hmskms
trying to escape a world governed by sociopaths.
- Jun 12, 2023
- 96
i miss the pride of belonging to a group or idea. i miss the validation and reassurance from peers. i miss when the personal lives of others were interesting. i miss when everything just had its own merit.
that's not to say i currently desire these things physically. they're just not real to me anymore.
all things that have been known to bring me joy in life has had its effect severely diminished when i took on the responsibility of making these things up for myself.
they merely return to me as echoes from the past now. they all come to haunt me whenever i'm bored.
my interest in linguistics manifest in me making random sounds with my mouth trying to figure out what they would mean.
my interest in politics manifests in my engagement with grand strategy war games.
my interest in music manifests in me taking credit for the songs of some of my favorite artists, imagining myself starting what they did.
my interest in "love" manifests in torturous fantasies of being in a relationship with a woman knowing it's all fake. knowing that if she were anything else, my "empathy", my "compassion", my "affection", would be rendered moot. (it's not my fucking fault, blame the fucking hand i was dealt.)
it's all great in my head until i return to the reality of my situation.
i miss when i didn't have to think about this stuff. i miss when i didnt need to come up with reasons to enjoy something.
instead, all i have are people i dont care about. who get off to my troubles, and try to convince me how much better they have it than i (or worse, depending on what their aims are), who issue ultimatums for my happiness, testing how much pain id go through to measure how much they can exploit out of my efforts.
it's not like i could ask for better either. whenever i try to appease this it's always met "you're the same, you're just upset you're losing", which i can't really disprove.
if i truly wanted things my way 100% of the time i'd stick up for myself no matter who i was, i'd be making room for the worst person i could possibly be to somebody.
so, this is just my reality, my shitty reality that i never even fucking asked for but it's used as a "gotcha!" moment whenever i protest my pain.
mom, just collect your fucking check already. i'm ready to end this shit.
that's not to say i currently desire these things physically. they're just not real to me anymore.
all things that have been known to bring me joy in life has had its effect severely diminished when i took on the responsibility of making these things up for myself.
they merely return to me as echoes from the past now. they all come to haunt me whenever i'm bored.
my interest in linguistics manifest in me making random sounds with my mouth trying to figure out what they would mean.
my interest in politics manifests in my engagement with grand strategy war games.
my interest in music manifests in me taking credit for the songs of some of my favorite artists, imagining myself starting what they did.
my interest in "love" manifests in torturous fantasies of being in a relationship with a woman knowing it's all fake. knowing that if she were anything else, my "empathy", my "compassion", my "affection", would be rendered moot. (it's not my fucking fault, blame the fucking hand i was dealt.)
it's all great in my head until i return to the reality of my situation.
i miss when i didn't have to think about this stuff. i miss when i didnt need to come up with reasons to enjoy something.
instead, all i have are people i dont care about. who get off to my troubles, and try to convince me how much better they have it than i (or worse, depending on what their aims are), who issue ultimatums for my happiness, testing how much pain id go through to measure how much they can exploit out of my efforts.
it's not like i could ask for better either. whenever i try to appease this it's always met "you're the same, you're just upset you're losing", which i can't really disprove.
if i truly wanted things my way 100% of the time i'd stick up for myself no matter who i was, i'd be making room for the worst person i could possibly be to somebody.
so, this is just my reality, my shitty reality that i never even fucking asked for but it's used as a "gotcha!" moment whenever i protest my pain.
mom, just collect your fucking check already. i'm ready to end this shit.
