I haven’t written anything lately because I had nothing to say that I felt like sharing. As good as I can be at seeming fine when I’m not (still not sure if this is an asset or a liability), saying that I’m not okay would be an understatement. Functional, yes, but definitely not “okay”.
Everything just seems a bit pointless and destined to end in pain. Trying to create anything. Trying to make friends. Hoping to be loved. Trying to convince myself I can be more than a useless failure. Even just doing things like reading or gaming I’ve normally enjoyed seems pointless because any real effort beyond mere survival seems too difficult to attempt or like I haven’t “earned” it. I have moments, days, sometimes even a week or more when I can get going, but then it all goes away.
I know a lot of it goes back to feeling like I don’t deserve to be loved. Or truly worthy of anything good, when you get down to it. I hate that I feel this way and that I can’t seem to get rid of it. It’s always there as an undercurrent in every moment of my existence. I wonder often what I would be like if I genuinely saw myself as worthy of happiness/love/respect/success instead of having wasted years putting on a show.
The reason I couldn’t face up to that–the truth of my self-loathing–is because I wasn’t strong enough and it likely would have killed me. So instead, I kept running around in terrified circles and trying to project an image of this cute, perfect thing other people might accept, that someone might want to take care of and make me believe I was worthy. Always doing something-or-other trying desperately to prove I had a right to exist since I doubted this myself.
Maybe accepting I don’t love myself and saying, “Okay. What now?” is proof I’ve gotten stronger. Moreover, a spark of something exists, some trace of genuine belief that I CAN be more. If it wasn’t there, I would have given up already.
I have a new personal website now (but you knew that already). I’ll be posting writing, art, and anything that comes to mind that doesn’t belong on my games site. I’ve imported some old posts and pictures; if you want to check out just the art, it’s in the gallery. The Writings page shows written stuff that isn’t general site updates. In the future, I might change it just to fiction if/when I write enough stories.
Anyway, it’s been a long time since I openly shared my thoughts anywhere but TwitterBluesky. This is my place to do that and it feels a little scary. Over time, I’ve felt myself getting more and more closed off, getting less willing to venture out, whether IRL or online, and do anything that involved interacting with strangers other than my job or other essential stuff. It’s lonely, but it’s safe and I got used to it. Because if no one can see me, no one can hurt me, either.
Right now, though, I’m questioning if the exchange is worth it. If no one can see me, no one can see me. Or hear me. Or remember me. Or care that I ever existed. On some fundamental level, I felt like those things were impossible anyway, regardless of any the evidence that something different was possible. Without getting into my whole life story, I have a history going way back of the people who claim to love me the most treating me like a thing, not a person, as if my thoughts/ideas/emotions were less worthy of respect and care than pretty much anyone else’s. When you’re raised like that, it leaves an impression whether you’re aware of it or not.
So I spent a very long time waiting for someone—someone who mattered, which meant “not me”—to choose me, love me and cherish me and make me believe, without a doubt, that I was absolutely worthy in and of myself. But I never felt I was deserving of being loved or respected, so finding someone else who could give me that just wasn’t in the cards. Not with one person; not with any attempt I made at connecting with the world in general. Something was always bound to go wrong because, deep down, I was convinced I didn’t deserve to be loved or valued in any [healthy] way and that the only “correct” input was whatever told me I was worthless.
Slowly—very slowly—I’ve been getting used to the idea that I do matter and that what I think of me is what’s most important, not what other people tell me I am or should be. Posting like this and risking rejection is part of the process. I’m also risking acceptance. That someone else might see themselves and feel less alone. That I might feel less alone and dare to believe my thoughts/ideas/emotions are actually worth sharing.
I wish it hadn’t taken this long, but better late than never.
In life, she often suffered in silence. She’d been taught her pain didn’t matter and when she dared to show it, she was often judged, ridiculed or punished. Now, she wears a permanent smile and knows only bliss.
In life, she dreamed of suicide. She longed for death so often that she simply considered it normal. Now, her flayed wrists are a testament to how she welcomed her fate.
In life, she was the outside observer—seeing much, but rarely part of anything. Now, she has no eyes that would be recognized as such, but sees far more clearly than she ever did before.
In life, she experienced loneliness and longed for acceptance and love. Now a being spoken of only in whispers who wanders depths of Hell, she has no concern for such things.
In life, she was quiet and kept to herself. People sometimes told her that she needed to speak up, that she should be more outgoing. Nobody took her seriously; even those who told her to talk only wanted her to say what they thought she should. She’s now been relieved of the burden of speech—and everybody listens.
In life, she felt powerless. Now, she has nothing to fear.
(It started as a self-portrait of sorts, but since it took on a life of its own, I decided to give her a story.)
Over nineteen years ago, I brought home an extremely cute and almost comically assertive five-month-old kitten. I’ll never forget how the little one introduced herself: she meowed for my attention and put her paw on my fingers when I reached through the cage bars. How could I say no? But I really found out what I was in for while we were in the waiting area and she saw a rather large German shepherd. This little bitty kitty girl, for whatever reason, started hissing at a creature many times her size. Luckily, the dog ignored her, but that’s pretty much who she was.
My cat Casey. She was my bossy little buddy.
I named that kitten Casey. She became my little buddy who cuddled with me, commandeered my food, watched movies with me, freely yelled at me whenever she wanted or needed literally anything, terrorized the vet, and liked to be tucked in next to me at night. Casey was endless entertainment and kept me on my toes. She was also (at least with me) the snuggliest, most fiercely loving thing you could ever hope to encounter, especially in her old age. (more…)
(Crossposted from my Games site since it fits here, too.)
About a week ago, I tried to play through Undertale’s Genocide route, a common name for killing EVERYTHING. Toriel wasn’t too bad, even though I liked her. It might be because she handled things like I expected: shock, betrayal, even a bit of bitterness. Killing the Dogi… was not fun. Mowing down a loving couple isn’t exactly my idea of a good time, especially when one is so heartbroken over losing his partner that he loses the will to fight back. The rest of the battles ranged from “Meh” to “This sucks, but I can do it. I must stay DETERMINED.” I wanted to see for myself what story secrets this path revealed; I wanted to fight that crazy-hard battle at the end of it, just to see if I could. And all I had to do to get there was keep going.
Then, I ran into a roadblock I wasn’t expecting: Papyrus. (more…)
