Into the Abyss

“You must be like me; you must suffer in rhythm.”
― Jean-Paul Sartre, Nausea

Lately I've been channelling my obsession into something else by becoming obsessed with why I am obsessed...lol I know sounds mad. I've been reading a lot about my own mental affliction and nonstop checking this subreddit community of the damaged ones - it does help tho as I feel less alone in this battle. Then I realized that even before I've discovered that I have this horrible horrible pet demon, I've been already obsessed with reading about the dark aspects of human condition and the unsettling truths of the nature of our existence. I'm obsessed with words and the art that come from darkness and despair. I remember my friend used to tell me to be careful of what I put in my head as those things can shape the way I see myself and the world. But what if subconsciously I just like all of this? There's pleasure in pain.

“stare into the abyss and the abyss stares back at you”.

A few months ago, I got a hold of this book called "Nausea" by Sarte which literallly made me feel nauseous. It was like reading myself as the main character points out all the negativity and the meaningless of life in this world even ruminating about the pointless little objects along the way that don't have a clue lol. Omg I haven't read such a dark book in my entire life and I don't even advise reading this shit while drinking wine or listening to Joy Division. If you are emotionally unstable, avoid this book at all cost.

Oh how I wish I can just channel all these intense emotions into something else and be actually good at something. Then I can justify my madness by being a freaking genius. I wish I can draw or paint and I bet I can pour all my dark thoughts into art and be like Van Gogh or something. I wish I can write all these crazy dreams that don't make any sense and be like Kafka or something. I wish I can invent something that is so useful and so good that making friends with pigeons would be such a cool thing just like Tesla. Or be like Mozart or something. But you know, I don't have anything 40+ years later. I still get obsessed with a human and I don't know what to do with it - maybe I'll just blog about them? All I know is that due to my afflictions I can do all sorts of wild things to alleviate this chronic emptiness and boredom like travel impulsively and live dangerously. Oh yeah, maybe that is really what I'm good at. Or maybe I'll just write without a care and not be so hypersensitive to criticisms. And just write down all these crazy things going on inside my brain like a mad stream of consciousness.

Fixating on someone who is toxic, emotionally unavailable is some kind of self-harm - another thing that I'm so good at. You know, punishing myself. Gotta stay consistent with the dark pattern huh. Mind you, I'm still a functioning adult, I think, with a good job, stable finances, a stable pet (not sure tho), nice aesthetics. Because fuck, if I'm gonna be unhinged then at least I have some redeeming qualities and still be visually appealing out there. I'll put on my mask and pretend to be normal until someone triggers me oh so badly. As diabolical as it may sound, people forgive and still get past my madness, until they don't. And sadly though, when they've gotten all that they want from me, they'll realized finally that I'm a deeply damaged human being reeking of self-hatred.

In the end, all I wanted is to love and be loved but my borderline brain says I don't deserve that care and attention from "mentally healthy" peeps out there. They are just, I don't know, so fucking bland and boring? So surface level. They haven't experienced severe trauma and don't possess the wisdom that comes from the darkest of human experiences. So I ignore everyone else because there's this dopamine high that I get when the equally damaged person finally gives me attention. It is toxic and all fucked up and yet too good to pass up. Oh Gawd I'm twisted. Diabolical AF.

I'm drowning in confusion. It is exhausting trying to change, improve myself, and all that self-help shit all to suit the expectations of the neurotypicals... maybe I'll just accept my darkness, my uniqueness, which is fine for as long as I'm not hurtful to animals especially cats (I'm good). And then just wait for that lost soul to finally come into my life, someone who also thrives in the darkness... and then we will live depressingly ever after in my future doom bunker.

If I come to think of it, have I been just like everyone else, then I would not have done all these great things in my life. And these people, have they actually graduated top of the class and earned scholarships, read all these books, or travelled to the remote corners of the world, drank the best wine, scuba dived with hammerheads, maintained a good body, saved some money, bought a tiny plot, promoted in their jobs within a year, and all that shit that I've done in this lifetime (and more to come for as long as I haven't given up on breathing...) I just can't have it all can I? So fucking unfair. And yet these people who come, and go, and judge me for being oh so deeply flawed are the supposedly "mentally healthy", so fuck me. Have some personality.

Yeah have some personality - Diablo