i don't really have thoughts anymore. just endless degraded feedback, like scrolling through a timeline forever. there's like a 1% of barely functional half-awake suicidal ideation buried under 99% corrupted unconscious junk data. i spend every day twitching and mumbling like a coma patient while replaying memories of watching videos or streams, little soundbites from movies or games, recycling them in my brain and pretending they're mine and i made them. it's always too loud, sleeping is hard. i try very hard to come up with any original thought or concept and even if i do it's impossible to do anything, gets eaten by the noise. my brain just ping-pongs between "i really wish sex weren't real" and "i wanna blow my brains out" as i drool all over myself and think about playing a video game (not actually doing it of course). there's only so many adjustments and corrections i can make to the same old stupid fantasies. i've eaten myself to the bone. i think about killing my parents a lot, especially my dad. i'm paranoid and jumpy all the time, my heart rate is way too fast, i hate the sound of thunder and rain hitting our roof and our dog barking and my parents old people yelling at each other. i don't have a job or education (though i did try to get them a few times over the last 2 years thank you very much!) and probably won't have one for the rest of my life. i won't be able to take care of my parents when they get old, i might even die before them due to my awful lifestyle
now that i think of it that period in 2019 where i went around actually making an effort to learn suicide methods was probably the most autonomy i've exercised in my entire life. i went outside a lot, learned how to buy things online, how to tie knots, put a lot of "effort" in, but pussied out when the time came to make a plan. oh no i have to fast for a while? but then i'll have to talk to my mom about it, and maybe reject a meal! and now, somehow, over 4 years have gone by. i don't know what to do about that. when i kept shopping for the stuff to kill myself with i was so unfamiliar with everything in the world that i had to keep googling to find out what a hardware store is. i had to check around everywhere i could for rope to buy, what kind of rope fits best. i would walk for miles into another city and then spend the entire time inside the store developing an alternate reality in my mind where i created an obscure japanese horror game from 1998. ordering shit online was mortifying and required weeks of planning just to hide it from my mom. a thing that everyone does every day was like a big autistic quest i had to bravely overcome. a year later i would learn how to turn a stove on and make grilled cheeses and it was like a revelation from god to the point where i'm legitimately nostalgic about it. (MAJOR UPDATE: just like last night i learned how to properly tie my shoes for the first time at age 24)
i had to write myself several unhinged reminders and memos like an amnesiac to remember how to tie a noose and do this or that. i shambled around two shopping malls like a tortured ape trying to find anywhere that sold kitchen scales, asking for the price and then leaving. i gave all these stores like 2 or 3 visits at least because i couldn't handle being unprepared for them. i had to talk to staff so many times, staff that were clearly my age, what an uncomfortable realization that was. i saw some disabled guy sitting at a mall cafeteria getting fed by his mom or aunt or whatever and thought "wow he's literally me…". i had to buy deadly chemicals from the internet and find a box to keep them stored in, then i had to get a padlock and key for it somewhere. then i'd walk to a random fuckin chemical storage facility because surely they'd sell me something right? then i would realize i've had my shirt on backwards for the past 2 hours. that Death Box is still there although very moldy. i want to use it but i know i won't, because i guess i don't have the mental fortitude necessary to commit suicide, and maybe never head
2019 was my 10th year being isolated. my most common thought back then was futility. that's all i could think about every time i walked back home. i am so far behind everything and everyone that even if i started "fixing myself" right now and giving it 100% it would still take another 10 years just to build a hollow resemblance of a normal life. i would "succeed" the same way that disabled guy at the mall succeeds at not choking to death on his food. the ever-present spectre of ngmi was now stronger and clearer than ever. nothing will change because nothing can. i was so desperate to die that i walked around a bunch of grassy fields trying to find a good angle and spot to do it where no one would find me. surrounded by bugs and wild horses. it didn't work. that was 4 years ago now. i can barely remember anything before that year
(just to hammer the brainrot home even harder, this post was written over like two weeks while also copying another draft i'd written 4 months ago, then left to rot in my drafts for another month or two)
it's been 15 years since 2009. i guess that's when all of this "started" but it would be wrong to claim my isolation made me like this. this is just what i've always been. i am not a victim of neglect so much as a willing accomplice to it. i remember being 11 and browsing my grandpa's PC, looking up cheat codes or chemtrail videos or ytp's in his dark house and hearing the kids outside, seeing them to go school or back home, talking with their parents, and i'd think "hoo boy i hope this doesn't affect my life too hard!" i remember starting this blog july 2012, 11 years ago. i think i did it to follow some skype acquaintances and post "weird" stuff, trying to cobble a personality out of liking this or that insignificant media thing. everything i've ever done has always been a performance because i'm not capable of being real. trying to align this blog with my real thoughts only made it feel more forced and exponentially more painful because now various random people had access to my fragmented thoughts and could poke me with a stick whenever they wanted to skinner box my shit up. i awkwardly exposed myself to all manner of maladjusted weebs and soylennial irony nerds and blessedly ignorant normies and American art school gays, all of which i'm sure have now been subsumed into the workforce and developed conveniently docile, castrated lifestyles and philosophies as a way of preparing their brain for the horribly-but-sometimes-comfortably mundane rest of their lives. they'll get fat and lame but still act like they're 19, they'll try and fail to not become their parents. they'll breed and raise children and work as their brain is slowly dissolved in the murky primordial soup. they'll do all of that, and i'll still be here somehow. i'm just glad they're not pretending we're the same anymore. guess i should press post on this now
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