u/throwaway-disgusting

Nobody in the world gets this curse that I have. Everyone insists that they’re not mad but I know they’re all liars. They’re all waiting for the moment I do something bad enough that they finally have an excuse to get rid of me. They’re all waiting for someone brave and strong to come along and murder me and do the universe a favor. I don’t even know what I did anymore, I’ve probably done tons of things. But everyone is too fucking spineless to just come out and say it because I manage to look so pathetic and pitiable that even if I annoy them, they don’t want to admit it. If they genuinely don’t hate me then no, they still do, because I am on a fundamental level wrong and something instinctual in them can sense how I’m tainted. Nobody will ever feel right around me. I didn’t ask for this and I don’t know what to do.

For a while I thought I was correctly pronouncing the rolled r sound until I rather embarrassingly discovered what I was doing was actually more like a uvular trill. I can get most of the way to doing the trill properly now, but I’m running into an issue where the sound of it is wrong. The best way I could describe is that it’s too sibilant, or too airy. There’s also a slight problem of the trill kind of turning into /s/ or /z/ (or a similar sound) when I’m starting or finishing it. I’ve tried to find information on what sound I’m actually making or what I’m doing wrong but pretty much everything directs me to what I was already doing, that and I generally can’t find anyone having my problem.

I’m thinking of attempting to learn Hungarian (mainly out of linguistic curiosity and since I know someone who speaks a bit of it), but it seems like it might be a lot of work to get my hands on a solid book or whatever about it. Duolingo just comes to mind as the quickest option to at least try out the language and get a feel for if I really want to put effort into finding better resources.

I hate myself so much that I can’t stop believing that everyone hates me too and might even be plotting against me, or maybe they even know I did something terrible that I’ve forgotten. I think sometimes that I’m quite literally metaphysically wrong, that my existence is tainted by some sort of crime, that I kicked the previous person out of my life and I’m not where I should be. It really seems like I’m constantly being sent signals that remind me that my existence in this capacity was not accounted for by whatever designed the world. But really all it is, is that I just hate myself and I have no idea why.

I think at some point I might’ve somehow switched bodies with someone, it might’ve been a decade ago. I can simply tell I’m not meant to be living this life. My own “family” registers as unfamiliar and creepy but they’ve never done anything wrong. The universe in general seems to be deliberately mocking me or trying to remind me I should not exist like this. I do not mean this as figuratively as you think. Is there no going back if things are really like this? I don’t imagine the person who lost this body is doing too well right now either. I want to help them, whoever they are.

During some of the worst parts of my life there were “people” or presences or other mes in my head that would sometimes give me comfort and I’m really starting to miss them, as pathetic as that sounds. I try to bring them out now but I’m on antipsychotic medication so I just don’t feel anything, it’s like trying to talk to yourself while being way too aware that it’s only you. I kind of need their support, I think. Is it even a good idea to engage with these sorts of things?

I’m starting to think my soul might actually not be from this universe, or it at least might belong to someone else in this universe. I think I kinda kicked the real owner of this body out and just lived as them for most of my life. My family doesn’t seem like my family. My friends don’t seem like my friends. That’s even though they’re both kind to me. There seems to be this constant thing where stuff just happens to me, as if god or something wants to correct me out of existence. I feel like everything I experience passes right through me. Anyway, is there a way to give my body back to its rightful owner? It might be too late now considering I’ve had this body for multiple decades.

I’m so passive I just absorb everything, no matter how bad it feels. That’s all I ever will do. With my friends, with doctors, with my family. People already see me as secretly angry at them all the time, so if I was at all confrontational they’d start calling me a serial killer. Last time I showed real anger in front of people that literally happened. People don’t get what it’s like having everyone know you’re a terrible person and refuse to admit it. And to also know you didn’t do anything. And to know you did lots of bad things. I have a bad heart but nobody believes me. I am metaphysically incorrect but nobody believes me. If I have something to say, it doesn’t matter.

Not currently diagnosed with schizotypal, but I find the perspectives here most useful for whatever’s up with me.

I had a really difficult last 2 years of my life, I got incredibly depressed and believed some kind of dangerous things. I was half planning to cut off my family and try to live on my own, and if I managed to do that I would definitely be homeless by now. The thing that finally made things better was when I saw a doctor and got prescribed low dose antipsychotics. I was only seeing a psychiatric nurse practitioner then, and not trusting their opinions, I went to see a proper psychiatrist. I guess I just couldn’t explain myself properly, because he interpreted me as being a stable “neurodivergent” person (he actually said “neurospicy”at first, ew) who just had anxiety problems.

He’s proposed that after i adjust to the drug he put me on, I’ll go off my antipsychotic, and honestly I’m at the point with these professionals where I’m just kind of going through the motions. It clearly doesn’t matter what I say, to them, or to anyone else really. It’s always interpreted, my words are turned into the words of the me that they want to exist. Anyway, I’m sorry. Should I just go along with this, and let them see what happens when I’m not on antipsychotics? Might help them understand me better if they see that I really need them, or something. I might also just end up not being as “crazy” as I think I am. I was and still am pretty self-hating and it’s possible I just think that everything in my head is halfway delusional because I hate myself.

I feel like the answer is right in front of me, but is there a sound that’s like a voiced or voiceless alveolar plosive, but trilled somehow? I can’t find it on the IPA table. I basically make it by pressing my tongue’s tip just above my teeth and forcing air through that gap, which makes a sound sort of like a bunch of Ts or Ds in very quick succession. I’m not sure if I’m describing it or understanding IPA correctly, it may not qualify as a trill even though it feels virtually identical to pronounce to me.

My family isn’t my real family, somehow. I might share traits with my mother and father but something isn’t right, I’ve always felt on some level that we aren’t the same family. I used to joke that I was adopted. I get the sense that I was kind of dropped into this life, I had a certain dream that seems to symbolize me being transposed from another life into this one, and it’s my first ever memory. And since then, where have I really fit into this family? Now, I just go with it because they’re just so ridiculously nice to me these days that I’d be stupid to deny them. Nobody understands how it feels to live with kind strangers that insist they know you well.

I want to go home, to my real home. But a real home isn’t something that exists for me. I can’t even begin to imagine what a real home would be like. Some kind of non-Euclidean hideout or something. But I try to imagine the finer details, and I’m never satisfied. My real home must be something that’s beyond the concepts of space itself. So, it’s something I can’t imagine while I still use a human brain to think. That’s really disappointing. The closest thing I’ve experienced to a home is in certain people, and you just can’t count on people to be as consistent and concrete as a physical location.

Edit; without meds. Can’t change the title:

I’ve gotten pretty bored of these “professionals.” Generally, I plan to stop going to therapy and stop seeing psychiatrists. Neither are really providing me any benefit, it’s basically just hour long sessions of emotional manipulation. If I stop seeing psychiatrists I will no longer be able to get antipsychotics and stimulants which I have been reliant on for several years. How do I manage this? I know for the antipsychotics I need to gradually ramp off them, and I don’t have to do that with the stimulants. But after I’ve done that, the problems they supposedly treated will be back. I’ll have attention issues and be a bit “delusional.”

It’s just the same goddamn thing over and over. I’m not even saying anything of substance. I’m really just empty inside, agreeing with everything they say no matter what. Because if I disagree, they’ll have reasons why I’m wrong anyway. I’m always wrong. I simply do not live in a world where my logic applies to anything real.

I want to just abandon all of it, slowly ramp off my meds and never see these patronizing smart people ever again. But apparently it’ll make everything worse, and nobody will approve of that decision. I’ll have to deal with their shit. Yes, I sound like someone who wants to be miserable. What a majority of people don’t understand is that I have been chosen to suffer the things I suffer. I might try to escape it all, but the same patterns in forces outside my control keep repeating.

I realized my mom might treat me the way she does because of her medication. So often when I try to talk to her, she’s completely unengaged in the conversation, or her responses are just way less thought out than they used to be. Generally it seems like she just repeats the same lines over and over. She forgets the names of the most basic things in the middle of trying to talk about them. All she really does all day is go to work and then watch TV, borderline unresponsive. Things are kind of the same with my dad. Maybe she’s overworked?

I respect her choice to get medicated for depression and anxiety, maybe she needed it, maybe not, I don’t know. I’m just really tired of feeling like she’s not there, or like she can’t bring herself to really care all that much about me.

I’ve written mostly short stories. I made one attempt at writing a book, but gave up after only one chapter (lol). Now though, I’m planning out a book again, and making it an ambitious because I want something that really challenges my skills and forces me to get better. The most difficult part of it will probably be keeping track of the story’s unusual logic and intersecting storylines. I have no real intent of getting it published or even finishing a first draft. I just want to force myself to write something really hard. But is it already ambitious to be writing a book in the first place if my skillset comes completely from short stories?

I wish I was something different but I don’t know what that would be. The fact that I’m the same as all the other people outside is upsetting and confusing. I look at them and I don’t feel like I’m looking at something that’s the same as me. I listen to their annoying laughs and their stupid conversations and it hurts to hear all of it. And I’m not any better, am I? Because I’m a human too I need to have connections to these freaks to survive. I’m not strong enough to be self-sufficient, that’s just not how being human works. I hate that I have the thought that these people are disgusting. I don’t want to judge people like that. Really I just want to be myself and do what makes me happy, but everyone always makes that a problem. People stare at me already and the way I act and present myself is a half measure.