Matthew Ekstrom
Member
Note: Title inspired by composer Leo Ornstein's work of the same name.
My name is Matthew; I am 22 years of age, damaged from Asperger Syndrome, Obsessive-Compulsive Disorder and Major Depressive Disorder, and live, unemployed, with my parents. Honestly, to write about myself is to set a near impossible objective, not because of any bias I maintain, yet because there can hardly be said to exist anything of genuine experience to summarize. Who sympathizes with the privileged life of a non-participant, confined to his thoughts? I have been nowhere, seen nothing, and belong to an exhausted void that may bestow upon the entrant much desired acceptance. Confirming what must already be apparent, only a morass of unearned self-pity drives me through my night and day.
An official diagnosis of Asperger's took place while failing to gain respect from my peers in middle school, before which time I dreamed of a future in the arts which surely exists no longer. My diagnosis meant nothing to me beyond unfathomable verbiage, but I can retrospectively see the accuracy of their labeling with clarity. As a child, between awkwardness in navigating the world and its subsequent narrowing to easily compartmentalized interests, I would obsessively memorize the MPAA ratings of movies in our media library, anticipating my lifelong passion for film (2001: A Space Odyssey at the pinnacle of the canon).
Shunned and ridiculed, middle school destroyed me, and by the end of my equally unpleasant experience in high school, I made no plans to attend college, preferring instead to hide away in my room while people with greater strife continue to suffer. Almost every job I've held since then I've fled, continuous interaction with another person is a myth and I struggle to work up enthusiasm for things I cherish. My recent experimentation with community college ended with my departure after three classes; I remain devoid of any talent.
The purpose of writing to you is because I am desperate for connection, and while my heart is corrupted with negativity, I once had a future that I have to believe will reveal itself again. In my free time (which is all the time), I immerse myself in art forms which are easier to understand than people, including (besides film) classical and experimental music and video games (Braid is the work I consider to have defined the medium), and hope to share my interests with you. As my embarrassment grows my will to write lessens, so... thank you for reading.
My name is Matthew; I am 22 years of age, damaged from Asperger Syndrome, Obsessive-Compulsive Disorder and Major Depressive Disorder, and live, unemployed, with my parents. Honestly, to write about myself is to set a near impossible objective, not because of any bias I maintain, yet because there can hardly be said to exist anything of genuine experience to summarize. Who sympathizes with the privileged life of a non-participant, confined to his thoughts? I have been nowhere, seen nothing, and belong to an exhausted void that may bestow upon the entrant much desired acceptance. Confirming what must already be apparent, only a morass of unearned self-pity drives me through my night and day.
An official diagnosis of Asperger's took place while failing to gain respect from my peers in middle school, before which time I dreamed of a future in the arts which surely exists no longer. My diagnosis meant nothing to me beyond unfathomable verbiage, but I can retrospectively see the accuracy of their labeling with clarity. As a child, between awkwardness in navigating the world and its subsequent narrowing to easily compartmentalized interests, I would obsessively memorize the MPAA ratings of movies in our media library, anticipating my lifelong passion for film (2001: A Space Odyssey at the pinnacle of the canon).
Shunned and ridiculed, middle school destroyed me, and by the end of my equally unpleasant experience in high school, I made no plans to attend college, preferring instead to hide away in my room while people with greater strife continue to suffer. Almost every job I've held since then I've fled, continuous interaction with another person is a myth and I struggle to work up enthusiasm for things I cherish. My recent experimentation with community college ended with my departure after three classes; I remain devoid of any talent.
The purpose of writing to you is because I am desperate for connection, and while my heart is corrupted with negativity, I once had a future that I have to believe will reveal itself again. In my free time (which is all the time), I immerse myself in art forms which are easier to understand than people, including (besides film) classical and experimental music and video games (Braid is the work I consider to have defined the medium), and hope to share my interests with you. As my embarrassment grows my will to write lessens, so... thank you for reading.
