- Bitter Little Tony -
I am tired of onboarding people to the status of my presently awful life. Whenever someone happens to remember and “checks in” on how I’m doing, it’s the same or worse than last time. But I have to protect their experience of helping or trying to help me. It is unpleasant, isolating, and infuriating. Whenever someone randomly reaches out I have to facilitate their self paced wilderness tour of my abysmal state. Then they usually stop inquiring or responding before any significant context or information is given. I guess they’ve technically done their job of “check on your people” and I can expect to hear back some months later. To be fair, what can anyone do at this point besides send well wishes and words of encouragement? Everything they know or can think to say tends to not be helpful. This is even more true now.
Someone comes along. Maybe they can help? I hope so. I have to be accommodating and help them help me. But my case is complicated and it proves too daunting for them in the end. I’ve gotten my hopes up, did some existential level “set shifting” to steer my focus and energy to this potential collaboration. But they move on because everyone has their own lives and things going on. I get it. And I’m left there sad and disoriented.
“Hey, how’s it going over there? Need any help? Did you try this? How about that? How about this? Maybe this? Ah shucks, this sucks man. I don’t know how you’re managing through all this. Stay strong brother, I got your back though.”
…in spirit i guess?
This fire is way too big for me and too big for any 1 person to put out. So, each person kind of just moves along and leaves me to burn away in peace. I get it, I really do. No one wants to catch the blaze. But damn, it hurts.
Not to ignore the handful of folks who have tried to go out and bring more help to the cause. I appreciate it. Unfortunately, the strategy being used just didn’t go as well as I or we hoped. The fundraising hasn’t been a bridge to a sustainable future for myelf. No solutions to my problem, just a life raft to nowhere. Sailing the River Styx.
No one seems to understand the urgency of the situation. But how could they? I’m trying to protect their experience of helping me. I’m keeping the extent of my crisis to myself because I don’t want to traumatize anyone. I try to suppress my annoyance or frustration and perform cooperativeness in order to not scare off what might be a potential advocate or miracle worker. Every other day I’m trying to prevent myself from killing myself. Every other day I consider and ask myself if this week is the week I should go ahead and hang myself. I’m trying to find a way to both afford and enjoy life despite my many hindrances. I’m trying to do all this simultaneously and it’s not easy. I don’t even think it’s working.
How do you bring this up in conversation? How do you actually meet or connect with people with all that happening behind the veil of okayness? How do you either provide or dance around providing that answer when someone reaches out just to say hello and check in? No one is expecting that answer or situation to come up. No one knows how to handle or help. Even if they want to or say they will, I don’t know that for sure. Maybe they can. So I have to at least give them the chance, right? But it could be another disappointment, another dead end. Could be something I’ve tried already, something that’s ineffective or not applicable. I can’t take every person that happens along through the same troubleshoot process over and over. It’s draining.
I’ve planned and set deadlines before. I’ve rehearsed and tested the means. I’ve drafted farewell letters, informal estate plans, and burial/memorial preferences. Being a regular, well functioning person during and after all that is incredibly difficult. And the cognitive dissonance I experience in trying to pretend that’s not what’s going on is ripping me apart. I can’t sustain it anymore. I’ve run out of time and energy trying to either make or wait for change to happen. I’ve tried all that I can and have held on to hope as much as possible. It’s all gone, slipped through my fingers and scattered in the wind.
These days, at this point, I’m in this absurd situation where I feel like I am effectively asking people to pay me to stay alive. And that’s really outrageous to me. I can’t present that to people, especially not against their will. I refuse to. It seems like emotional abuse to unleash this on the unsuspecting.
If you ask me how I’m doing or feeling lately, you’re gonna have to prove you really do want to know and can handle the truth. Otherwise my dodging the question is my best attempt to shelter you from all this unpleasantness.
- I’m The Biggest Hater -
I’m tired of being here. I don’t enjoy it and it’s expensive as fuck. I’m constantly having to navigate life disappointed and annoyed.
Sometimes it’s as if I’m surrounded by amoral halfwits in positions of authority, and puppet-people who seem incapable of original ideas or critical thought, and those who feed into subjugation because at least theres comes with a couple more amenities than what others get.
It makes me increasingly more sad and anxious every time I have a new realization of the degree to which I am an outlier.
I realized this year that I’m probably too full of self loathing to ever really be happy. There’s too much broken and fucked up stuff about me. I’ve had to face and accept this multiple times in my life. Although I’ve done really well to tame the feeling, it’s still there. Fundamentally I still deeply dislike myself.
I hate having adhd. I hate having autism. I hate having anxiety. I hate that I overthink everything. I hate how sensitive I am. I could go on and on about my faults and regretful memories of being an awful person or not living up to my own ideals.
I have been busting my ass trying to be a better person, to build a better life, and ideally a better world. But when I imagine the life I want, the version of me that’s in that vision living that life is so drastically different that he’s actually just not me at all. What I want is to not be me anymore. But everywhere I go, there I am. There I am with all these flaws, misfortunes, and unrealized potential. Have I been too idealistic? Do I have too high expectations of myself? Am I the wrong person to try to accomplish lofty and nearly impossible things?
I’m done. I’m over it. I don’t care anymore. I can’t care anymore. The gas tank I once used to help me pretend to care is now empty. Maybe I should've been more judicious about using it but it’s too late for all that now. I want to be done.
Hello, Operator? Unplug me please.
If unpaid, this website’s account is scheduled to lapse December 10, 2025.
I don’t know what’s next.