No.3 # 12/5/24
Once again I am being told to go to therapy by people. My family, my friends. But I don't want to. I just doubt a therapist could ever help me. Plus, I don't trust them. What's the point of therapy when being honest gets you locked up in a ward? No, thanks. Therapy is only useful to those who have "normal" issues in their life. As soon as you talk about anything beyond "I'm a little sad/anxious :(" suddenly you're being intercepted. You aren't allowed to make a decision for yourself. Obviously this complete stranger should be able to have bodily authority over you. What a joke.
I detest psychology in general. It's all bogus. Shoving people into a small categories as if any of it is accurate. Blaming THEM for their symptoms instead of the world around them. I wasn't born fucked up. The people around me, the way this world is built with its unnatural society and economy and shit is what fucked me up. But I'M the issue that needs fixing. I'm the one that needs to shill out hundreds of dollars for pills to make myself docile. In fact, perhaps that is the point. It makes money. Why fix the shitty state of affairs if it drives people to spend money on therapy and drugs? Look at us. Homeless people, drug addiction, those who cannot afford dinner while others buy their tenth sports car. Can you call this a fair, healthy, natural world? No. It is unnatural to its core. That is why so many people are mentally ill. We are going against nature.
Anyways, I'm not going to therapy. Fuck that.
Until next time. Thanks.
No.2 # 11/29/24
Today, I was reminded of something. It's how delusions are treated.
People with schizophrenia, or any sort of psychotic mental illness, are treated one of two ways. Either they are feared as crazy psychos, or they are laughed at. Which one you get labeled depends on so-and-so factors. For one, your general emotional reaction to things. Abrasive reactions will usually get you called the former. But I find what determines this above all else is what your delusions are centered on.
It's a subject that hits close to home. For about...2 years, I suffered heavily from psychotic symptoms, heavily relating to a specific subject. I won't be explicit for several reasons, but all that is important to know is that it was a very benign and silly thing to be hyperfixated on. To any outsider, my outbursts, my panic, my anger, my screaming, all seemed wildly disconnected from what I was talking about. Because it was such a silly, innocent thing. And it looked funny to outsiders. It looked funny to me, too. I knew that it looked ridiculous. But that didn't mean my feelings weren't genuine.
I didn't mind it back then. I was "in on it". My blow ups looked funny, I knew that, so I played along into the joke, because even I found it funny. Looking back, it really wasn't funny at all. I was in actual distress. I knew back then I was in actual distress. Everyone just played along, though. They made fun of me, or thought I was just being quirky and funny on purpose. Or, worse, my distress couldn't have been THAT bad because who gets this panicked over something so small and silly?
It's why it took as long as it did for me to come back to Reality. I didn't want to admit it wasn't some harmless joke. I was embarrassed. How could I have been consistently crazy for 2 years over something so stupid? It was laughable, literally. I didn't want to admit that something so stupid-looking hurt me so badly. My friends laughing along normalized it. They even purposefully "triggered" me by bringing up the subject, or things related to it, to prod a hysterical reaction out of me. I laughed at the time. They did, too. Maybe I can't blame them since I played along. And because I didn't genuinely see an issue with it then. But of course I didn't! I was fucked up!
I'm fucking pissed, honestly. I know it's not their faults for not being able to read my mind...but shouldn't anybody have been able to tell that screaming in rage, nearly passing out or crying because of something so stupid is not normal? Shouldn't they have tried to reach out to me? What's even the fucking point of having friends if they don't do shit for you.
I'm tired. Maybe I'm misremembering things. My memory is awful anyways. I can't remember anything anymore.
Sometimes I think I don't want to have anybody in my life at all.
Until next time. Thanks.
No.1 # 11/23/24
I'm no good with HTML so forgive the bland layout. I doubt this will be read by many people anyway. Anyways, this is a journal. The website name simply comes from the first pet I ever kept. I didn't have anything better to call this site.
I guess it's only fair to say a little about myself. That's the whole purpose of a journal. I'm not used to talking about myself, and I don't like to either. So this may get worded weirdly. I've never been good with my words to begin with. You can just call me "N". I am an adult. I've been to therapy several times before, but it's never done anything for me. I've been in and out of the hospital for quite some time now. Almost a decade here soon. Both for mental and physical health. I've been going since I was a child.
I think high school is a hard time for any kid. Horomones, emotions, whatever. It was hard for me, too. I was already depressed, but in that short span of time, I had my sexual integrity violated, a threat placed upon my school that kept us shoved in a closet for hours, and was diagnosed with a non-lethal but debilitating life-long disease. I tried to kill myself many times during this period of time. Obviously, it never worked. How else would I be here?
I wouldn't say I'm unhappy. I'm actually quite glad I never died. I have found a lot to live for. But sometimes I have days where I want it to all stop. Everyone does. Especially when you're barely human.
Yes, let's touch on that. My blog title. It was not chosen at random unlike my URL. And it was not to be edgy. I don't think I am human.
I have been called delusional/scizophrenic/psychotic by many people, and I don't even disagree. I probably am. But why is that so bad? I'm not hurting anyone. What makes my beliefs crazier than somebody who is Christian? Or Jewish? Is it simply because their Gods - their delusions - are widely accepted? If someone thought God was a purple unicorn...how is that any different than believing he is some man in the sky? How is beliving you have a soul or in reincarnation different than me believing I am not a human?
I am not attempting to claim I am not biologically human. I am, that is a fact. I was born human. But I am simply mentally not human. I do not feel like a human. I was never meant to be human. My family has done nothing but love and care for me, the most supportive people in the world, yet I feel like I am a stranger around them. I feel like I am no better than an animal. We are not of the same species. I am not lesser, I am not better. I am just different. I am just not human.
Someone once told me I probably feel this way because I may be autistic, or I may be a sociopath. I do not feel guilt or empathy, after all. I still love, I still try to do good, but it is all a numbers game realistically. Friendships are meant to come and go and fulfill something in your life. They are replacable with other people. That's normal. Why else are you friends with people? It is because they provide you something. Outlook, entertainment, service. Something. Why do you keep a pet? Because they are cute. Because you love them. You love them because they are cute. And then they die, and then you get a new one, and you don't miss the old one anymore. Same thing.
That sounds cold-hearted, I know. But I love my friends and family. I would lay down my life for them. I cannot feel for them, or feel bad for hurting them, but I still love them how I love my toys, or my pets. I do not want them to get hurt. I do not want to lose them. I like having them around...
I think I am getting off topic. Point is: even if my feelings of being non-human are caused by some psychological defect, what does it matter? It doesn't change how I feel. Identifying a broken leg as just that doesn't make the pain go away. It's still broken. It still hurts. Calling this by a name doesn't take away from what it is. There's no "science" to fixing it. I feel the majority of psychology is a sham. It's such a weak understanding of people's brains. It serves to "other" the defects. Identify what makes them incompatible cogs with society, and then "fix" them so they can go make money for the big CEO.
Despite saying that, I am not willing to suffer for honor. I will gladly close my eyes cover my ears and sing "la la la" if it makes life easier. I don't care. I already take SSRIs, and they do help with my depression. Even if I think it's a dumb, woeful fix. I am only depressed because society is unnatural. It hates someone like me, someone who is ill physically and mentally. Someone who does not feel and think like most people. Who isn't depressed in today's world? Having to work several jobs just to put food on the table. Medication only serves to pacify us so we can continue working this meaningless game of obtaining paper with made-up worth to make the world go round. But it's impossible to break down society itself, so the only way to stop the pain is to submit to taking drugs that dull your senses. So, I take my pills.
I wonder, if someone is reading this, what do you think of me? Do you read all that I have said and envision me as somebody who just "hasn't found the right help"? As some monster or wacko? Or do you understand what I'm saying? I think online, it's easy to lose sight of people. All you see of me are the words I type. You don't even know me. You don't know I love going out with my family, or that I collect toys, or that I draw, paint, carve wood, and build. You don't know I love puzzle games and taking care of animals. That I have a job I go to, that I make money, that I hang out with friends to watch anime every Saturday. I live a perfectly normal life. But when you read my words, you must think I'm someone who never leaves my house. Too ill to live.
That's what I mean by "othering". People don't like to acknowledge that the ones who feel no guilt, no empathy, who wish to commit crimes, who see themselves as not human, who have done some terrible things - people like me - are just everyday people. People with friends, hobbies, jobs, goals. People who feel happiness and sadness. It's easier to think those crazy evil bastards aren't even human. They're not like us. And maybe that's why I feel the way I do. Because I'm apparently too broken to be a human. So maybe I just am not one at all.
Long first post...but all introductions are sort of long, I think. I don't really know how to do this whole website design thing, so my enteries will probably be one long page.
Until next time. Thanks.