When I think of all the things I’ve failed at, I feel like screaming. The old despair comes back.
I was born evil. I was born this way.
The world is foreign to me in a lot of ways…things have changed. A lot. When I was young, I was shown that the world we lived in was very dangerous. If you were a girl you’d probably get raped at some point by someone — that was just reality. It could be anyone. My girlfriend was raped by her dad. Girls were essentially just sexual commodities (and we were young at the time). Boys, well we were trash. The motivated ones hustled to try and make money. Some of us became drug dealers or drug addicts. Most of us were drug addicts. Then there were the cowards — they kept their heads down and tried to wait it out, but at what cost? At the cost of their pride? At the cost of their morality. Most of us just beat each other up.
We were all so…raw. All the time. I remember back then I was always ready to hurt others. I would spend hours in front of the mirror getting my expression right. So I could be scary. So I could intimidate others. No makeup or anything — I would just spend hours fixing my face. Fixing my eyes. Fixing my stare. Fixing my smile. I didn’t care about my life. Live or die, I had no hope. I lived in despair, and I was always aware of death. I was always hungry to break something, always looking for the next piece of violence I could enact…on anyone.
I had a motto. I had this great motto, that I would never show anyone mercy. I would do everything for my own gain, even if it meant killing a man. Killing a woman. Killing a baby. I would do it, I convinced myself. I would do anything for my own sake. This was my reality. This was my mindset. I grew up filled with hate.
And then…somehow I got into college. Not just any college…a good college. Really prestigious. It was almost magical. I got my A’s in classes I liked, it was always a point of personal pride for me because I was very competitive by nature. But by no means was my GPA very good at all (I really didn’t care less about my GPA), and I didn’t have fancy extracurriculars or anything like this. Yet I got into college.
And I went. I left my hell behind, and I studied. And I came up against different challenges, of course. I grew up and learned about kindness, compassion, love, and ethics. I learned about the beauty of discipline, determination, and self control. I learned about hope. I learned temperance. I found my ideal, and finally figured out what it meant to be a good person (even if I was so far away from that notion).
Now, I have a job. I live in a bubble where no one is suffering. There is no more violence. Those around me spend their time playing videogames, eating, and working. Some have a wife and kids. They do whatever they want. They are happy. They are rich. They’re different from me…so different. They talk about violence so easily. They play “God of War”, and other violent games, and laugh and joke around. They talk about torture going on in China over lunch with smiles on their faces and are able to not puke. I get angry sometimes at how easily they talk about pain…but I guess I’m just different. That’s all.
I don’t fit in…and I feel there is no place for me. It’s as if my world never existed…I feel sometimes like an alien, transported here from an alternate universe. That’s how different it is. I spend most of my time (as I did in college) trying to not be scary. Trying to be unintimidating. I fix my face in front of a mirror now to look as harmless as possible. It’s a complete 180. I wonder if my skills are no longer required in the modern world I live in. Maybe the world is no longer dangerous? Maybe humanity has been fixed, saved, or whatever, and there are only old fossils like myself that live in fear of the past?
I wonder if all is well with the world, and everything I see is actually just colored by the past.
Part of me feels like I’ve burned out, finally. I got through highschool, and I got through college. I kept up pretenses. It sucked, but in hs I found a way through it within the structure, and the fact that there were so many people around me. In college I found a way through it because of a select few that guided me forward.
But now there’s nothing to hold onto. I keep on thinking about how when I was younger I wanted to be free. Well now I am…I’m so free that I might be lost.
Someone I know loves to say this. I made a decision today to stop working out, because I realized this is not who I want to be. I don’t want my body to be my temple, because then I would effectively be a body builder.
I need to stop relying on these things. Body and mind. Movements, thoughts, philosophies. Muscles, bones, neurons, brain chemicals. I have to stop relying on all of this nonsense. I have to start acting with purpose. With will. Otherwise I’ll keep doing what I’m doing — wasting time.
Sometimes I feel these feelings, brought on by nothing. Or maybe brought on by some words, some sort of small event that triggers these memories in me. But it’s not the memories that come back…not really.
Instead, the feelings come back. The memories are hazy in my mind. Sharp pangs in my heart, not bad, not good…tightness in my throat. These kinds of things. I would have liked to see her again, if it were at all possible. If things had worked out that way. But they didn’t.
These vague memories are like colors swirling in the back of my mind, no real substance. So many things have happened since then that they feel almost unreal. But I’m thankful for them. I’ll never forget what those days meant to me, the hope I felt, the sadness I felt, the despair I felt…an amalgamation of stabs in my heart, one after another, each a different type of pain.
While this warmth lives with me in my heart, I can go forward. One more step forward.
I’m a loser. The truth of this fact hit me today, when I was going back to work after a particularly brutal sparring session. My head was hurting as usual. Brain damage is a *****, and I try to say I don’t fear it, but I do. Because I’ve spent 21 years of my life on my brain, when I should have been spending it on my soul. My brain is my moneymaker. What a petty thing to hang onto, and yet I do, because the world scares me. Because I want some sort of safety net even though the only safety net is a bullet through my skull.
But I digress — the point is, I’m a loser. I never realized it really, but after my relationship with S ended, after I gave up working hard and bailed on the tough life to make money, I became a loser. I lost to myself — I told myself I couldn’t do it without her, and I quit. I let it go, and I started doing easy things. Hard things, in a different way. I had to interact with reality instead of doing academics in an ivory tower. That was a hard thing to do. But I gave up on studying, on strengthening my mind and seeing how far I could go. I gave up, because I accepted defeat. I admitted that I had lost.
That was a bad decision, coming from a place of fear. The question is, what now? Normally in a story when a person loses, either there’s some dramatic comeback, or the story ends. For me, there’s obviously no dramatic comeback, but yet my story drags on like some really bad piece of literature where the author just doesn’t know when to end it. Maybe that’s the biggest sign that I should end it all. Because my story is over. It was a good run, and now it’s done.
What is there to hope for? I don’t believe in myself. I don’t believe I have what it takes, to do anything.
I wish you’d let me go. It’s been so long since I’ve wanted to live — I’m stuck here, due to obligations. Obligation after obligation after obligation. Obligations to dead people. Obligations to living people. To family, to would-be-family, even to pets. And of course, my obligation to you. That’s probably the biggest obligation of them all.
If you’re a thought in my mind, and nothing more, then I wish I could see you as more lenient. I wish it was easy. I wish you told me what to do, so that my decisions would not be mine, and mine alone — so that I could bear the consequences, and say “oh, it was fate”, or that I simply moved according to your will, and things just fell into place, good or bad.
But what do I get instead? For all my troubles, all I have is an untouchable ideal version of myself which I’m almost cursed never to attain. The battle between good and evil in my heart is over — at least, the battle of wills. I used to not know what I wanted to be, but for a while now I’ve wanted to be good. I’ve chosen to uphold your values. But what do I do if the remnants of my own darkness remain in my heart? How can I be close to you if I am overflowing with fear, and hatred?
Yesterday I phoned a friend. She reminded me of the past. Of the feelings I felt the first time I fell in love. Of the times P and I sat together on top of her trailer under dark night skies, and cried. I thought a bit, after that phone call, and went through the changes in my life all over again, searching. I was searching for the place I went wrong, but it was wrong from the beginning. So I searched again for all the ways I tried to fix it, and I realized that it was only recently that I even acknowledged you. A couple years, maybe. But before then, it was only strength in mind and body, and acquiring skills — those were the only things I believed in.
So perhaps it was obstinacy. Wrong choices and beliefs on top of an amoral heart, catapulting me toward more and more pain. I used to grit my teeth and say that I’d always believe in all the things that I stood by before. Perhaps it was that phrase that kept me bound to…all the thoughts that flitted through my teenage brain for so long.
When I was alone I would whisper to the darkness in my heart. No one knew, but it took a face and form. I would dream of demons with my face. Always, there would be this fire inside me, this painful, raw, blazing fire. I could not sit still. I used evil emotions for my own benefit. I used my anger to win fights. I used my hatred to one-up others in life situations. I let me fear and pride drive me to greater heights, burning anything I touched along the way.
And all this I did — all this I became, because “if you are not strong, you will not be able to change anything”. That was the phrase, the belief. The reason why I let my feet walk down this path. P died. To me, that was the ultimate validation that there was no God. That I was right. That Death was all, and that I could do what I wanted and be the monster inside me. Not a stupid monster that got caught by the system and law, something that was far more powerful then me, but I could be a smart monster, too clever to be caught. I could hide myself until the moment was right, the venue was right, and then have my blood.
For a few years, things have been different. I’ve been trying to be different. I’ve found you. I’ve been trying to follow your way. But even if I change my beliefs, and change my ways, I can’t change 20 years of hatred and anger thrown upon my soul. I’ve poisoned myself for so long that this dark heart of mine cannot see the world differently. Nothing feels real. Nothing feels important. Without the monster in my bones, I just feel apathy towards everything — people, kind acts, evil acts…nothing is real to me.
My mind is stuck in the past, when I was alive, when I was using all my power to further my own position in every way. You need to be the monster in my bones. I need you to replace that evil fire, or else my story will probably end here.
— Diem S. Sky
I feel concerned about how unconcerned I feel about everything. I can’t act with purpose, every action is so hollow. I went on a couple dates this last week, because someone whose advice I value told me I should. It depressed the hell out of me. I feel…irrelevant, I guess? Like I’m part of some strange world where all these things are valued, these ideas, concepts, beliefs that I am orthogonal to.
The dates I went on were the first in years, ever since a bad breakup. But I just felt out of place. Maybe if we don’t form packs, our destiny is to be forgotten by the world. Our values lost over the course of time, our struggles obsolete as the face of the world changes. And maybe forming connections after our window of opportunity disappears is an impossible task, because from the point of view of fate, you’ve become meaningless–you’re forgotten.
The funny thing is that I didn’t even go out on these dates to find connections. I went because I felt I should go, and because I wanted to see how some normal people lived — what they thought about, what they gravitated toward. But I didn’t expect such a disconnect.
I don’t even know what I’m sad about. Those dates “went well”, technically. I achieved my goal, which was to interact with normal people in a successful way in a more “intimate setting”. I guess it’s just hard feeling like a monster in human skin.
Dunno how long it’ll be, but hopefully until some of the people here are gone. It could just be me, but I’m pretty amazed at the jungle SP has become recently. Since I’m leaving, I thought I might as well point out some of the things I’ve seen.
K, I think I’m done here. Obviously this is violating the rules, so please don’t say that in the comments section ya geniuses. Have a nice life. Sorry to the few people on here I actually liked (you all know who you are). Obviously you guys don’t fall into these categories.
The greeks understood the most, that people like me should not be treated as humans. We should be treated (and I quote Aristotle) as “beasts or Gods”.
People have lost the ability to judge others. As if judging others is a crime. I don’t believe in the ethics of this world, not in their principles, or their standards. I believe in my own law. It is environmental bias that makes people blind, so they get duped by people like me.
And then when I hurt them, or don’t do what they expect me to do, they ask me why. Why did I not act human?
Blind idiots. I’m a misanthrope. You should never have expected me to act human.
I wonder why I’m still around? I don’t need to be in this kind of environment, I really don’t. I have skills, I have a resume, I can leave.
Yet I’m around. Tied down to all the things I don’t care about, just to be around one thing I care about. Or one person. And one animal I guess.
My manager told me I need to “tone down the snark” today. What kind of responses do these people expect from me? If I don’t agree with something, I point out the reasons. If I don’t care about something, I don’t care about it.
I’m not your friend. I’m not your teaaammate, I’m not your husband or your family. I’m an employee which means I do what I signed up to do. I didn’t sign up to be nice. I signed up to do what I can to help create a product. And yes, that requires collaboration. It doesn’t require ‘niceness’.
I don’t know why I care. Right now everything is going poorly, and I have nothing to lose. So why do I care?
So a lot of people might find this post offensive. Too bad so sad, sorry for your loss.
A few of you that have read my posts might already know this, but I have gynophobea, a fear of women. Besides past experiences and traumas, there are actually some logical reasons for this. But I won’t go into them.
What I do hate is how whenever I talk to a female I have to walk on eggshells. Lower my voice, lower my eyes. I’m almost forced to bow in deference just so they don’t feel “threatened” by me. And even then, sometimes it’s not enough.
I’m not one to cry unfairness because I believe in working with what you have, but my god, it’s just so op.
If a male is giving you trouble, it’s so easy to deal with him. You can circle behind them. You can intrude on their personal space. You can trip them “by accident” if they’re getting close to you, or shout that they have a concealed weapon and get the crowd against them. So many ways to win. It’s so fucking easy.
But if a girl is giving you trouble, you’re fucked. The crowd is always with them, you have to keep your distance, speak respectfully, etc etc. The best approach is to avoid all females at all costs, all the time. Which works for me.
Except I still have to interact with them on trains, at work, at grocery stores, everywhere really. Even at my martial arts studio! Which is literally the only place I can be myself, and even there they have to constantly be loitering, or “learning self defense”. Which is bs. Don’t get me wrong, there are many good female fighters, and i happened to be taught by one when i was younger (which further adds to my general irrational fear). One of my assistant teachers in another gym was also female, and she was serious about the art. But 99% of them aren’t there to learn how to fight. They’re just there to be generally insufferable and annoying. I actually don’t even know why they’re there.
It’s just very frustrating to have to constantly be lowering your head to strangers.
And they always, always decide to interact with me! I never intiate contact, I try my best to escape, but they always hone in like they’re damn targeting me.
It’s not like I hate females. I don’t. I don’t mind talking on the phone, or texting, or anything like that. I just hate interacting with them in person. I hate having to change my body language, vocal tone…everything really, just to make them feel “comfortable around me”. God fucking damn.
I’ve really not leaned on God for much. I’ve really never asked for anything. I just want to die. It’s all I pray for. Let me die, and not be reincarnated. I don’t want to be reborn, or have eternal life in heaven, or be blessed. I want to stop existing.
Why? Why can I not have this one thing?? People ask for so much. They give each other gifts, they lend each other money, they give each other love. I just want someone to give me death? Why is no one kind enough to just kill me.
I’m not a good person. But even I have shown compassion to some people in my life. I’ve helped them, done some good deeds. How much good karma do I need to just be allowed to die????? When will the suffering end, when will the pain go away?
I’ve tried so many things. But this damn body reflexively fights to survive. I’ve tried drowning with my hands and feet tied to 50lb weights, but when I breathed in my first breath of water, reflexes kicked in and I broke my wrists and swam up. I’ve tried jumping off a building only to flip reflexively in midair and fall on my forearms and break them. I’m not allowed to own a gun because of my stints in the mental hospital.
But I’ve tried cutting my throat, which kind of worked but I only nicked a vein before passing out, and I was found and revived. I tried hanging myself, but I can’t tie knots to save my life (or end it). I’ve tried suicide by cop which just landed me in the ER.
I’ve done so much! I’m literally begging for a little help, just a small miracle for some good soul to come along and do it for me. So much for “god helps those that help themselves.” No one can say I haven’t tried. I’ve fucking tried.
What kind of curse is this? I feel like I’m god damn immortal, and I hate it.
So I thought I’d take a break from this site, seeing as there are more then a few people on here I currently despise and disapprove of. But guess what, I have no friends, so here I am.
My family is breaking apart. One person is abusing another, and I keep having flashbacks to my childhood. I try to stay for the abused person, but I cannot help her. All I can do is run away, like a coward. Which is what I did today. Left the house at 6:30 am.
Went to work early, but my bike broke down, and my gps went haywire in the city I work at (about 28 miles away, so I don’t know the city at all). So there I was, 8 am, in need of directions to a bike shop. I tried asking strangers, but of course no one would stop to help me. I guess I’m not all that good at asking for help, so I can’t blame them. They looked like such annoying snobs, I could barely look at them.
I saw this homeless African American lady named…oh, what was it…Anaiah, I think. And I asked her where the nearest bike shop was. She agreed me to take me there if I bought her a muffin, and I agreed. It was an interesting experience, me, a 21 year old man dressed up in my suit and tie in the business district of a big city, following around a homeless lady in her mid 40’s eating frosted flakes for about 1 hour lugging a huge bike around.
I got a lot of stares from the white collars around me. And the only thoughts in my mind were, I feel more comfortable with this lady then I do with any of you sons of whores. I suppose it took me back to highschool, when I’d be hanging with the homeless crowd a lot. Reminded me of better days.
I learned that Anaiah was schizophrenic. She’d be walking forward, and then suddenly stop and stare at a random passerby, whispering “look at how he’s starin’ at me, like he wants to rape me”, or something like that. I caught the words “stare” and “rape” when I asked her to explain why she’d keep stopping.
After about half an hour, I could tell we were in a seedy af part of the city. So it was time to pop the big question. “Are you fucking with me?” Not that I much cared if she was leading me into some dumb “trap” where some thug friends would be lying in wait to rob me. But it was getting close to work-time, and I couldn’t afford to be too late on a Monday.
And she said something to me, this crazy homeless lady, and it struck me so hard. She told me, “I would never mislead you.” And I believed her. That’s the crazy part. I believe no one about anything. But this crazy homeless lady…I found myself actually believing her words.
Of course in the end she did mislead me, and hobbled away after she finished an ice cream that I also bought her, leaving me stranded in the middle of nowhere. But it was all good. I would have done it all over again, even if I knew how uselessly the adventure would end.
It makes me think…maybe the reason I hate my job really isn’t because of the job. Truly, the work itself doesn’t irk me much. Maybe I just dislike the bloodless people that swarm around me day by day. If the world had more crazy homeless ladies, perhaps it would be a better place.
I walked out of my job today. I don’t think it was for good. I’ll probably go back tomorrow. But I walked out, for the first time.
My boss told me to wait patiently. That’s what did it. It’s my time. I know I’m getting paid very well, but still, it’s my time and my life blood. I don’t mind using my time to do useless things. I mean I do mind, but I’ll do it. I don’t mind using my time to do small tasks. But doing nothing? That’s an insult.
I could. I could just sit in my corner, take the disrespect, and watch my life go by. But I won’t. What do I have to lose?
Very few people are still alive today, who know the sacrifices I’ve made. What I’ve lost. What I’ve done. What I’ve seen. What I’ve dreamed. And after all of that, I will have my prize. And if that prize is death, then so be it. But I will not sit quietly after all that hardship and wait for life to pass me by. I will have my prize.
My day begins with blood. The image of it is the first thing I see in my mind when I wake up. I drink some coffee.
Morning prayers. I used to say Christian verses but now it’s much more freeform. Next I count my prayer beads, remembering each sin with each bead.
My cat goes out in the morning, so I can no longer train during that time. So on normal days I meditate, write, or go to the gym. I start for work around 8:30.
On the train, I am one face among many. The people stand close to me, crammed in inches away from my face. I ignore the desire to choke out the person in front of me. But my mind wanders to all the ways in which I can kill them. I ignore the feeling, as I have been doing for so many years.
At work, I meet the security guard. I am in control of myself. I say hi, my voice cheery. But each day I size him up. I don’t want to. But it happens anyways.
At work it’s a constant struggle. Is the mask coming off? The question plays in the back of my mind even as I speak happily to my colleagues around me.
After work, I go to the gym or train on normal days. Sometimes I meet a friend–I only have a couple of those left. One of them is a continent away. The other is very close, but she and I are too different. She doesn’t see what is inside.
I come home around 8 or 9 pm, and cook dinner. I eat while watching something on television, white noise to pass the time. And then I sleep.
When I was younger, I used to believe God. I was shunned from religious organizations, of course. I didn’t hide myself so well back then. I always knew I was a bad man, but I thought that maybe I could use the bad in me to do some good. I remembered that even Pallas Athena used an Aegis in legend, and that the Aegis was not a beautiful thing but a thing of terror, an evil, monstrous thing. But it did some good and that’s what mattered.
I want to die.
I remember how it used to fall around me. When I closed my eyes, I could see your light brown irises on mine.
They sent you away. And I could do nothing, say nothing to stem the pain. When you finally fought your way back you had black highlights. I knew right then that something had changed.
I suppose we are all born with hope for the future, and love for this life and what is in it. But that’s what you lost, in those years so far away.
I look back at you, every once in a while. And each time something new comes to mind. What comes to mind today is that…perhaps my fate was sealed, the moment you put those black highlights in your hair. How could i have kept my faith, when your faith was so blatantly betrayed?
This world is an evil place, and there are no redeeming qualities, no matter what people say. Sometimes, even now, I start believing otherwise, that maybe there is something good left in this earth. I keep forgetting the first lesson I ever learnt. That life is cheap. That happiness is a fiction. That there is only death.
This morning I woke up with a couple thoughts. The first was a memory. There was a boy in highschool…I remember he would go around asking girls out. He probably asked every single available girl out. But he never had a girlfriend. I met him at a highschool reunion a few years ago, and lo and behold he was in a relationship. Found love. He was wearing a necklace, and he saw my necklace and commented “oh we believe in the same religion” (I wear a simple, small yin-yang necklace).
I asked him what the engraving on his necklace meant, and what religion he thought we both believed in, and he responded, “it says ‘Om Mani Padme Hum'”.
Being a buddhist at the time (albeit a fallen one), I asked him, “…and what religion do you think I follow?” I certainly was not part of the cult of Avalokiteshvara, whose symbol that was.
He replied with a grin. “Oh, some asian religion, I guess,” he replied. “My girlfriend gave me this necklace, and I did a little research about it and thought it was pretty cool, so I converted.”
Something strikes me now about that conversation. This guy, he wasn’t really following the cult of Avalokiteshwara (that was obvious from the get-go). But more interestingly, in a way the religious meaning of that necklace changed the moment he put it around his neck. He was paying tribute to his girlfriend with that necklace, not to Avalokiteshvara. If we claim the definition of religion to be ‘a belief in something you put your absolute faith in’ (which is a bad definition, but perhaps not as bad as it initially sounds), then really, the primary deity he worshipped was…in a sense…his girlfriend. It was a hierarchy. His girlfriend worshipped Avalokiteshwara, but he worshipped her.
I started thinking about myself, and about how the women that had been in my life had affected me. In a sense, this guy was nothing special, I decided. I idolized three of the women I dated (call them P, R, and S). These three were all similar and yet different, but yes, at the time we were together I did work my absolute best to make myself in their image, personality-wise. Each of them had something I desired. I wanted P’s desperation, I wanted R’s courage, and I wanted S’s dedication, devotion almost. Among other things, those were the main traits that stood out to me.
Among the rest of them, there were a couple that I loved (versus idolized). These two were different. I didn’t blindly follow what they said, like I did with P,R, and S. But they consumed me, like a religion does. At times, I lived and breathed for them. It’s embarrassing really, but it’s the truth.
I wonder who I am. Without the influences of any of these people, I don’t think I would have been anyone. P made me a fighter, R made me a buddhist, and S made me an academic. Before them…what was I? Just a kid with a lot of aggression and no way to channel it, I suppose.
It’s sad. It’s so, so sad. I guess I’ll never find out who I truly am. Nearly 8 years have passed since P died, and she still influences me so greatly. I will never be able to be myself.