc, I’ve very little to worry about.
I’d be lying if I said I wasn’t doing this to try to seem attractive to others, because I’ve always been unattractive to others and even as I try to find a S/O nobody seems interested. But more than that, I want to be more attractive to myself. I see shades of looking better when doing certain workouts, especially ab work that has me moving in ways that apparently slims my frame, but I look into my own eyes and see... nothing, 30 years of self loathing. The mental cleansing has been happening for a while, and I generally feel better about myself.
So, what’s next? Albums, that’s what. Oh, and 6 miles in an hour. I’m close, in both subjects.. just need to stick to my guns.
I wish I remembered more of it, and I wish I had more time before I started this to actually finish putting down what I remember (work in 30 minutes, 20 min drive), but tonight’s dream co-starred @judiblanch and was 100% without a doubt one of the best I had lately. It was half road trip and half sleep over, as we never settled in one place too long. The two of us, with a 3rd male composited of one of our mutual friends and one of my roommates, as well as 4th that I’ve little memory of as they floated about, drove around in a silver van hollowed out for long road trips, playing games and watching movies we’d never played. Strong memories include being covered in clay from making a sculpture, with Matanago (judi) just being out of their mind delighted, their brief stint pretending they were a mermaid with subsequent jumping and flopping between people to give them hugs, and the aforementioned movies/games, which honestly took up half the dream since it seemed to be the point.
I know I was recently remembering a talk I had Mat, thanking them for being a great friend, and I wonder if that sparked the subconscious to throw ‘em all in my head for a few hours, but I don’t mind at all. I could use a few more super awesome chill dreams like that, honestly.
It doesn’t have to have any romantic connotation. You don’t even have to know me.
Male, want to hug, but want to play “no homo?” Just do the Bro Hug™... handshake, pull it in, one hand pat on the back. Female or otherwise just worried about a big dude being creepy? First I’m going to tell you that I and others would say I’m pretty chill... but a handshake or even wave, a nod would be fine at this point.
There’s nothing wrong, I promise. I just have a lot of energy thanks to this Primatene and Jet Alert stack I’m taking to increase my energy when working out, and could really use some help coming down off this manic phase. I was warned that it’d screw with my emotions and it does, every time. I’m not used to feeling manic, and it kinda makes me think a lot about things and people. Motion and action, closeness and contact. Being lonely, and how to stop being lonely.
Oh and it apparently makes me typo out the ass; every single sentence I’ve typed has had a typo in it.
I could check Craigslist and see who wants to hang out today or during the rest of my vacation, but the horror stories are enough to make me think twice. Maybe one day, just not today. There’s something to be said for this feeling, though... just wanting contact from someone else who you could maybe trust to not be creepy. It’s been suggested to me that I just need a companion and while I keep going to the idea of actually being with someone past that, I think it’d be cool to have one. Just someone to talk to, feel a little vulnerable with, and cuddle with when on this stack. I don’t talk about this a lot, I don’t think... I don’t have clever tags for this, not like more routinely open-on-their-perosnal-blogs people do.
Nobody’s here so I’m going to the gym to burn this energy. Then I’ll come back to work on music and pictures.
There’s nothing wrong, I promise. I just want a hug.
Exchange with roommate 1:
"Don’t forget your shirt.”
“Here, you can open the package. You might like the design.”
*opens halfway* “Goddamn it. Nope, you don’t get to come inside. You stay out there.”
Exchange with roommate 2:
*sees shirt hanging outside of closet* “Really?”
“Yep.”
“Fuck you, you’re never wearing that old-ass-meme shirt around me.”
“That’s what you think.”
Of course my roommates don’t really care and any anger was false, but I expected such a reaction when they saw it. I expected such a reaction when I decided to buy it, picking the monochrome image of a gorilla’s face over the white-italic-Impact-font-letters-over-red-background over the many other available designs, and deciding to keep it on a black shirt. I’d like to say that it was just a random “in b4 meme is completely dead” purchase that the cynical youth populace I might find myself around would get and scoff at, but there was definitely more a reason for my purchasing a Harambe-based shirt at all, and especially this design.
We’re living in crazy, dangerous times, there’s no denying that at all, whatsoever. Without getting preachy and because I haven’t bothered to make a tinfoil hat, I’m going to stay out of conspiracy theory, distopian future territory and just say that the media, both conventional and social, has been filled with some very disheartening stories for a couple years, more so than before. The current election (insert half-minute sigh here) has quite a bit to do with it, but there’s also the rampant visuals of bigotry, something I hoped that having a Black president would have at least assuaged. However, from having the most legit candidate be pushed out of the race by his own party to fulfill a promise to the next in line, to the people openly and proudly killing people of color without justification, then not getting in trouble for it at all...
YouTube comments. This year has felt like one long session of sitting and reading the comments section of a YouTube or Facebook post, and watching all the random hateful things people say come true in real time. In fact, I’m avoiding visiting Facebook because I literally cannot scroll down the page without reading about the next new leak of a candidate’s wrongdoing or how someone else got killed for existing in the wrong place at the wrong time.
And then Harambe was killed.
On the record, I’m in the camp that says Harambe could’ve been tranquilized into a stupor, as the point of a tranq is to addle someone’s senses so much that they aren’t a danger to themselves or others. I’m not sure if the whole instant sleep thing one sees on shows and movies is true, but we sent rovers to Mars and have cloned animals, and I’d like to think that keepers could increase tranq dosage and mix it with some caffeine to get flowing in the system more quickly. However, a judgement call was made, a kid was given back to their careless parent, and the zoo’s dealing with the fallout. I’m not going to throw hate their way over this.
However, many people did, and it struck a chord with other people who noticed where peoples’ priorities were. #dicksoutforharame exists, and along with shirts with that text, one of the shirt designs I skipped over was a loud pink or blue with a full-body shot of a gorilla with lightning bolts in its eyes and some Engrish chronicling Harambe’s death; the whole aesthetic was playfully Japanese. Candidates are getting media blackouts and mockery, but nothing’s come of that. Murderous cops are sitting at home on paid leave while the streets are gassed free of protesters, those cops to be back on the beat once people forget the name of the latest victim statistic. Meanwhile, white citizens tear up city blocks in revelry while cops stand by and watch... but it’s fine, they’re just rowdy people getting too into a celebration, not like those thugs walking the streets with their arms up.
People and groups are noticing, and dealing with this in their own way. Black Lives Matter exists, though its reputation is forever tarnished. Sports players are taking knees during the National Anthem in silent protest, their own reputations and careers put in jeopardy for it. People even daring to wear BLM or “Hands up don’t shoot” shirts are singled out, the wardrobe being censored and banned at some schools. Comic artists are constantly drawing attention to what’s going on, but the jester, the artist, the fools are always disregarded when it comes to actual court-worthy news. One of the more famous pictures drawn was a continuation to the “This is Fine” comic, both drawn by KC Green.
Panel 10: THEY SHOT A GORILLA FOR GODSSAKE
Panel 9: THERE WAS NO REASON TO LET IT LAST THIS LONG AND GET THIS BAD
It would be rather wonderful if the support people say they had for me translated to action. People note that reblogging art is much better than simply liking it, as reblogs get the word out to a wider audience. However, I’m struggling for people to even Like what I do.
I don’t want to feel like anyone’s obligated to like my music as we have different tastes and maybe what I do isn’t good enough for someone. However, I’ve had plenty of people say that they really like my music and they support me and all this. However, I look and don’t see any of it at all, and I’m again questioning the point of trying.
My last Sounds of Tsylence post had some theory behind it.. wordier than my normal posts but hey, who doesn’t like a little casual theory and “how to” of an artist? A single reblog from one of the few I know who have my back tell the answer of that one. It’s a repeated tale here and on Facebook, one of a lack of care despite lip service.
I need to be more open and vocal, so I’m trying to put myself out there, but it doesn’t seem like anyone cares. Like, I could quit working on music forever, delete my programs and sell my instruments and it wouldn’t mean anything to anyone past a few platitudes of how your music was so good, why did you do that?
Of course this isn’t the only time I’ve felt stifled and stiffed in my progress. The whole issue with Finger Gun Games (*spit*) was rather disheartening but I could take that L and move on. However, around that have been instances of me reaching out to people and being told they’d help, only to fall off. I’ve tried to pay people to sing for me, people who post about how desperate they are for money because they’re stuck in another country. I offered people a steady income for drawing on Project Tel’Aria and was rejected. I promise I’m not just sitting here on my hands, hoping for my big break, I’m working to make my own luck. It’s just that it seems that the rest of the cosmos is working against me.
I’m not a fan of wasting my time. I don’t like doing things that keep causing me unhappiness. Music as an expression of myself, I’m down with and can keep doing... but getting all of this false support hurts. Just be real and tell me you don’t like any of my music, and I’ll know that it’s not for you and I’ll accept that. Don’t lie and tell me how much you like what I do, then when I offer something up, cough and ignore me.
I’m so frustrated right now, and kinda just want to curl into a ball, wrapping myself in the harsh cotton blanket of my continued failure with the music nobody cares about playing in the background, but I know that’d do even less for me.
So here I am, looking at FLStudio, wondering what to work on next.
Haha, I don’t even know what I’m doing. It’s even harder to talk to people about things when you’re literally surrounded by people because you can tell they’re doing things and talking to other people and you don’t actually want to interrupt. It’s easier with someone far away on a computer because you can just hope they were staring at the computer doing nothing but reading lame articles falling asleep and your conversation, even if lame, is saving their night from utter boredom.
So instead of exploring my feelings Imma talk about other things going on that are irritating, but not QQ-tier. Mainly, dealing with these two posts.
I really really really should’ve gone after Cordero “Vintrict” Wilson for my goddamned money and I’m going to keep the option there, neatly tucked away in the cell phone pocket, just in case he and his lawyer type friend renege on the new agreement. It was said explicitly in the contract that I’d get paid full whether or not he made his game, but he started flaking and when he brought another person onto his team, they put words in his ear and suggested that our contract wouldn’t work with the LLC business type they were restructuring Finger Gun Games to. However, between that and some of the things he said while we were creating the original contract that suggested he was doing me a favor for allowing me to write music for his game/s, and the fact that he casually messaged me on Skype for my opinion on some art for some other project despite us having a legitimate dispute going on, I ultimately found myself getting disproportionately angry, incredibly quickly, and sought the path of least resistance so I could cut him out of my life ASAP. And y’all, I mean past the level of “call an actual lawyer and pursue legal action” but so frustrated with the idea of getting shorted that I was seriously considering taking a small vacation to fly back to Texas, rent a car, drive to his house, kick his ass on his front lawn, and call the debt settled. It’s a small joke around here that I’m from the hood, and I had to stop myself from doing some hood shit.
Literally-- and no, not the internet’s version of literally that’s just an expression, but LITERALLY everyone who knew the both of us told me that it was a bad idea to do business with him and I knew I was taking a chance because I would’ve told anyone else not to deal with him as well. I met Vintrict on Gaia Online, both of us part of the general fighting roleplay community that Leviathan Stadium Tactics is based on, and he’s always come off as someone trying to bend the rules in his favor, always trying to get what he wants out of the play without regard to any other player. He ran his tournament and I never participated, but I’ve heard nothing but horrible things about his mismanagement and ego, which I’d seen plenty of otherwise.
But everyone starts somewhere. If someone’s passionate about something, they’re gonna work to make it good, and you’re gonna work with others to make it happen. He wanted to make a game, and I wanted to add more stats to my resume, so I agreed with the hopes that since he was actually putting product on the WiiU, he’d tighten up and start being a decent person. This whole ordeal has only enforced status quo, and I now have no reason at all to work with someone who cannot honor contracts, and otherwise tries my patience.
I’ll admit my part in agreeing to deal with him, and agreeing to take less money so I’d stop dealing with him. In seeing the train wreck that was his first game Stone Shire, I knew that he had hemorrhaged money. It wouldn’t have gone that way were it someone else I didn’t know on a more casual level, and it won’t go that way again. Everybody’s a shark trying to get their bite, damn the other guy. The point of the contract was to be my cage, but I saw the flaws in it-- a poorly written cancellation clause-- and pretty much stuck my hand out so that’s on me for not keeping to the cage, the letter we signed to.
Now that it’s going to be over once his other guy sends me money-- new contract penned to resolve this-- I’m just going to delete his contact information. I’m not going to actively sully his name, go out of my way badmouth him and FGG any chance I get on any indie dev or musician board... but if asked, I’m certainly not going to mince my words.
“And look at it this way, you’ll get to write music for a shmup like you always wanted”
Fuck you and your game and your company, I hope you fail and owe the IRS back taxes and your fridge breaks down in the middle of the summer while you’re on a trip and you open it up and it’s full of flies. I’ll make my own games with my own music.
I keep reading that it’s okay to be single because you do you bby don’t let society tell you you NEED to be with someone >=O and like, it’s a sweet as hell thought that I’m trying to apply. However, it feels like doing that is admitting defeat on the subject of dying alone.
“Hey don’t think like that! You can enjoy the love of friends more than family and a significant other!”
If I’m telling you that I want a roast beef sandwich, stop trying to convince me that I actually want a tuna melt. They’re both filling and have a chance to not be as good as I heard they were, but I want to try a roast beef sandwich. I could live without eating a roast beef sandwich, but I want a roast beef sandwich.
Weird analogies aside, I’ve been working a lot on doing even more music work, so that I have less time to be sad and lonely, I’m sure that I could make the excuse that I’m simply too busy for it, if I want to start doing so. And even on the flip of that, I’ve actually been kinda looking. I don’t club or anything so I guess that’s a huge hindrance, but I actually try to talk to people. It just never seems to pan out for whatever reason... usually because anybody I’m actually interested in is already dating. Unfortunately, I’m not aromantic. I crave physical and mental stimulation, and it doesn’t always have to be sex... the idea of a relationship based solely on sex is actually very unappealing to me. I want a girlfriend-- hell, just a friend I feel like I can just lay down and talk to, and not feel like I’m wasting their time, dumping my issues on them.
I’m not really sure to make of anything on that front. I didn’t ever think it’d be this hard to meet a single person with nearbouts the same interests, someone that would actually be interested in having a conversation with me, but here I am, typing a post about the whole subject.
I know that seeking approval from anyone else is really, really bad, especially if one doesn’t have any appreciation for oneself. I can at least admit a thing or two about myself that I feel are admirable, but then again I keep getting shown that these traits are actually pretty undesirable (see: previous post, maybe others idk). I’d like to not feel jealous, annoyed, and perpetually lonely in a room with other people, and I suppose that’s not going to happen until I’m happy with the idea of being in room with myself. I’d like to have someone to share my heart with, but that’s going to take more accepting what’s in and out of my heart in the first place.
I don’t do New Years Resolutions, the whole concept is nice but it’s about as consistent as a diet or fad. That’s not to say I don’t set goals for the next year, and I guess I’m setting it at
hate self less
like self more
The idea of settling is disturbing, and I need to keep my anger about me. It simply needs to be honed and pointed, used constructively, rather than against myself. Hopefully, just redirecting my unhappiness will keep me from thinking of a hundred worst-case scenarios, and a few I construct will have me winning in the end. Heck, I might enjoy the idea of one well enough to actually think it’ll happen, and work harder for it.
I’d apologize for being the way I am, pessimistic and depressed as I always am, but my depression goes hand in hand with my anger and I’ll end the final post of the year with a hearty fuck 2015. 2016 had best come in with its shit in line, because I’m losing my patience with everyone and everything.
I wanted to write this out a while ago, a topic I’ve been thinking about after it was teased (literally + figuratively). I was reminded about it tonight after a mini-conversation about my holding myself to my word, with the strong implication that I hold others to their word with just as much fervor-- which doesn’t help because other people around me aren’t as committed to the idea of “word is bond.” After being likened to a fey creature for this part of me (as such is apparently a prominent feature of fey), I started working out in my head how much that isn’t a bad thing, and what it’s doing against and for me. I try my damnest to keep my word about any and everything, no matter whether or not I want to, and I try not to disrespect others’ wishes. These are the traits, if nothing else, that keep me alive.
People on social media nowadays say things like “that post/idea/art gives me life” but no, I’m being as literal as possible when I say that if I didn’t abide by the idea of Honor or Word, I would’ve been dead before graduating high school.
There aren’t a lot of things that I find bad about being the way I am in that respect. Mainly, I’ve always found myself pissed off to the highest degree when plans are canceled and flaky people are right out. I had a friend in high school that was horrible at keeping on a schedule, arriving and leaving an hour late if he weren’t pressed to get moving. I met him at Mechacon and a large group of us natives were about to hit the town, starting with another friend’s birthday party; I was riding with him for the sake of carpooling and I hadn’t an excellent car and was otherwise car-tired from driving 5 hours to get there. Tradition held and we were fashionably late, with him being slow to get up from lying around. I drifted away from him during junior and senior year for that and other reasons, and now I hardly talk to him at all. Why set myself up for irritation when I revisit the town, hoping to hit a bunch of spots only to be bogged down at home?
My eyes still narrow something fierce when my plans are blown up or ignored. Sure, people have their reasons for cancelling like work and life, but if I spend a week arranging something, I expect plans to be followed through rather than having people wish-wash out of them at the eleventh hour and leaving me suddenly with an open night when I already had plans. If nobody’s dying and nothing’s on fire, it can wait. With things like that happening more and more, I’ve been doing a lot less planning and arranging, and what’s famously known as herding cats, just to have them shit all over my carpet and hide.
Of course, that keeps me out of the loop because if nobody wants to do what I planned then I’m just going to do it myself while people go do whatever they decided was more important. It leaves me with an incredibly lonely feeling because hey, if what I had planned was good, people wouldn’t decide to do something else, right? They’d decide that they still had time to do that other thing was done, or arrange to do that thing far in advance as to not force a schedule conflict. Maybe what I wanted to do, maybe what I value is relatively worthless to everyone else, and going “eh, I changed my mind” was their way of plainly telling me so. And so I remain lonely in company because I can’t really relate to this other thing they decided was better, but we still need to work together to get things done and I’m just gonna keep being reminded that their word is flexible and situational. I’m going to keep being reminded that I’m an inflexible chump that nobody wants to do anything with.
And I guess that’s fine because I’m forced to stay here because despite others not holding to their word with me, I refuse to break my word to others. As stated in the intro, it’s literally why I’m alive, because there have been things I’ve owed people and promises that needed keeping that have kept me going from month to month, which have kept me, up to now, from committing suicide.
Finishing college was one of those things, as I would’ve been was the first person in my immediate family to complete college and get a degree, for whatever they’re worth now. It wasn’t said in specific terms, but I supposed I owed my mom for 19 years of keeping me in her house to do that. So I did it, and now I owe her for helping me pay for it, so I’m still here working retail for that.
Commissions are another thing I perk up for because it gives me something to do every day, a specific goal to work for, rather than the general “get better, get money, get famous enough to be recognized in some circles, live comfortably with a lady” goal. Unfortunately, the contract I thought completed has just been called into question and there’s a high likelihood that I’ll be accepting half the original amount just to break all ties with this unprofessional person who won’t even be able to use my music. I win in that I keep all rights to the music and still get to sell the album, but I lose in that it directly interrupts my plans, and now I’m just poking at music, listening and trying to break down what I need to do so I can get back on that vague goal of releasing music an albums and hoping that I can get some momentum going again and I can stop feeling like a nobody in a sea of people younger and better and more successful than me.
I have an issue with self-harm. That is to say that I have an issue with my enjoying self-harm. My appreciation for blades came from my seeking new methods to keep myself going; the idea of cutting was new to me and I’d never imbibed but the thought of it was exciting. I always thought past the idea of lines on the wrist, crisscross hashes and streaks, but actually driving knives into my hand and feeling the intense pain, the proof that I’m still alive and here, breathing, that this isn’t some simulacrum of reality but as far as I know this is it, and my hand has a hole in it but I’ve still gotta get things done so let’s pull it out, lick and wrap the wound, then do it again in a week. However, I didn’t get past a single slash on my wrist with a blade that I still have before deciding that while still very exciting, it was too... mundane, too emo. I promised to my late father that I wouldn’t cut again, and I’ve held to that.
My typical method of self-harm is blunt force trauma. I used to punch walls and slam them with my skull, but stopped when I remembered our house was crappy and the wall was already about to fall down and I didn’t need to make quicker the process. I’ve punched a steel-reinforced door not as a threat to my sister, but out of frustration and because I didn’t know what else to do, and I needed to quickly focus on something that wasn’t the current shouting match with someone who was pretty much a professional at screaming and arguing. I’ve even slammed my head with a 2x4 repeatedly, only to have my stepdad take it from me and hit me with it, and offer to do it again. Unfortunately the desired effect had already been reached; I was dizzy and could focus on that, otherwise I would’ve snatched it back and continued, or simply rushed him and prompted him to do it meaningfully. More typically it’s just punching myself in the skull, temple, and jaw. Un/Fortunately I’ve never hit myself with enough force to KO myself, but I chalk that up to subconscious reservations about the whole thing that keeps my power in check, least of being that I don’t actually like that aspect of myself at all whatsoever, and I don’t tolerate the subject as the punchline (NPI) of a joke. I don’t take pleasure in knowing that I take pleasure in that sort of pain, and I’ve taken long strides to keep my fists from my face, especially when I lose myself in confusion and start looking for some sort of pain to focus on.
I know it’s why I like working out so much, and sparring. Outside of the health aspect, it’s constant pain that’s socially acceptable to put oneself through, pain someone won’t pat me on the shoulder ask in concern if I need to speak to someone. Lately it’s been accompanied by a pain I’d rather not have via a pinched nerve, but in its own way it’s a blessing because I get to fight through the pain, I have something on my mind all the time to limp through. And if I’m hurting from that and still drag myself to the gym to tear my muscles and ligaments apart, then all the better. I’ve fallen off because of mood but I’m going to try to force myself to get back to my 3-4 days a week regiment.
One supposes, that after all the talk of my needing to keep promises, that I could promise myself to go after work, or even tomorrow for 2 hours, no matter what. However, I’m the only person I can’t keep my own word with. It’s the same reason I’m not getting a semicolon tattoo, because it’s a pledge to oneself to stay alive. For me, it’d just be a punctuation symbol that’s taking up space and money I could be using to get a new music program or part of the sleeve I want. I guess the justification is that if everybody else sees fit to break their word with me, then why should I be the only one struggling to keep my word with myself?
I can’t even promise to stay around, honestly. I have credit card payments that’ll be finished one day, and student loans that’ll be finished once the sun explodes so I don’t even think about those, but at least they’re obligations-- promises, if you will-- that are keeping me around and are monetary goals I’m working towards. I can’t promise others I’ll stay around, because that means subjecting myself to a bond-by-word that is often hard to imagine myself being able to keep. Often it’s like promising to pick up an 18-wheeler... shit’s hard to do, and I’m more likely than not to just fail.
I guess I can promise to try, for what it’s worth. I don’t have much choice in that until I’m done paying for this car.
The semicolon is commonly used for a sentence that the writer decides to continue. More relevantly, it’s come to represent a life that could have ended but its owner decides against suicide. So far was the symbol and its meaning removed from my thought processes that I had to be reminded of the trend and meaning. In writing, I tend to avoid them for the sake of ensuring I don’t accidentally create a run-on sentence; I’m more likely to use an ellipses. When it comes to tattoos, an ellipses is a bad choice for its similarity to a “cut here” perforation. In any event, the idea and action and movement are good things for those who fight and choose clearly where they stand. I, however, find myself on the fence.
It’s probably important to note that this fence is about 100 feet in the air, is actually a frayed rope, and it’s a hard landing no matter which side I choose to fall on.
My official stance on suicide is a bit undefined. I understand the common arguments and counters, secular and religious (though I’m much more interested in discussing the secular ones). Pros, as they were: your suffering, be it physical, mental, emotional, or what have you, ends. You cease to burden others and yourself with your presence, and the worrying that people do after you will end once there’s no more you to worry after. Assuming your affairs are in order, other people don’t incur much or any of your debt, as insurance and your own assets can help cover the funeral costs. On the other hand, for a moment and assuming you weren’t a complete hermit, you do give others the gift of having to hold your funeral at all, grieve, and wonder why they weren’t good enough for you to seek help or advice from. I understand perfectly what people are saying on both sides, and without the insults-- “cowardly and weak” for deciding to kill oneself, “selfish and manipulative” for wanting to convince a person to stay alive.
Actually, my stance isn’t so much undefined, as it is uncaring while leaning to the “live and let live (or die)” side. Who am I, but another random person, to force someone to stay if they’re fed up with being here? If I can, I’ll help in every way possible, and within the limits of my own sanity. If this person is a friend or family member that I’m particularly close to, I’ll go out of my way to help them at the root of whatever problems they’re facing, and the symptoms they’re having trouble dealing with. However, it’s ultimately their decision to stay or go. If they decide to part ways with mortality, then I will assure them that I love them and disagree with, but respect their decision.
Of course, it’s a rather unpopular opinion, and a hypocritical one, which is the root of my lack of a solid stance on the matter. It’s also the stance of someone who hasn’t faced that problem. I may or may not shift my opinion if someone came to me and said they were seriously planning to kill themselves, but this is how I feel about this upon writing. That’s not to say that I’m completely foreign to the situation, as I typically talk to someone who sometimes contemplates openly the subject and idea to the point where I believe it to be more than simply idle chatter. When talking to them, I try to help them see the brighter side of things with the typical assurances, and give advice to help things along. I’ve never actively advocated for them to end their life, and have never subtly hinted at it. However, if they told me that all the arrangements were made and this was the last time we’d speak, I’m not sure that I’d make the choice to call the police until a few hours have passed. I’m aware of how horrible a person this makes me, but the first sentence of this paragraph was admission to this fact.
I think constantly and perpetually about the end of mortality and the purpose of continuing. Any protests around my leaving tend to deal with some magnificent piece of music I’m depriving people of, and making others sad. However, it’s not like I’m a popular, or well known artist or person. How much would I actually be depriving people? How much more grief do I offer them by cutting out early as opposed to continuing to remain here mentally miserable, with the knowledge that my problems are my own and nothing I do seems to be helping? The days have been more and more rough, and at work I found myself staring blankly at the space in front of me, unable to even use muscle memory to shut my mind off and assemble. It’s hard to speak, I’ve spent 30 years not speaking about my problems, and it’s hurt me in that, while knowing that I typically feel better when I speak, I find it an embarrassingly hard chore to find words and express myself in any stressful situation.
The hypocrisy comes in the fact that I’m terribly lonely and want to know that someone worries about me. I’m a needy little snot that way, I guess. I want to be able to talk, I almost want someone to make me talk, but I don’t want to be that burden someone has to deal with, I don’t to be anyone’s problem. I’m trying to a be a musician who writes music people will care about, but I don’t want people to care if I die. I just want them the care that I want to, if that makes any sense.
It probably doesn’t make sense at all, and I guess this is where I’d apologize for it but eyyyyyy this is the quality content you follow this blog for. Honestly I’ve been really tired lately so it’s hard to think. It’s also the first time I’ve organized thoughts on this for anything resembling discourse... there aren’t a lot of people who are willing to discuss anything dealing with suicide with reasons centering around immaturity and a lack of comfort speaking about it.
Though this post will end, this subject does not and will not until I end, and I can only type about that which I know or feel. I’ll close by going back to the subject of fences and sides and punctuation, and state that I don’t think I’ll ever get a semicolon tattoo, but more power to those who have, are at this second, and will in the future. As for me, the next tattoo I’m planning on getting will say “oblivion.”
One wonders about romance and one’s perceived need for it, if such an need is true and healthy, or fabricated. One wonders if this need, if it be real, is realistic or the product of media influence. One wonders if one would be better off ignoring and dismissing the idea of romance altogether to focus fully on other venues and ventures. One also wonders about the fascination that despite it being simultaneously the shortest and longest, emphasis is placed squarely on the fact that this first formal relationship was one’s shortest.
One wonders why one is typing in a detached 3rd person rather than first person. One wonders if it will help one think clearly and be more dismissive of everything
but I know better.
I’m aware that it is very unhealthy to seek validation from another person, to seek love outward when there is little inward. In that regard I’m not so much a work in progress as I am a construction zone, complete with flashing cones, traffic cop-guarded roads, and doubled speeding fines. I’d like to think that I’m good at recognizing and differentiating looking for a companion and looking for validation in someone else. (Then again, most people would say they were, and others would say they’re in denial.) The lines do blur, however: normally when offering yourself to someone, you’re sure that you have something to offer. The problem arises when what you are offering is deemed unacceptable by everyone looking through the store window. Eventually it takes a toll on confidence, and from there one can continue simply for the sake of their pride -- validation that there’s not something terribly wrong with them -- or take themselves off display. Maybe someone will ask for the product in the back room, but hope for such a sale is rather thin.
I think I know what I did “wrong.” I have no Game, I’m no good at this Game, I’m too enthusiastic and honest and straightforward for it. I tried playing in high school and was picked last, if at all. It continued in college, though at that time I was a lot less focused on others (had grades to keep up and all) and the few attempts-and-rejections I got didn’t matter so much because by then I was used to it and had low hopes in that crowd anyway. Asking anyone to go out was almost a formality, one made easier with the fact that anyone I wanted to go out with was already called for. The lack of practice, however, set me back in knowing how to deal with people in person.
A distinction needs to be made here-- I was completely out of luck with local peers, but I fared slightly better in the online community I was a part of. Everyone who saw myself and a certain someone assumed we were in a long distance relationship, despite no official word from either of us. Of course, on the same day I was going to ask if she wanted to make it official and go from there, she spoke first and told me that she didn’t like me “in that way.” There was silence between us for months before we spoke to each other again. A few tentative greetings over weeks and in time we were speaking comfortably with each other again as friends with no romantic implications. This was cemented when we finally met at a mutual friend’s house, and conversation about that online community and the relationships therein, both favorable and virulent, prompted her to pull me aside and get assurance that I didn’t secretly hate her.
Despite the hinted-upon reason of self-discovery which would, in a sense, make it her “fault”, I’m one who sees patterns and interprets them literally and internally. That is to say, why would I dislike her, or another who is close and yet still far, or my most recent gain and loss, if I’m the one at the center of this web of failed connections? There’s clearly something wrong with what I’m offering and it’s becoming more and more... overwhelming? tiring? to try and figure out what it is, besides the glaringly obvious-- none of which was a factor with the three unnamed in this paragraph.
So then do I pull myself off the display, or continue to stand in the window, an inadequate mannequin of a man simultaneously bleaching and tanning in the sun, in the hopes that I’ll catch someone’s eyes? How clear will the lines between finding an intellectual and romantic partner and filling a void remain? Desperate times tend to summon desperate measures, and I’ve begun to question the values I hold. What’s the point of pride, does such a thing even matter anymore? A person might suggest that my values make me me and that I shouldn’t change, but this me is very clearly not good enough for you.
“I totally have your back, I appreciate you and your music.”
The lack assistance with areas of expertise. No reblogs. No commission post boosting. Refusal to listen to more than :20 of a song, before going back to lolrandom Vines and cats and anime/show/movie clips and memes. An offer to do things, followed by extreme laziness.
“How was your day?”
“Eh, the week could’ve stood to have been a lot better, it’s been rough.”
“Mine too--”
The beginning of a story in which the protagonist doesn’t like doing a certain thing and clearly has the capacity and mental fortitude to say “no” but willingly puts themselves in the situation. The offering of media that interrupts what I’m currently doing, with the absolute expectation that I should partake right this second. The lack of offer to return to the conversation of how my day’s going, for the sake of selfish desires and conversation. The refusal to accept any commentary when comments are requested in professional and casual conversation.
I’ve already stated that I’m used to doing things myself for myself, but I try to stay open and at least facetiously cheerful when dealing with people about anything I do in the vain hopes that I’ll get the kinda gusto and support I’m actually asking for. However, I’m considering both an aggressive increase in selfishness and with it, activity. I’d be lying if I didn’t say things were the roller coaster they always were, and the topic of suicide isn’t constantly in the back of my mind.* But how can I throw the last deuces I’ll ever throw if I haven’t actually gone out of my way to hustle and try, and physically bled for the tattoo on my arm and what it means? Putting up a website and posting a thing once in a while on YouTube and Bandcamp is alright for hobbyists but not for someone who actually wants to make this their Thing For Life. Thinking about movies like Hustle and Flow and Straight Outta Compton, I always compare what they’re doing and did with what I have or haven’t done, and I notice that the protagonists usually do away immediately with people who don’t have their back, and actually stay in the lab, surrounding themselves with people who truly care enough, who aren’t going to settle for mediocrity and the like. If there are people leeching, they’re recognized and dragged along, used for their resources until it’s time to surgically or violently remove them. I’ve been slacking in too many departments, but I was slowly getting back to it-- I bring my laptop to work more often, so I can work on music.
I could go and sell the box of The Runic CDs on the street for $1 a pop but I’ve a bit of anxiety about that. (And the album sucks, hence the remake.) I’m much better with typing and dealing with people online, rather than face to face hustling, because of my passive nature. So then, will I ensure that my online face is presentable, while systematically removing people, place, things, and ideas who seem more than willing to lie to my face, drag me down, or piss me off.
“If you think I’m talking about you now or in Forever is Never Enough or Chaotic Moon Risen,” I say knowing only 1 person might read this and every other relevant or non-relevant person won’t know this post or blog exists, “or every other Esterian Chronicle album that will come, I am. I didn’t move across the country to repeat the same pattern, and fuck you for everything you do and don’t do.”
* I’d like some actual discussion about it without people freaking out but I’m not going to get that. This post is also not about suicide per se, so don’t feel weird.
I feel like I’m drowning. I feel like I’m just floating with the current, losing time and breath. I swear I’m trying so damn hard to swim and I throw this album on loop and just listen to his voice and his tone and his meaning and I get it, I need to keep stroking, one arm and the other, tread water, make waves
But oh my fuck sometimes I just want to drown. I guess it’s a good thing that I owe people things, because if not for that I’m not sure I’d have it in me to keep trying to stay afloat.
romaincrisis
turnnoffyourmind
yousharknotpass
izzy806
