that's all, folks

 

I hate being at home.
I've found that I only ever feel safe and comfortable when I am treated like a total stranger, like I "don't belong."
It's why I loved the 24-hour airplane trip to SLC better than I did the entire stay there. On the plane, and in those airports, I didn't belong. I wasn't supposed to stay, I wasn't even allowed to. I was shut out, limited, and treated as just someone passing through. And I loved it.

 

When I visit others and they tell me "make yourself at home," I don't know what to do. I panic. Because I know all too well that, if I did feel "at home," I would start destroying things. I would start damaging both myself and my environment as much as possible. Why?
Because, having "a home" insinuates that my "individuality" is sufficient enough to merit one. And I loathe my 'self' so damn much that I'd rather be treated as a specter than a person-- not as something to be ignored, but as something that isn't even perceived. The sickest part is that I enjoy it.

I want to move out, and I have for years, but I've finally discovered that the problem is I don't want to move in anywhere. I want to walk out the door and forever be cut off from a "place that I 'belong'" because that very concept makes me feel utterly unsafe.

 

Daily routine is closely tied to this. Anything that brings attention to myself as a person, rather than an idea or mirage, can potentially send me instantaneously into a self-hating suicidal meltdown. Talking and eating are the most dangerous activities in this respect, as both are frequently followed by self-abusive episodes nowadays.
I still want to live as a ghost, so to speak. I want to either sleep all day, or spend my waking hours in a semi-conscious state, unmoving, silent, experiencing everything in third person, with no one calling attention to me.
So yes, I still pray every night for nonexistence.

 

 

Boss wouldn't let me annihilate myself on the 24th like I wanted to. I tried again, and failed again.
I'm feebly chopping away at the timeline every chance I get, but the steady unraveling of sense and stability has currently reduced me into a malignant maniac, unable to function in the physical realm without posing a significant threat to those around me.
But there is one very, very big difference this time.
Somewhere far beneath the surface, hiding below my undying death wish, there is a will to live... a will to live invisibly.
I'm tired of having a name. I'm tired of having a body and a face and a family. Some days I outright hate it, and go to extremes just to undermine or eradicate whatever I can.
And I am always, always tired.

 

 

I feel inherently flawed, now. I feel as if my very existence is damned, irredeemable, unworthy of continuing. I know things are changing for the better in the world, but when I look at how rapidly I have been deteriorating, all I see is evidence that I am preventing that progress for others. All I see is a bloody obstacle that needs to be removed for the sake of everyone else.
They were right; I am selfish, manipulative, destructive, blind, and a burden to all I meet. You have every right to be angry with me, for what a bastard I've been. I wouldn't expect any less.

I keep looking back on what I did, and perhaps they were right all along. Maybe I'm not supposed to be anything but the villain of this story. If that is the end I always come to, perhaps it is the only end a blackheart like me deserves.
How ironic, that all the dark and tar-stained shadows I tried so desperately to tear from my life forever turned out to be the truest things about me.
I don't save the day, I don't fly off into the sunset, I don't get the girl.
And the only home I've ever known is a prison.

 

"They can drag me by the nose to the top of the world and tell me that there's been a mistake and I got someone else's fate, they can forgive me because deep down inside I'm a really terrific person, and they can write it all down and put it in drawers in hotel rooms, but the fact is I don't care.
I lived my life and I made some really bad decisions and I showed everybody what kind of person I was. I screwed up. I took the easy way and I picked up a gun and I got used to it and I deserved everything I got. Sorry if that sounds selfish.

 

There was another theme to those old war programs-- you don't forget the horrors you see. And I remember everything. I'm not supposed to, but I can't-- I won't-- forget the things I've done and the people I've hurt and the kind of person I really am. The kind of person who's way beyond second chances.
There is no hell, I was right about that. There's just the places we end up. And that's where I belong."

 

 

 

 

septic shock

This evening was quite a struggle.

I just found this online:
"A blocked [orange energy center] with too little energy running through it is often tied to childhood trauma and abuse. You may feel unloved and unworthy, be shy and timid, immobilized by fear, overly sensitive, clingy or in contrast isolated, and burdened by undeserved guilt and shame. You may be repressed emotionally and sexually, inhibited, frigid or impotent. You may not be able to connect emotionally with others or form true intimate relationships. You may stuff your emotions down with food, and so they build up under the surface. You may feel overwhelmed - that you cannot allow yourself to feel your emotions, because your emotional well is full and just one more will cause the well to overflow, the dam to burst, and all hell to break loose."
Now if that isn't the most horribly accurate thing I've read about me in ages I don't know what is.

To be blunt, I'm just staring at my computer screen right now, not feeling anything, just thinking.
How long have I been dealing with this? Even after I tried countless times to utterly obliterate my personal history, why has this lingered? Looking at it now, I know exactly why.
Even after I have forgiven Julie completely, I have not forgiven myself.

"I" had a meltdown earlier, obviously, in the entry before this one. Sickeningly, though, there's always a very stupid paradox occurring in those entries. They ramble on about how much I loathe having a physical form, a name, a face, et cetera... and yet the only reason why I publicize those entries is to hopefully catch the eye of someone who cares. I will be blunt and admit that yes, the "I" who writes those wants attention. They want people to pay a LOT of attention to them, something they've never really experienced, something they want desperately and yet hate themselves for it.
I really do hate the part of myself that wants attention, because it's markedly narcissistic. It's stupid and childish, and yet it's real. My mother and grandmother-- my two parental figures-- have never paid attention to me. The latter will literally interrupt me mid-sentence to talk to herself about something completely unrelated, effectively telling me that my speech is not wanted. The former will only say "uh-huh" at random intervals with obvious boredom, never making eye contact, often standing with her back to me and multitasking. If I were to ask her for feedback or advice, she would snap at me angrily and demand "why do you expect me to have all the answers??" I don't. I just want someone to care.
This is probably why I adore Laurie. I could literally go to her and start hissing and spitting about the blackest parts of my psyche, utterly unhinged and hateful, and she will watch me like a hawk with rapt attention, waiting until I finished to suddenly fire back with an intelligent response-- one that does not tiptoe around problems or try to soothe me, even if it's 95% guesswork. She tells it like it is, as bluntly as possible, but she cares.
It's also why I couldn't stand conversations in SLC. The people there were all so wishy-washy when it came to discussions like that. I'd never get a hard response. Everything was always "oh I don't want to talk about this because it might stir up negative feelings" or "why don't you talk to someone else about it?" or "I have troubles just as bad as yours BUT heaven forbid I mention them outright." I never felt like they were listening, even if they literally sat and did so for hours, because there were never any responses, and there was so little openness. So much happened outside of my awareness with them, so much was hidden or only hinted at, that I felt utterly cut off from them as individuals, like they didn't trust me at all. But let's ignore that, it's over and done with. Anyway, If I don't get legitimate feedback from listeners, not just a shallow "that's nice" or "thanks for sharing," I feel as if I were completely ignored. I feel worthless and burdensome, like talking at all was sinful, like my words simply weren't worth caring about.
Really, all I want is for someone to start questioning me after I question them, and not in vague ways like "how can i help" or "are you okay," which usually just make things worse as I am badly confused by general questions. Really, that post I just wrote? If I suddenly got a message from a reader saying something like "all right, i may not understand your situation now, but i'd like to. can you elaborate on why you don't like having a name?" I would be utterly grateful. If they told me that THEY had similar experiences, and then spoke about those, I'd be twice as thankful! Then we have common ground. As long as I can reply back with empathy AND questions of my own, with them willing to do the same, we're cool.
But it's stupid, stupid, stupid. I have no freaking right to ask for such total attention. I have no right to demand that people care about me as obsessively as I care about others. It's stupid, it's selfish, and it's immature. I don't even WANT the attention or care, in the sense that I WILL reject it as soon as it is given, hating the fact that it requires me to exist.
Still, it's a problem that I still find myself fighting.

That, right there, is huge red danger sign numero uno: the word "problem."
As you know, I flip between two extremes with that word. I either consider my "problems" to be real, painful, and deserving of my total attention towards healing them, OR I consider them fake and nonexistent. If I am in "healing" mode, I will ONLY think about healing them. This drove everyone in SLC crazy, but they couldn't understand. These "problems" I battle, when they surface, are so freaking painful that I cannot help but give them my complete attention. The dysphoria, the lingering trauma, the screaming void in my chest and stomach, the burning rage in my bones and teeth, the tar dripping from my skull, DO NOT GO AWAY. When I am conscious of them, they overwhelm me, and I fight desperately to heal them, to fix things, to seek advice from others. Problem was, when I did that, I would often be told "stop complaining about those stupid things" or "all you ever do is selfishly talk about yourself" in a verbal or nonverbal way (although not in those words obviously, and maybe not even at all-- I honestly do not remember). So what would I do? I'd shut down. I'd completely shut off and pretend that I was a blank slate, as happy as a mannequin with a painted smile, allowing myself to be puppeteered as they wished, for fear of becoming a "bad person" if I dared to bring attention to myself or my "problems" (god forbid). But those problems would fester, quickly becoming cancerous, and the more I ignored them, the more voraciously they would eat me alive.
So I flip-flop constantly. I cannot tell which action is the wisest. Do I accept that all pain is illusion, nothing but a falsehood, and wash my hands of all my past hurts forever-- even though I've tried that multiple times, most notably on the 24th of last month, and yet my psyche is only getting darker in spite of it all? Or do I dare to suggest that I am suffering, and call attention to those selfish hurts, asking for the help I no longer have the strength to supply myself-- even though doing so destroys my friendships, turns my family against me, and all but confirms that I am a narcissistic jerk?
I'm rather lost right now, as usual... but I want to find the right answer here, once and for all. I want a clear-cut, unquestionable answer. Is option one or option two the most righteous path? Which behavior would be the purest one, the wisest one? And which one would be the ego-driven one, the blindest one?
I surrender, and I apologize, freely admitting my own lack of wisdom and truth. I am indeed blind and deaf, as I have been told. I cannot tell which is the correct choice. I do not wish to be such a stain on the world anymore. Please, give me an answer, so I can move past this, and stop being such a shameful excuse for a human being.


I haven't forgiven myself. This is the oldest and most difficult challenge I face.
I have also figured out why I can't do it, and it's very simple. When I see wise people online, they speak of how all humans have a true spirit, and an ego trying to hide that spirit. Most of humanity right now is being run by ego. Individuals all over the world are running on that program, so to speak, but their "real self"-- their incorruptible God presence-- still exists, pure and untouched, beneath that shadow, just waiting for the ego to be recognized as false so that it can shine above it once more. Because of this, loving and forgiving others is the easiest thing in the world! If we are all One, if we are all truly bright and beautiful things no matter what we seem to be on the surface, then how could one possibly treat another unkindly?
That's where the incongruity comes in. "If that's true, then why don't you see that in yourself?" you ask.
Simple... because in my mind, I am permanently split between forgiveness and eternal damnation. When I am in the "I have no problems" mindset, I am kind and loving, but at the expense of not being able to function as an individual. I cannot interact with others, I cannot even talk. Once attention is given to my "self," I frequently fall back into the "I do have problems that need to be healed" mindset, and since those problems are a result of my selfish and cruel nature, I cannot forgive myself because I AM the problem. Forgiving myself would annihilate my self and leave only the "everything is perfect" mindset-- the real me. But then I would be unable to function in this world.
And I am the ONLY person on the PLANET that this lack of forgiveness applies to, as I am the only person living this life so shamefully.
Confusing as hell, isn't it?
The worst part is that I WANT to be in that "nothing is wrong, ever" state of mind forever... but for some godforsaken reason, my doing so does not literally burn away the old pain. The only way to do that would be to kill myself... to become unreal, nonexistent, invisible... my biggest and most fervent wish. But I can't do that in this world, can I? No, I need to have a name and face and body and role in society and it ticks me off. So, as long as people insist on acknowledging the fact that I "exist" in 3D space, I cannot seem to escape these problems.
There's a fine line... if I walked into a classroom and the people saw me, or at least knew I was there, BUT continued to ignore me and pay no attention to me as if I didn't exist, it would hurt like hell and (I hate to admit it) make my childishly stupid ego angry enough to probably start crying, believing that this meant no one found my existence worthy of caring about, because of my inherent evilness. HOWEVER! If I walked into a classroom and no one knew I was there, being utterly unaware of my existence, I would be the happiest man on the planet. See the difference?
So yeah, consider my associations with "time"-- through constantly trying to erase it-- as ironically embraced. In the end, all time brings the end of things. Let it bring the end of me even while I "live". Let me become death. Let me cease to exist. I'd prefer it.
I would gladly suffer eternal death if it meant that every other soul that ever existed could reach enlightenment. Put all that corruption in me, I deserve it for being such a horrible thing, and then kill me. Kill me, please. Burn me and destroy me and erase me from the very fabric of spacetime. Just don't damn anyone else for what I've done wrong, because in my eyes, it is ALL my fault.
We're off topic though.
Bottom line: right now, I CAN forgive myself but ONLY if I DO NOT EXIST, as this would annihilate everything but my true spirit self. IF I DO EXIST, I CANNOT forgive myself because this then insinuates that I AM AN EGO, and therefore a false, inherently corrupted, and selfish joke of an identity that deserves only to be utterly annihilated for the sake of the greater good. You cannot forgive something that doesn't even exist, after all.
I want to be good. In my eyes, I cannot be good if I have problems, as this suggests a corrupted nature and sense of self. Therefore, not having a sense of self is the only way for me to be good.

I think I need to see a therapist. I've been trying to find a new one for months now but no progress has been made yet. I am trying to get names and phone numbers from several people, so that's a start.
Just... what the hell do I tell them? If they ask me (as they always do), "so what brings you here?" The HONEST reply would be, "I don't know; I don't have any problems so I honestly have no clue why I'm here!" If I were to respond, "well, I was abused in my youth, I have severe body/gender dysphoria, et cetera..." I would be LYING because all of that is FAKE, because "I" AM FAKE.

God I am so tired of this. See, this is why I live in headspace whenever possible now!! Ironically, I have no sense of self up there. I am RARELY "in my body" up there and see myself almost exclusively in third person, speaking through idealized poetic thoughts instead of actually choosing my words, and never having to call attention to "me."
It hurt so, so, SO much when Mel said "I see why you love them so much. Their world revolves around you, and you've never been around people or souls where that isn't the case." THAT IS NOT WHY I LOVE THEM, FOR HEAVEN'S SAKE. Worse, it stabs me to the core that you would think it actually was: love has nothing to do with that!! If you've paid any attention to my conversations with them, you'd see how many times I practically begged them to do the EXACT OPPOSITE whenever I so much as suspected that someone was becoming attached to me!! I wouldn't have tried to DESTROY OUR FREAKING TIMELINE if I enjoyed having their "worlds revolve around me!" I was willing to CUT MYSELF OFF FROM THEM FOREVER because I was SICK OF THE ATTENTION.
And yet I love them to death. I'd die for them, but the thought of them being as obsessive about me in return is downright terrifying. Do you see the problem? I will love you to death and beyond as long as you never cling to me. Remember what happened with Celebi. The moment she acknowledged my affection and wanted to reciprocate, I became so violent and malignant towards her that, at one point, I was willing to cause her severe physical harm JUST to get her to STOP SEEING ME THAT WAY.
So I apologize, but the very fact that you saw me as a living being caused most of our problems. If you had loved me from afar, it would have been fine. But no, suddenly you had to pay attention to my existence, and what happened? The damned ego woke up, the thing that is so tortured by its very existence that it can't think about anything but. If only you had left me on that pedestal, as something unreachable, as naught but a crystallized idea. We never would have had to deal with the living hell of my existence.

...Sorry. I'm not quite "myself" right now. (What a ridiculous word.)

I wish my mind wasn't so "all or nothing" with EVERYTHING. Geez.
Either I have problems, or I never had any to begin with.
Either I exist as an individual in someone else's awareness, or I do not exist at all.
I see the world in black and white, it seems. It plays havoc on my morality... "either morality exists, or it doesn't," to boil it all the way down. It's total idiocy, most significantly because it also works by omission. "If I am not being good, then I am being evil." And then the asinine Borderline side kicks in with "if this person is nice to me, they are utterly perfect and wonderful and always have been. If they do something even slightly mean even ONCE, then they have always been cruel and unkind." Better yet, IT CHANGES INSTANTANEOUSLY. Say hello and smile? You're a gem of a human being. Make an offensive comment meant to sound funny? You're utterly reprehensible and I want nothing to do with you. Follow it with another smile and a truly kind remark? Guess what, you're a saint. On and on it goes, it's a pain in the ass.
And it can be both, too!! To revisit that awful "world revolves around me" bit from before, my brain has quite the ludicrous response to it. If I asked someone who did love me, "does your world revolve around me?" (without vomiting, as that's an utterly disgusting question) and they said "of course not," my brain would IMMEDIATELY start treating them as completely unimportant to me in return. This is because it interprets a specific statement as a general one-- it heard "of course not; you're not worthy of caring about in such a way." Which is completely insane, but I've seen it happen. On the contrary, if that question was answered with a "yes, I can't imagine living without you," my response would be just as immediate and TWICE as vicious. I would hear, "yes, I can't imagine living without you; so you will not be able to live without constantly worrying about how it will affect me, and I will expect you to live for me alone in return." I would be terrified, but mostly seething with rage, and-- here's the real killer-- my brain would IMMEDIATELY start treating them as completely unimportant to me in return. Now WHY did we get the same reaction to two different responses? Simple-- because the black/white judgment was on the question, NOT the answer. To my brain, that question was WRONG. So no matter what you said in response, your answer would ALSO be wrong, because the question shouldn't have been asked in the first place.
Isn't that absolutely stupid? No one can win, ever, with this mindset! Where the heck did it come from?
And better yet, how can I tear it bloody and screaming out of my head without committing suicide in the process?


Sorry. I have no idea what the heck this entry was, and I apologize profusely for tainting this new space with it. Rest assured that it may be deleted soon.
To atone, I will take a knife to the turntable tonight. Who knows what will happen?
If I don't wake up tomorrow morning, I can die happy.