Sakura.
NienawidzÄ™ siebie.
- May 1, 2024
- 119
I'm sitting in a makeshift gazebo by the river, which someone built here a long time ago. I imagine that someone built it here a dozen or so, or nearly 20 years ago, back in better times, when normal, non-autistic people (that is, people other than me) led a real life based on meeting up with one another and happily spending time together, rather than wasting that life on their smartphones whilst sitting at home. However, this is perhaps not the most representative picture of such a life. Last July, whilst wandering aimlessly around my city with absolutely no idea where I was, I discovered an abandoned, potentially former industrial building, which clearly showed that just a dozen or so years ago it had been a lively meeting place for young people. Although there was now nothing there but a partially ruined building, some burnt-out car tyres, and the building's colloquial name scrawled in black spray paint, I could almost feel what had gone on there just a dozen or so years ago. I could almost feel what those joyful gatherings must have been like here, with dozens or even a hundred or so wonderful young people. In other words, everything that I have never experienced in my life, not even in the slightest, and never will.
I discovered this makeshift gazebo in January this year, when I was also wandering around my city aimlessly and without a clue, having absolutely nothing to do with myself. For certain reasons, I decided at the time to jump over the bridge railing and go down below it, and it is becoming increasingly clear that I will be extremely grateful that this happened. I have nothing to do with myself, and it's quite possible that in the near future I'll spend the rest of every day here, following my final days of university classes in my life. I have nothing to do with myself. I can't just waste away in my mental agony, spending the whole day in bed in a darkened room, because I live with a roommate. I forced myself to live with a roommate and, for the first time, gave up a single room, partly because I knew that if I didn't, I would spend the entire academic year in exactly this way and that I wouldn't manage to complete it, as I wouldn't be able to write my master's thesis – just as, throughout the previous academic year, despite constantly working on it and preparing the content, I was still unable to write even a single page of it. When my roommate is in the room, the only thing I am able to do is sit at my desk in front of the computer and work, and yet, throughout the entire 180 days of the academic year so far, I have only managed to motivate myself and write anything on literally a few days. Since the last such burst of motivation a month ago, I haven't been able to write a single word or even prepare myself in any meaningful way, let alone substantively, to write this chapter. There's just over a month and a half left until the deadline, and I still have some 70 or even 80 per cent of the content to write. Despite this, I am unable to motivate myself in any way. In a situation where I am unable to work, I also cannot lie in bed dying in the presence of my roommate. Hence, I will spend the remainder of each day in this gazebo yet again.
Yesterday, when my roommate came back, I had to get out of bed and, of course, I had absolutely nothing to do. So I got dressed and went for a walk, wandering around my city completely aimlessly. In fact, I covered the whole of this huge city in this way and only turned back when I reached the other end of it, leaving the city behind and making my way all the way to the motorway. I'd only ever seen it a few times before, when my father would pick me up from the city at the end of the academic year and I'd return home that way. Soon, in a month and a half, he will do so for the very last time, and thus my theoretical youth will come to a definitive end, and with it my whole life. Theoretical youth, because I was never able to truly experience it in any way. Just as I never had the chance to take advantage of any of the opportunities that life in a big city offers. Almost every time I returned from it to my little village, condemned to spend my life shut away in my room, I felt bad, or even dreadful, about it. Only now have I realised that in my case it doesn't matter in the slightest, and that as I leave this city for good, I
***
...And... it ends abruptly.
I hear footsteps. I know exactly what that means, but despite that, I'm just as calm as before, and there isn't a shred of fear in me. After three seconds of audible footsteps, two people appear and look at me.
Me: Hi.
Man: Hey there. Is this your spot?
Me: No.
Man: And are you going to stay here?
Me: I can leave if you want.
Man: That'd be good, because another five people are coming here any minute. They're the ones who set this place up. I am a calm person, but they'll beat you up.
Me: Sure. Bye.
Man: Cheers.
***
"Only now have I realised that in my case it doesn't matter in the slightest, and that as I leave this city for good, I"...
...will feel almost nothing?
Back in 2018 or 2019, when I was just under 17 or 18, I wanted to read the Marquis de Sade's *The 120 Days of Sodom, or The School of Libertinism*, as I was, in my own way, fascinated by the very existence of such a book. I didn't do so, but I did remember one historical detail concerning the novel. The Marquis de Sade wrote his novel whilst imprisoned in the Bastille. Just days before the Bastille was stormed by the people of Paris, de Sade was transferred to a lunatic asylum, and whilst he was there, most of his writings were destroyed as a result of the storming of the Bastille. "The School of Libertinism" survived, but de Sade remained unaware of this until the end of his life. Convinced that his life's work had been lost, and having tried in vain to reconstruct his thoughts, he once wrote the famous line: "Tables and chairs can be bought back, but idea cannot be recovered!"
And I, too, can't recover idea. Sitting here in this gazebo, feeling the urge to write something about how I feel, I've started this post three or four times, only to find that each time I just 'didn't feel it' and ended up deleting everything I'd written so far. It was only on the fourth or fifth attempt that I managed to capture the right mood, feel what I wanted to write and pour my whole soul into it – even if it holds no value for the external reader of this post. It's a shame it was interrupted, as it's no longer possible to recreate that train of thought. Yesterday I wandered aimlessly around the city until 2 am, and what I felt during that time would have served as material for further emotional reflections. Now I am no longer able to do so, and apart from my favourite image of smoking, beautiful young girls, I can no longer recall anything from my musings that night.
Without trying to do so anymore, I just want to say, in closing, that yesterday, for the first time in my life, I intended to sleep on the street. Because why not? I was absolutely fed up with everything, and in that state of mind, sleeping on the street seemed like an appealing form of self-harm. All night long I looked for a sheltered spot that would be suitable for sleeping and where I'd feel comfortable, but I couldn't find one, so I went back to a place where I'd feel safe – namely, that half-open gazebo. I even wanted to start a thread about it on SaSu – to boast about going to sleep there and then about waking up. I was already lying there, but I realise that deciding to sleep in it wasn't a realistic idea. I managed to get there just half an hour before my student dormitory closed, so I had to make a quick decision and, as a result, I opted for the safer option. It was also very cold, I already have a number of significant health issues, and putting myself in a life-threatening situation, without any real chance of actually losing my life, wasn't the best idea. I intended to give it a go there another time, but I won't have that opportunity – just as I won't have the chance to spend time there as I'd imagined whilst writing this thread, and I'll have to find another place for it. I'm not afraid of anything, which is why I can wander around completely deserted places in the middle of the night without fearing anything, but even I'm not so carefree and stupid as to go back to that gazebo. I know that the next time I met them, it wouldn't be as pleasant as it was today, and that I would indeed be attacked. The only thing that would bother me is if I were robbed of my laptop, phone, wallet and debit card, which could have happened already today. I wouldn't mind, however, if those men had actually grabbed me and physically shook me today, yelled at me, threatened me with the most horrific things, and even actually beaten me up less severely. I wouldn't have felt a thing.
I discovered this makeshift gazebo in January this year, when I was also wandering around my city aimlessly and without a clue, having absolutely nothing to do with myself. For certain reasons, I decided at the time to jump over the bridge railing and go down below it, and it is becoming increasingly clear that I will be extremely grateful that this happened. I have nothing to do with myself, and it's quite possible that in the near future I'll spend the rest of every day here, following my final days of university classes in my life. I have nothing to do with myself. I can't just waste away in my mental agony, spending the whole day in bed in a darkened room, because I live with a roommate. I forced myself to live with a roommate and, for the first time, gave up a single room, partly because I knew that if I didn't, I would spend the entire academic year in exactly this way and that I wouldn't manage to complete it, as I wouldn't be able to write my master's thesis – just as, throughout the previous academic year, despite constantly working on it and preparing the content, I was still unable to write even a single page of it. When my roommate is in the room, the only thing I am able to do is sit at my desk in front of the computer and work, and yet, throughout the entire 180 days of the academic year so far, I have only managed to motivate myself and write anything on literally a few days. Since the last such burst of motivation a month ago, I haven't been able to write a single word or even prepare myself in any meaningful way, let alone substantively, to write this chapter. There's just over a month and a half left until the deadline, and I still have some 70 or even 80 per cent of the content to write. Despite this, I am unable to motivate myself in any way. In a situation where I am unable to work, I also cannot lie in bed dying in the presence of my roommate. Hence, I will spend the remainder of each day in this gazebo yet again.
Yesterday, when my roommate came back, I had to get out of bed and, of course, I had absolutely nothing to do. So I got dressed and went for a walk, wandering around my city completely aimlessly. In fact, I covered the whole of this huge city in this way and only turned back when I reached the other end of it, leaving the city behind and making my way all the way to the motorway. I'd only ever seen it a few times before, when my father would pick me up from the city at the end of the academic year and I'd return home that way. Soon, in a month and a half, he will do so for the very last time, and thus my theoretical youth will come to a definitive end, and with it my whole life. Theoretical youth, because I was never able to truly experience it in any way. Just as I never had the chance to take advantage of any of the opportunities that life in a big city offers. Almost every time I returned from it to my little village, condemned to spend my life shut away in my room, I felt bad, or even dreadful, about it. Only now have I realised that in my case it doesn't matter in the slightest, and that as I leave this city for good, I
***
...And... it ends abruptly.
I hear footsteps. I know exactly what that means, but despite that, I'm just as calm as before, and there isn't a shred of fear in me. After three seconds of audible footsteps, two people appear and look at me.
Me: Hi.
Man: Hey there. Is this your spot?
Me: No.
Man: And are you going to stay here?
Me: I can leave if you want.
Man: That'd be good, because another five people are coming here any minute. They're the ones who set this place up. I am a calm person, but they'll beat you up.
Me: Sure. Bye.
Man: Cheers.
***
"Only now have I realised that in my case it doesn't matter in the slightest, and that as I leave this city for good, I"...
...will feel almost nothing?
Back in 2018 or 2019, when I was just under 17 or 18, I wanted to read the Marquis de Sade's *The 120 Days of Sodom, or The School of Libertinism*, as I was, in my own way, fascinated by the very existence of such a book. I didn't do so, but I did remember one historical detail concerning the novel. The Marquis de Sade wrote his novel whilst imprisoned in the Bastille. Just days before the Bastille was stormed by the people of Paris, de Sade was transferred to a lunatic asylum, and whilst he was there, most of his writings were destroyed as a result of the storming of the Bastille. "The School of Libertinism" survived, but de Sade remained unaware of this until the end of his life. Convinced that his life's work had been lost, and having tried in vain to reconstruct his thoughts, he once wrote the famous line: "Tables and chairs can be bought back, but idea cannot be recovered!"
And I, too, can't recover idea. Sitting here in this gazebo, feeling the urge to write something about how I feel, I've started this post three or four times, only to find that each time I just 'didn't feel it' and ended up deleting everything I'd written so far. It was only on the fourth or fifth attempt that I managed to capture the right mood, feel what I wanted to write and pour my whole soul into it – even if it holds no value for the external reader of this post. It's a shame it was interrupted, as it's no longer possible to recreate that train of thought. Yesterday I wandered aimlessly around the city until 2 am, and what I felt during that time would have served as material for further emotional reflections. Now I am no longer able to do so, and apart from my favourite image of smoking, beautiful young girls, I can no longer recall anything from my musings that night.
Without trying to do so anymore, I just want to say, in closing, that yesterday, for the first time in my life, I intended to sleep on the street. Because why not? I was absolutely fed up with everything, and in that state of mind, sleeping on the street seemed like an appealing form of self-harm. All night long I looked for a sheltered spot that would be suitable for sleeping and where I'd feel comfortable, but I couldn't find one, so I went back to a place where I'd feel safe – namely, that half-open gazebo. I even wanted to start a thread about it on SaSu – to boast about going to sleep there and then about waking up. I was already lying there, but I realise that deciding to sleep in it wasn't a realistic idea. I managed to get there just half an hour before my student dormitory closed, so I had to make a quick decision and, as a result, I opted for the safer option. It was also very cold, I already have a number of significant health issues, and putting myself in a life-threatening situation, without any real chance of actually losing my life, wasn't the best idea. I intended to give it a go there another time, but I won't have that opportunity – just as I won't have the chance to spend time there as I'd imagined whilst writing this thread, and I'll have to find another place for it. I'm not afraid of anything, which is why I can wander around completely deserted places in the middle of the night without fearing anything, but even I'm not so carefree and stupid as to go back to that gazebo. I know that the next time I met them, it wouldn't be as pleasant as it was today, and that I would indeed be attacked. The only thing that would bother me is if I were robbed of my laptop, phone, wallet and debit card, which could have happened already today. I wouldn't mind, however, if those men had actually grabbed me and physically shook me today, yelled at me, threatened me with the most horrific things, and even actually beaten me up less severely. I wouldn't have felt a thing.
