I bought a car 19 years ago. The thing is still running, barely. It ran well when I first bought it. There where a few things here and there that I didn't like, some things that I did. That is with any car though, you are never going to get it perfect, even if you spend the time and effort to shape it through mechanics to your idea of perfect. no matter what it falls short. After a while, the car started to get problems. I fixed them as they popped up, but a new problem would emerge as soon as I fixed the last one. now, it can barely drive the speed limit on most streets, if I am lucky, in attempting to drive the limit, the car won't break down. At the speed and congestion traffic are these days, I don't think the car can keep going to keep up with this busy world. I am thinking I am going to scrap it. I could leave it in my garage to collect dust, I would like that. I have some good memories of this car, but I don't think I can find space and time to keep it around, even the effort might not be worth having the clunker around for a few more moments on the road with it.
I'm not sure if it is time for that car yet though. When she is driving, she has some power underneath that hood. Sometimes, she can take me on rides where I think it might be worth keeping around. As nice as those thoughts are, I know it is near the cars end, I know keeping it around and running is not going to be worth it. yeah, she can still put the gas down, but only where it doesn't count. I used to be able to keep up with this world when things where slower, but now I don't think that I can keep up with the paces of modern days. Should I scrap the car, or putter down the road, watching every car once driving alongside disappear into the distance?
Two nights ago I had a bad meltdown. There has been a lot of rising tension over the past few months that snapped violently in this outburst. A release of energy equal to the tension set on the cable at the point of tensile failure. I resist these breakdowns, I can control them and keep them at bay, but for only as long as I can before I snap with the sum of the energy of all the other times I stopped it from happening. The more I fight, the stronger the breakdowns become when they take over. My meltdowns have changed over my years. Growing to suite my needs to decompress at the highest efficiencies. the past few year, self harm is the way I do such. The split in personality between who I am now, and deep into a meltdown is durastic. It is still me doing everything, but it almost feels like a different person. I have grown separate from this expression as I developed better ways to tell my story, but there is something inside telling me to talk about myself in the third person. the he, is me during a meltdown. Maybe it is more comforting to talk about my problems as if it is not me, but someone else destroying my life, but it doesn't matter the reasons. It is still me. He finds a sadistic pleasure in hurting me. I can't describe nor imagine a greater pleasure in partaking in such acts. A pleasure proportional to the damage done. Damage to my body is not out of the question. I partake in such pleasure myself. My body painted with scars telling the story of pain, and damaging obsessions. scabs and cuts only go so deep, pain itself being a limitation to the amount of it he can bring upon to me. a cut only goes so deep, the scars will heal in time. Brain damage, not so much. A hard wall can do considerable amounts more damage than a razor over time. I wonder how much damage I have done over the years, It doesn't really matter though. Brain damage is bad, not bad enough.
The thing is, he has an agenda. Despite the pain he brings to me, to us. In the end, he wants it to go away. Physical damage can not achieve that purpose. In order for the pain to end, there is only one way. To attack the mechanism in which one experiences pain, consciousness. I cling onto life, as biology has preprogramed into me throughout Millennia of rooting out imperfections. I cling on with the promise of happiness in short term. Skiing, biking, and the playground of my mind. That is where he knows he can do as much damage with as little effort to achieve his goals. Destroy everything I love, everything that brings me happiness, then, I will have no choice but to listen to his will and wishes.
$800 dollars worth of damages, and hours upon hours of writing and art destroyed within a night. After done, he lied down in his bed and fell asleep knowing that a message had been sent. I guess I am lucky (or not) that one of my skis where with my cousin away from harm.
He is me. I destroyed what I loved, because I want to take away what is left in my life that is good, so I will garner the will to kill myself.
Despite, yesterday I fought back. I did stuff instead of succumbing to the wishes of my abuser. I hanged out with my cousin, met his friend for the first time, made them laugh at a joke. I did good, I did do good.
Does one good drive negate the previous, overwhelming problems in the car?
I don't know about this whole thing. I woke up in a relatively good mood, especially taking into account what happened the previous night. The realities of the damage done is starting to kick in, and I feel like **** over it. It is so big, so much of my life has just been wiped out.
I knew that day was going to happen, I have been so scared of it for the last few months and it happened in exactly all the ways I was scared it was going to happen under no coincidence. Im dealing with the aftermath and it doesn't look good.
depression isn't what it used to be. It has actually has gotten better, well... by getting worse. There used to be this fight amongst myself. Two apposing sides fighting for control, each wanting one thing, to live or to die. The battle tore me apart, to the point in which I didn't care which one won, I just wanted it to stop. One day, I tried at repairing damages done, the next day, dealing more damage. These cycles where daily, each side convinced they where the right one. My lowest point in that stage of my life where depression took on that medium where the hardest of my days. it's over. One side has won.
I am afraid to care, I am afraid to be hopeful about the future, I am afraid of re starting that war. A slow and inevitable willfull stumble towards my own self inflicted death is a better state of mind then that brutal fight with me caught in the cross fire.
have I given up? if you word it that way, then yes. Yes I have given up. That is only one way of looking at things. Only one question you can ask to dig into the underlying emotions and reasons, a singular outlook on a lifelong complicated struggle. yes... I am giving up. Im laying down my arms after a lifelong battle where no side is winning. Im laying down my arms to spare myself of a war that would last decades longer. Im laying down my arms to stop a war that causes harm to everything it touches. A war where every bullet, every shell, every bomb that hits its target, also hits me.
It has been a long, hard battle. I have fought and fought and fought. Is there shame in drawing the line for how long this battle goes on? No.
Time will pass. I don't know when, but soon. I don't cry anymore, the feelings hurt to the point of agony, but I lay still and take it. everything is weird and different these days.
I remember when this was just a song from minecraft, and not the best description of my emotions. Weird how music does that. Through sound frequencies played just loud enough and with the right rhythm, can tell a story that no words can tell. A story of pure emotion, developing well beyond what can be described as just sad or happy, but deeply #deep, much more lifelike to how emotions work in real life.
believe me when I say there was no lack of autistic 12 year old kids in minecraft before it was popular, I was one of them
I have some good memories from that game. I look back on those times with deep nostalgia (hey, 19 year old are allowed nostalgia too) I look back and I see happiness, despite that time being the first time I was hospitalized.
Maybe I am happy, but I am not paying attention.
I'm not sure if it is time for that car yet though. When she is driving, she has some power underneath that hood. Sometimes, she can take me on rides where I think it might be worth keeping around. As nice as those thoughts are, I know it is near the cars end, I know keeping it around and running is not going to be worth it. yeah, she can still put the gas down, but only where it doesn't count. I used to be able to keep up with this world when things where slower, but now I don't think that I can keep up with the paces of modern days. Should I scrap the car, or putter down the road, watching every car once driving alongside disappear into the distance?
Two nights ago I had a bad meltdown. There has been a lot of rising tension over the past few months that snapped violently in this outburst. A release of energy equal to the tension set on the cable at the point of tensile failure. I resist these breakdowns, I can control them and keep them at bay, but for only as long as I can before I snap with the sum of the energy of all the other times I stopped it from happening. The more I fight, the stronger the breakdowns become when they take over. My meltdowns have changed over my years. Growing to suite my needs to decompress at the highest efficiencies. the past few year, self harm is the way I do such. The split in personality between who I am now, and deep into a meltdown is durastic. It is still me doing everything, but it almost feels like a different person. I have grown separate from this expression as I developed better ways to tell my story, but there is something inside telling me to talk about myself in the third person. the he, is me during a meltdown. Maybe it is more comforting to talk about my problems as if it is not me, but someone else destroying my life, but it doesn't matter the reasons. It is still me. He finds a sadistic pleasure in hurting me. I can't describe nor imagine a greater pleasure in partaking in such acts. A pleasure proportional to the damage done. Damage to my body is not out of the question. I partake in such pleasure myself. My body painted with scars telling the story of pain, and damaging obsessions. scabs and cuts only go so deep, pain itself being a limitation to the amount of it he can bring upon to me. a cut only goes so deep, the scars will heal in time. Brain damage, not so much. A hard wall can do considerable amounts more damage than a razor over time. I wonder how much damage I have done over the years, It doesn't really matter though. Brain damage is bad, not bad enough.
The thing is, he has an agenda. Despite the pain he brings to me, to us. In the end, he wants it to go away. Physical damage can not achieve that purpose. In order for the pain to end, there is only one way. To attack the mechanism in which one experiences pain, consciousness. I cling onto life, as biology has preprogramed into me throughout Millennia of rooting out imperfections. I cling on with the promise of happiness in short term. Skiing, biking, and the playground of my mind. That is where he knows he can do as much damage with as little effort to achieve his goals. Destroy everything I love, everything that brings me happiness, then, I will have no choice but to listen to his will and wishes.
$800 dollars worth of damages, and hours upon hours of writing and art destroyed within a night. After done, he lied down in his bed and fell asleep knowing that a message had been sent. I guess I am lucky (or not) that one of my skis where with my cousin away from harm.
He is me. I destroyed what I loved, because I want to take away what is left in my life that is good, so I will garner the will to kill myself.
Despite, yesterday I fought back. I did stuff instead of succumbing to the wishes of my abuser. I hanged out with my cousin, met his friend for the first time, made them laugh at a joke. I did good, I did do good.
Does one good drive negate the previous, overwhelming problems in the car?
I don't know about this whole thing. I woke up in a relatively good mood, especially taking into account what happened the previous night. The realities of the damage done is starting to kick in, and I feel like **** over it. It is so big, so much of my life has just been wiped out.
I knew that day was going to happen, I have been so scared of it for the last few months and it happened in exactly all the ways I was scared it was going to happen under no coincidence. Im dealing with the aftermath and it doesn't look good.
depression isn't what it used to be. It has actually has gotten better, well... by getting worse. There used to be this fight amongst myself. Two apposing sides fighting for control, each wanting one thing, to live or to die. The battle tore me apart, to the point in which I didn't care which one won, I just wanted it to stop. One day, I tried at repairing damages done, the next day, dealing more damage. These cycles where daily, each side convinced they where the right one. My lowest point in that stage of my life where depression took on that medium where the hardest of my days. it's over. One side has won.
I am afraid to care, I am afraid to be hopeful about the future, I am afraid of re starting that war. A slow and inevitable willfull stumble towards my own self inflicted death is a better state of mind then that brutal fight with me caught in the cross fire.
have I given up? if you word it that way, then yes. Yes I have given up. That is only one way of looking at things. Only one question you can ask to dig into the underlying emotions and reasons, a singular outlook on a lifelong complicated struggle. yes... I am giving up. Im laying down my arms after a lifelong battle where no side is winning. Im laying down my arms to spare myself of a war that would last decades longer. Im laying down my arms to stop a war that causes harm to everything it touches. A war where every bullet, every shell, every bomb that hits its target, also hits me.
It has been a long, hard battle. I have fought and fought and fought. Is there shame in drawing the line for how long this battle goes on? No.
Time will pass. I don't know when, but soon. I don't cry anymore, the feelings hurt to the point of agony, but I lay still and take it. everything is weird and different these days.
I remember when this was just a song from minecraft, and not the best description of my emotions. Weird how music does that. Through sound frequencies played just loud enough and with the right rhythm, can tell a story that no words can tell. A story of pure emotion, developing well beyond what can be described as just sad or happy, but deeply #deep, much more lifelike to how emotions work in real life.
believe me when I say there was no lack of autistic 12 year old kids in minecraft before it was popular, I was one of them
I have some good memories from that game. I look back on those times with deep nostalgia (hey, 19 year old are allowed nostalgia too) I look back and I see happiness, despite that time being the first time I was hospitalized.
Maybe I am happy, but I am not paying attention.
