J Doe

Is it possible that I choose only to remember the good things? That while looking through our old messages, I’m only remembering the good feelings I would get when talking to her? Maybe those times weren’t as good as I thought they were? Maybe they were just moments that happened, neither good or bad? Maybe she felt nothing when talking to me? We haven’t seen each other in three years. The last thing she ever said to me in person was goodbye. I have a picture of her that I look at, but it’s just a static image. It doesn’t compare to being with the person in real life. All my posts from the past month or so have been about her. It is kinda annoying. Is it possible that I can’t forget about her? Like it’s not my choice, but my body and mind physically refuse to forget about her. That can’t be the case. How would it work that I don’t have control over my own thoughts? But if I did have control, why would I feel anything that I don’t want to? Why would I ever feel sadness or despair or anxiety if I didn’t want to. I often fantasize about lying down with that one person. Being in their arms and them in mine. Burying my face in the crook of their neck. It’s something I’ve wanted for such a long time. And now when I go back to that fantasy lately, that one person is her. Just to be with her and not say a word. It would never work. She doesn’t see me that way. I think the weirdest thing about all this is that I don’t know what she has heard from me and what she has chosen to ignore. I don’t know what’s in her head. I just hope that she’s ok. I don’t know.

Addendum: I felt like writing some more. I just felt like it. I wonder if I was given a proper goodbye I would stop trying. If she properly told me that she doesn’t want me in her life anymore would I stop thinking about her? Or would I keep trying and hoping? Would I keep sending her texts asking if we could still talk. Instead she just vanished. Into thin air. Maybe I would stop, maybe I wouldn’t. All I know is that I wake up thinking about her, I spend my day thinking about her, and I go to sleep thinking about her. It is tiring. Regardless of anything, she already told me she doesn’t feel the same way. Or in her words that she isn’t in a place for a relationship right now. I wish people were honest. That if they told me straight up that they were not interested nor they ever would be, would I change? I’m tired. I feel like doing nothing. Absolutely nothing. I think it might be a combination of it all. The end of the semester, being under lock down, not being able to reach her. All of it is just so draining.

I mentioned before that I sometimes like to look through old posts I make here. I reminds me of the mindset I was in at the time. The loneliness and sadness I felt at the time. It hurts to read, but it’s also somewhat soothing. Like visiting an old friend. Whenever there are periods when she stops talking to me and even when she isn’t in those periods, I also like to do the same with our old discord messages and texts. I look back at them and I can’t help but feel insanely happy. How we used to talk and what we used to share. Even the sad parts where I would breakdown and tell her all my depressing thoughts, I can’t help but smile when I would read her responses and how she would reassure me that she is there for me. However, it also fills me with horrible sadness. How I don’t know how she is doing right now and if she is even in a safe place mentally. How I don’t know if she even sees me as a friend anymore. It makes me want to try my hardest to reach out and try and hear her voice. Just to know if she is ok. However, I told myself that I need to limit myself. I don’t want to be harassing her and be filling her texts and missed calls box, like I was doing less than two weeks ago. I need to only text and maybe call once a week. That’s actually why I bothered writing this entry. I was looking through the old messages and I wanted so bad just to text her to let her know I was here for her. But I stopped myself. I figured I should just write this instead to get rid of the impulse. I find myself not using this place just as a record for my thoughts anymore, but also as a way to control my emotions. That way I won’t make as much impulsive decisions anymore. I should also limit myself when looking at her old messages. As happy as they make me, they also make me really impulsive. I just hope she is ok. I hope I get to hear her voice again. I hope that we are still friends.

Lately I’ve only been concerned about two problems. My meaning and the fear of being useless and this whole situation with being ghosted. It’s kinda frustrating to be only concerned with two things day in and day out. The first problem is very broad and kind of vague, but it is something that occupies my mind from the moment I wake up to the moment I go to sleep. Every step of the way, I feel like this useless nothing and that nothing I do has any meaning. It’s kind of tiring really. The problem I think I have the most with all of this is that I think about suicide a lot but I know that I don’t really have the guts(?) drive(?) what ever it is to really do it. I think that about it, but it just seems like another one of my day dream delusions. The other thing that I think of if I’m not thinking about that weird existentialism problem, is about this whole situation with her. It must be very weird for her, given that I told her about this place and that she knows who I am on here. She once told me that she still reads it, but I also kind of doubt that it is very often, considering that she has her own problems that she is probably more worried about. However, on the off chance that she does come by here every now and again, it must be fucking disturbing for her to read about all the times I write about her on here. When I first told her about this place and she read some of it, she asked me if it was ok for her to be here considering some of the things I write about on here. I told her that I knew what I was showing her and that I trusted her. She was a bit surprised by that answer. Now I think that maybe she might regret that. I don’t think anyone enjoys reading about themselves, especially when it concerns this weird circumstances. But I also told myself that I wasn’t going to stop saying what was on my mind just because someone was watching. I want to keep writing whatever comes to my head. However, I would be lying if I said it hasn’t effected how I write in some form. I think that I choose my words more carefully, but I still try to get my main message across. I don’t want to appear a certain way in front of her, but I still want to have this space as a way to just empty out my head, even if the contents of my head aren’t that great to look at. Oh well, like I said, she probably doesn’t even read this place that much. Hell maybe she’s trying to completely avoid anything to do with me and never wants to be here again. It’s hard to say considering how hard it is to actually say what’s on my mind and ask the questions I really want to ask whenever I speak to her. Whenever I used to speak to her. God I miss talking to her.

I think there was never a point in which it was equal. The feeling between us. I think she wanted to care about me, but when it came down to it, I was just a stranger. I don’t blame her nor am I upset or sad. I think she meant it when she said that my support meant a lot to her. That my concern helped her. I do believe that. But when it came to me as a person, it must have been strange. This odd boy from years ago. This faceless blank voice. I wonder what I did to drive her away. What I said that made her leave. I think I put too much emphasis on our friendship. Put her too much on a pedastal. Made her feel strange. I don’t know how to act around people. I think I have a vision in my head and I get attached to that idea, but not the actual person. I don’t know if I’ve ever cared about soneone like I have about an idea before. Oh well. Maybe I’ll hear from her again, maybe not. Who knows? Sure as shit ain’t me. I don’t know a damn thing. That’s where all my problems lie. I don’t know anything.

I contacted my ghost again. Just to let her know that I am here for her and that nothing will change. I felt like telling that subreddit where I asked for advice that I did this. They all told me to stay away before. But I felt like explaining why I did what I did. I didn’t need to tell them anything, but I just felt like saying that I thought about it and I didn’t want to follow their advice and that I wanted to text her once a week to let her know that I was here. I wanted to say that it was ultimately my choice and that it’s ok if she never speaks to me again and that I just wanted to know that I was trying to be there for her and putting in an effort. I text her as a way to say thank you for all the good she did me. That I don’t want to forget the good and simply forget her and move on. This is kind of a way to visit something that’s gone, but you want to tell yourself that you still remember. I don’t want to forget her. Maybe that means I will never completely heal from being let go, but I’d rather not heal than forget about her. They simply said that I was being stupid and to just leave her alone and that I’m just looking for attention. That I was looking for this weird rush about maybe being talked to again. That I was trying to light a fire where there wasn’t any. They probably weren’t as angry as I imagined they were. After all they are strangers on the internet. They probably felt mild annoyance about having their advice ignored, but that was all. They probably already forgot. It’s fine. I’m ok with people thinking I’m stupid and hopeless. I’d rather stick to it. Here is another song.

I haven’t had my first therapy session yet. It’s next Wednesday. I scheduled it this past week. However, at this point in time, I feel like no amount of therapy will help. No amount of medication will help. I just feel that I’m fundamentally wrong. I feel that suicide for me isn’t a matter of being unhappy or having my back against the wall. It’s just a simple means of escape. It’s a route to take because I feel like I serve no purpose. I know there are ways to remedy this besides suicide. Ways to improve myself and become something. There are dozens of different solutions. It’s not a matter of me having no way out but suicide. I just feel like I’m nothing and so that I should just stop existing. It’s like I need someone to tell me that I have permission to exist. That my purpose and my existence means something. I don’t know. I’ve been listening to this song on repeat. It’s from the pillows who did Fooly Cooly. I remember watching it in middle school and high school and it would always cheer me up for some reason. Like it told me it was ok that nothing made sense. I watched it again yesterday. I doesn’t exactly do the same thing it did for me back then, but it was still enjoyable.

I don’t remember when I found this place. I was in highschool and feeling like shit and just sad, and somehow I wound up here. Over the years I come here on and off and on and off again. Just depends on how I’m feeling. I think my initial reasons for using this place was to vent and find some sort of help. I found out some what later that this isn’t really the place for that. This is more like a journal for me to put my thoughts down on. I’ve often described this place as a hole in which people just dump out all they have in their head. I just do this to write down what is in my head. It becomes a bit full so I have to tump some stuff out. Then sometimes I come back to try and remember where I was when I wrote this. What my head looked like at that point in time. Thoughts of suicide have been coming up again. More frequently now. I can’t even remember the last time I felt like this, because you don’t remember the feeling until you feel it. So those waves come and you know when you’re at the rise of the wave, but if you try to think about the last time you were there, you can’t. Anyways, I feel like I don’t have anything to offer. That feeling of suicide has always been just a way to run away. To try and run and hide. It’s not done out of sadness or anger, but just out of a feeling of needing to get away. I don’t think I’ve ever felt passion. About anything. I’m at this point in my life where I have to make these big decisions and working towards these big goals, but I don’t know or feel about anything in particular in any way. They say it is ok if you don’t know what you want to do. But at the same time, they expect you to be working towards this big important thing. They expect you to be heading in some direction. Any direction. Be it something big and important or becoming just another cog, you’re supposed to find your place and try to fit to it. But I feel nothing towards anything. No passion. No desire. Nothing. I do feel something though. The fear of failing. The fear of falling. Down and down and down. But yet I do nothing about it. Fear keeps me up at night, but not working. If that makes sense. I think my problem is that I have no use. No purpose. Like a broken tool. There is no point. So just chuck it then. If it serves no purpose, then just chuck it. I’ve been going to reddit a lot to find some sort of help on how to deal with being ghosted. I have no friends, so I have no one to talk about this sort of thing. All the answers typically involve just leaving her alone. The few answers I got here said more or less the same thing. So far I’ve kept away. Thinking about it, that was one of the few things I cared about, but maybe not for the right reasons. Trying to fill some void, but that’s not the way to fill it. I enjoy the idea of being with someone, but don’t really like anyone. Except one person, but maybe it’s all in my head. I don’t know. I think I’m done emptying my head at this exact point in time. I’ll be back. Don’t know when or why, but I know I will.

My mother was cleaning out a bookshelf today to put in my brother’s room. One of the books I saw lying around was my sophmore yearbook from highschool. I couldn’t help but take a small look at it. Flip through the pages a bit. They were all strangers. People who seemed vaguely familiar yet looked like every other person I’d see walking down the street. A few faces seemed recognizable, but I can’t say I could put a personality or voice to the face. They were just blank sets. Then I saw my picture. What a nobody. A no one. Just a know-nothing that will never accomplish anything. Funnily enough that would be the last yearbook photo I’d ever take. I realized that I wasn’t required to take them, so I just didn’t show up for picture day on my Junior year, and didn’t pay the fee for my senior year. I liked being a ghost. A hollow nothing that no one will remember. It was just odd seeing it again. It’s weird to think that any of these somewhat recognizable faces are complete and utter strangers to me now. For all I know, they could be dead. Of course I couldn’t help myself but take a brief look at her picture. She looks the same from when she sent me a photo of herself a few months ago. I guess I don’t look any different either. I can grow facial hair now, so I guess there is that. After closing it, I felt the strong need to just chuck the thing, but I knew my mom would get pissy. She got pissy when she found out I didn’t bother taking anymore yearbook photos, so throwing out my last one would probably make her more upset. Oh well. She can have it. It’s not like I’ll ever look at it.

I think the worst thing about being ghosted is that there isn’t really anything to do about it. It just is what it is. Deep down I hope for another shot just to hear her voice, but I’m pretty sure I’ve run out of shots. It’s funny that 70% of that friendship was so stressful thinking about what she was doing and hoping she was ok and wondering why she wasn’t picking up my calls and wondering if I said anything wrong. But for that sweet 30%, it was just nice to hear her voice. To know that she was there. Neither of us were particularly good at being comforting or supportive. How could we? We both had our own anxiety and problems. Her problems were a lot larger than mine. That’s why I tried to be so patient. Oh well. It’s been a little over three days since I’ve last tried to contact her. I left the door open so she can come back, but if she wanted to, she would have picked up or texted back all those times. I think this is the final one. Funny thing is I wanted to see her in person so bad. To just see her. I would have liked to spend her birthday with her, and try to make her happy on that day. I guess high school graduation was really the last time I would ever see her. I scheduled a therapy appointment for the 22nd. I think learning I had atychiphobia was that missing puzzle piece. Now I know what I can focus on. The place I know where to chip away at. Not the vagueness of depression or anxiety. But a concrete fear to look into.

I’ve always wanted a tattoo. I like the art and design behind it. The fact that a person commits a part of themselves to a specific design is really cool to me. I have a few ideas already. I like geometric shapes. Weird illusion designs are neat, but I don’t really like them when they are plain black ink. I want it to be more colorful, to make it pop. I saved a tattoo that looked really cool, but it made it seem like the skin was kind of rolling back through blocky shapes. Like you were looking inside of a person, and inside there was this cool spiral pillar. Can’t find the picture online, but I have it on my phone. The thing I don’t like about it is that it’s black and white. I’d like it to be colorful, but not uniformly. More like splash art. Another idea I’ve been thinking about recently is like a cluster of eyes on my shoulder. I like tattoos that embody an abstract idea. I want a tattoo that embodies fear and paranoia. Having a cluster of eyes all looking in different directions, all looking afraid and frantic, would be really cool. None of them would be looking straight. All of them will be looking out the corners of the eyes. One that seems cool is just a body floating from an above perspective. Out in the middle of the ocean. That idea is a bit more hard though. The concept of loneliness is what I’d like to convey with that idea, but that only works if the ocean is vast and wide and empty. Yet I want to see their face up close. That idea would probably work better as an animation or painting. There is also the semicolon. I’ve never tried to commit suicide, but I think about it a lot. Although, tons of people have them, so I don’t know. Anyways, I just wanted to talk about my ideas. Probably look at this again for future reference, if I ever forget them.

I learned recently that I have atychiphobia. At least I think I do. It makes sense. Although a part of me just thinks I’m lazy. And when it comes time to produce, I panic and get scared. My left side hurts. It’s like a throbbing pain. Oh well. I’m back home. University basically shut down so I had to leave. Oh well. Better than being in a dirty apartment. Also food. I haven’t heard anything from her in like two weeks. I text and call everyday. It probably comes off as desperate and pathetic. It is desperate and pathetic. I think I rationalize it by saying that I’m checking up on her and that I’m afraid for her. Really I’m just really sad and lonely. She said she felt sick last time I talked to her, so that’s where a lot of the paranoia comes from what with everything going on. It’s crazy to think that someone in your life can just up and die and you would have no real way of knowing. I think she’s fine. I hope she’s fine. I have an essay due on Friday. Haven’t started. Haven’t even read my articles I picked out for it. I’m just procrastinating. Sometimes I go back and read old posts I write. To try and remember where I was at when I wrote those things. Sometimes they come off as cringy and sad. Other times it’s just nonsense. I feel like sleeping and not waking up. I feel like that a lot. I don’t know. Just writing down these little rambling nothings down.

I need to learn to control my impulse. I used to just shove it down and run away. I’m sure it was out of fear more than anything. It’s been about two days. I check just to see and that’s all. I spend my time thinking and analyzing and worrying and calculating. But that get’s thrown out the window when I have an impulse. I have very little selfcontrol. I find myself at a standstill. I ran and that didn’t work and I gave into my impulse and that didn’t work. A tiny part of me wonders if things would have turned out differently if I kept running. Would it all be a hazy dream by now. A small part of me resents when I was put back to square one. And a large part of me hates that resentment. I’m waiting now. To see where the chips fall. Hopefully my impulses stay in check long enough to see.

I think I’ll start posting consistently again for a bit. I just feel like everything is leaking out, so I might as well vomit it into this cesspit. It’s kind of sad. Coming here for sympathy when most of the people here are in abusive relationships, addicts, cutters, etc. My problems are relatively small compared to all that. Anyways, I’ve always have my headphones on. Not the small ones that go into your ear. I’m talking about the big over-ear ones. With big squishy cups for the ears. I just feel comfortable with them on. Not even when I’m listening to anything. Right now I’m completely alone in my apartment and have no reason to have them on, but I just feel at ease with them on. I do this when I’m at school. I do this at home. I do this when I’m trying to fall asleep. I just feel comfortable with them on. I don’t know why. It just feels nice. I’m trying to keep myself occupied. I’m trying not to think about it. I just need to refocus. All these little problems. They always seem so small. And so big. Spring break got extended a week and now all my classes are online for the rest of the semester. Wonder how that will work. I think I’m going back home again. I was there just a few days ago, but being alone in this apartment seems somehow more miserable. Yet I still feel it when I’m at home too. I don’t think I can be satisfied regardless of where I am. At least at home I’ll be away from this disgusting apartment. The tub isn’t filled with gross dirt at the bottom and the floor boards aren’t caked with dirt and grime. I try to occupy my mind, but I still don’t know how it’s going to go. Either way, I don’t know what I’m doing. BTW watch Beastars on Netflix. It’s really good, if you like that cheesy drama crap. I feel bad for the Wolf Kid. Just wants to be left alone, but people keep giving him shit. He also doesn’t know how to compartmentalize his feelings and doesn’t know how to process his romantic emotions. Reading the manga now. Hope life gets better for him. It has to get better for someone.

I have no idea how to do this. I have no friends. I have no one to talk to. The one person I try to go to has a hard time with consistent communication. It’s not her fault. Her problems are much bigger than mine. She might be reading this. Hard to say. I’m probably making too much of a big deal. Either way, I have no idea how to process my thoughts. I have no idea how to properly analyze them. I have no idea how to simply be ok with myself. I have no idea how to improve. So if I can’t stay still and I can’t move forward, where do I go? How do I stop?

I have no friends to talk to about this, so I might as well post here. Sometimes I browse r/relationships out of curiosity, and everytime it renews my fear of people. It’s constantly filled with people who have no idea how to deal with their relationships and their own mental health and the health of their partner. It makes me realize that nobody has no real idea of what they are doing and that you really can’t tell what’s going on in people’s heads. People are these bizarre unpredictable creatures that act out of impulse 50% of the time and overthink things the other 50%. Shit terrifies me. Reminds me that I have no chance in a relationship.

I feel like it’s all in my head. All of it. Like the stuff that I was certain of seems like it wasn’t really real. Like it was all a delusion. I guess I’m pretty delusional. I’m still here though. Don’t know why. Just am.

I have a problem. I think I refuse to learn. I think I keep doing it and keep getting disappointed and then keep doing it and then keep getting disapointed. I refuse to stop. I don’t know why. I should know better now. I don’t want to blame them. I know it’s hard. I keep calling but I know I shouldn’t. It’s pretty pathetic. Why sm I even here. No one is listening. It’s a void where nothing exists. Yet I keep coming back here. Because I never learn.

GI JOE. Yeah it’s a pun. I don’t know why I felt like starting it that way. I’m still talking to her. At least I’m trying to. I know I said I have to accept that she doesn’t want to hear from me last post, but I’m really stubborn. I can’t really get that concept through my head. She was just in a bad place. Actually when I don’t hear from her from long periods of time she’s in a bad place. I know she’s trying her best. She has her problems. I don’t want to get into it because it’s not my place. But she has health issues that make it so she shuts people out. I don’t think she’s misleading me. Sometimes I don’t think that. Other times I think she’s too nice to hurt my feelings and really just wants me to stop talking to her. She can’t say it to my face. Or text that. We are a country apart. I haven’t seen her physically for almost 3 years. I keep asking if we can meet up when we are both back home at the same time. She keeps saying yes, but things keep happening. When she’s there, I’m not. When I’m there, she’s not. It’s been a week and a half since I’ve heard from her. It’s not that long in retrospect, but I think I have an issue with being clingy. I’ve apologized for that, but she says I’m not being clingy. Again it’s hard to tell if she’s telling the truth. I feel bad for doubting her. I know I keep telling her I’ll always be there for her and that I know things are hard for her. But when I just stop hearing from her from all of a sudden for weeks at a time, it gets hard. Yet I’m stubborn. I keep trying to text and call. I keep thinking about her. I keep hoping and begging the world that she responds and I hear her voice again. I’ve decided to tell her about my feelings. I keep telling myself that I should just stop overthinking it and just do it. But I want to do it to her face. I want to look her in the eye and say it. I don’t want to do it through text or phone call. I don’t want to give myself the option of running away. I want to stand my ground and say it. And I want to hear with my own ears and see with my own eyes when she says she doesn’t feel the same. I just hope me telling her doesn’t make things harder for her and that we end up not being friends anymore.

I think I just have to accept that she doesn’t want to talk to me. I think I have to accept that she just doesn’t want anything to do with me. As much as I try and reach out, I think I’m only making things worse. I just have to accept it. I don’t know how, but I just have to. On the extremely small chance you’re reading this, I’m sorry. Sorry if I screwed up.

I have no idea what is proper social etiquette. I have no idea how to have meaningful interpersonal relationships. I have no idea why I want to have relationships with people. I have no idea how to properly control myself when it comes to trying to be friends with someone. I have no idea how to properly communicate what is in my head. I have no idea why I’m tearing up right now. I have no idea why I haven’t been able to cry for the past few weeks, except now. I do know somethings though. I know that just keeping quiet hasn’t done anything for me. I know that everything I do is out of fear. I know I am afraid that I will amount to nothing. I know this fear drives me to keep going on with my studies even though I have no true motivation or passion for my field. I know that I am terrified of being alone. I know that this is what drives me to try so hard and be friends with her. I know that talking to her and properly expressing what’s in my head won’t really fix anything. I know that I’m scared. I know that everyone my age has had at least some experience with everything I have never had experience with. I know that I’m likely to die alone. I know that I’m likely to keep trying and trying and failing and failing. I know that no matter how hard I try, how hopelessly, desperately hard I try, I will never be truly happy. This is what I know and what I don’t know.