u/pseudohumano

What do you do to not lose your mind/spend your time?

To be hopeless is to be "free".

To have hope in something is to be bound.

As a hikikomori, living day by day with no hope.

Escaping reality with my list of distractions, I tried many things. Many.

I tried to get skillfull. But to be real with myself, I never really gave my 100% into learning something.

Nothing of this matters tho. Everything i ever learned, the hours and hours reading useless stuff I thought it would be useful. That's all distractions in the end.

I live in a dream.

I daydream so I won't face the day. --but there's no day to face.

I lie to myself. It's all boredom and loneliness.

But to be real again: is it that bad?

Emptiness.

Only emptiness.

This is not poetry.

No literature.

Again, hope is a b!tch.

What i really wanted, I may not deserve it now.

But the possibility of being free strips me of my daydream and show me my reality.

To be put in front of a mirror and being forced to see how deeply into darkness I've been (be),

Im alone. And I've been in a box for most of my life.

I was never free.

I never had a real friend. (No one ever made the effor of understanding me)

And if they did they would pity me.

They walk away, and leaving me. Again I have to face me in that mirror showing me my reality.

Im not jealous of people's life. I have anger sometimes because of how I was forced into this.

Even if I deserve 30% of it.

I try to be a good person and I make a effort to learn and I make a effort to be good (even if i fail sometimes)

But thres people around there that never really tried and they are free.

Whats wrong with me?

Again. Not petry.

Its better to not he shown your possibilities. Cause in the end, in dont deserve snd people dont have to deal with me.

This is personal.

Even so. I wish I was not alone.

At the same time. Does it matter?

The wish is to be free.

Sofri muito desde a infância. E não exagero.

10 anos de uma depressão crônica.

Muito bullying na infância e relacionamentos que minaram muito tempo e saúde mental.

Nunca fui.

Nunca estive bem.

Por que mais que em algum momento eu ficasse bem por uma semana ou duas, no final eu só estava vivendo uma farsa.

Bullying intenso e constantes brigas verbais e até agressões corporais que presenciei desde a infância distorceram minha identidade de uma forma que não consigo explicar.

Por causa da aparência física as pessoas podem te tratar de forma muito fria e cruel.

Eu tive culpa de desde os 6-7 anos ja ter que presenciar o inferno em casa, e depois que entrei na escola ja começar a sofrer um bullying que durou anos e anos?

Família pobre de educação sentimental.

Eu não sabia quem era e tentei espelhar alguém que achava legal e vivia da forma que eu queria. (Um host de podcast underground na época, tinha 300-500 views)

Comecei a ler livros que ele lia e me aprofundar nos conteúdos que ele consumia..

Eu queria me construir pra ter algum valor pros outros.

Mas será que isso vale/valeu mesmo a pena?

Tive "relacionamentos" que me causaram muitas dores. Esta entre aspas pq, o que ja foi real na minha vida?

Todas as amizades que tive foram falsas. Na primeira oportunidade me vendiam, traiam e me deixavam.

E eu entendo que não posso ser vitimista.

Mas hoje, cansado, eu percebo que nenhum escapismo faz sentido mais. Tudo que eu tenho são jogos, música e livros. Mas qual sentido de tudo isso?

O único problema é que sem os meus escapismos eu não tenho mais nada. Já que não tenho amigos ou ninguém próximo pra conversar.

Eu estive muito, mas muito tempo assim. Já tem muitos anos que estou sozinho.

Não tive infância, não tive adolescência e não fui vivi a juventude.

Eu só não vejo mais ponto em parar e ficar lendo, jogando ou assisindo/escutando qualquer coisa. Tudo me deixa entendiado e eu tenho que me forçar a fazer.

Qual o ponto? Acho que minha vida chegou no seu final aqui, mas eu não tenho pra onde ir e eu perdi tudo que eu achava que me constintuia

Mas mesmo que eu pense assim, como disse, ja que eu não tenho pra onde escapar, só posso me forçar a algum escapismo e suportar a solidão.. o que mais eu posso fazer?

1 About the darkness:

Days.

Days go by.

I've been sleeping alot.

While awake, I live in fantasy.

I read some short stories, some pages of a romance.

It bores me sometimes. And sometimes i spend the whole day reading a novel, if it gets me.

Sometimes i look at my past. My recent past. Some coincidence were just like magic.

But the "world" wont reward my sacrifices in silence.

There were words i wanted to say. To people who never cared about hearing them.

My sacrifices in silence "uncreated" my future. My current self/present were because i chose to sacrifice myself in silence for anyone i had a affection towards --somehow--.

My life, many nights i spent in loneliness as melancholy embraced me. From my mouth the words "let there be light" never came out. Like i said, it sacrificed myself in silence.

There was never true light. My lighthouse was never on. No one ever aproached my coast.

I would never-ever leave my little island/heaven. My eden, my house of pleasures, my garden with many fruits, and the three i prohibited myself from eating was the three of life. Cause yes, in the end, in silence i was sacrificed --by myself--

We kill ourselves for not saying-acting at that moment of turning point.

Lefting things unsaid, we kill ourselves. I sacrificed myself in silence for so long that I lost my mouth. People talked for me. Made decisions for me, and to others they spoke for me.

I was xyz in their gaze, and since I didn't had a voice, they spoke for me and showed shapes of xyz to anyone who could have see the "real" me. That real me who died slowly. Since i didnt had a voice, i became xyz. Because i had to follow that script.

I lost myself in darkness. I lost myself in silence.

2- about the false light.

Hope and euphoria is the false light in here.

Even though many days, weeks, months and years went by.

I still looked outside trying to see, and in hope i thought "maybe someone will save me"

How deluded in myself.

The books I read made me a delusional imature "freak"

Then came the delusion of maturity

"I should read more deep philosophy"

Even though this rhymes its not poetry.

The fact is. Sometimes I wake up full of hope and euphoria. I laugh at memories. And think about people I will never meet.

Then In hope-delusion I think: someday I will ride my bike across the country towards the sea.

What delusional of me.

I dont even know my own city.

And how is it for me, to be trapped inside a room and still have hopes and dreams.

I call it false light and euphory because I had many of those in the past.. and they died slowly.

This is just experimental-note-diary. Text. I'm lonely, its night and my chest-aches. mayday, mayday. Sos. Just read this and dont shame me.