I remember having a rant stashed away somewhere about want… in fact there is probably two of them. It was a different sort of want. It was a want that dealt more with the world than with me, I think. It was about me, but it had nothing to do with what I wanted.
During times of confusion and pressure, my parents would ask me what I wanted. The question pertained to my future… more specifically the path I would take. This centered on college, working, or both. Nevertheless, college was always expected.
My problem with those questions of what was wanted had other reasons rather than interest or want. College? I hated school. Yeah, I got good grades, graduated high school early and hit college… but who the hell said I liked it?
Then there was getting a job. Okay, I’ll do that. Do I want to? Not many people want to work… some do… perhaps many do… but nothing has ever interested me. Besides, it was expected, necessary and I was not going to be a lazy bum.
As for both… well, that was never really pushed. I think by then my parents knew I did not have the mental stability to handle both. It just took them a while to realize I lacked the stability for either.
As for want… well, I tried college and I never succeeded in a job… not even a volunteer one that was very simple. I did not care for either. Therefore, I wanted neither. I did both anyway. I tried my best and both resulted in… um… reverting to my less “hinged” ways.
So, where am I getting at? Where’s the want? My want was to get by and do well enough for my parents. Perhaps they never truly pressured me and it was just all my paranoia, but I always thought I needed to do everything that was expected in a person. Sadly, I seem to not be the sort who can handle what is normal for most.
During that time, I knew what I wanted. I just knew it would not be an acceptable answer. I wanted to be left alone. I stopped that thought soon after it emerged though. After all, if taken literally, I would be utterly alone. No, to be more specific… I wished to be left to my own devices, I believe.
Back then, I think I knew I was not made for college. Despite that I tried, I worked hard and passed the few classes I took with high grades. I was that way from kindergarten to high school. Like in the previous years, college was relatively the same to me and thus had the same effects. I became depressed, irritable, tired and all that jazz.
I thought, “Is this all there is?” I could predict how working would be. I would end up the same way under a job. Some would say school and work are different. For them, it probably is. For me though… in the end it just depresses me.
I found this out by a mere volunteer job. I liked the job really. It was my sort of niche. I think a good part of the issue was being unable to function in the given environment. The place was a library. How could I not function in a library? I have no idea. Nevertheless, symptoms started up again. I began to get irritable, tired and soon enough depressed. I even cut, which was something I had not done for a long while.
Finally, after a while, I think my mom came to realize what I subconsciously assumed. I just was not able to function in the real world like a normal person. I believe after that she stopped with the suggestions of trying college again and/or looking for a job whether it was volunteer or part time.
Now, a good while later, I believe I have what I wanted at that time, but am surprised a bit by how it came about. All that time I was doing the changes, the trying and such to try to achieve what I wanted. In the end, it required my parents’ state of minds to change.
I wanted to please them. I wanted to be a good child. I wanted them to see how hard I tried to live up to expectations. But my body and mind slowly started to expend its resources, I guess. I started falling more. I cried often. I sank into depressions deeply. In the end I wanted to be left to my own devices.
When growing up, I never considered my limitations. I was fueled by want I guess. It was just a want they could not see. I always took into mind the saying, “If you set your mind to it you can do anything.” I always berated myself. I always made sure I tried. I would always try and I would try my damned hardest. I kept working to do what I thought my parents wanted of me to achieve what I wanted.
The saying just did not hold true.
I remember, how frustrated I would get when my parents said, “Don’t do what you think we want you to do. We want you to do what you want.” Well, we are all screwed then. All I wanted was to make them happy. All they wanted was for me to do what I wanted. The only way I knew how to do that was be the dutiful child.
Now there is no more of that. I am grateful. Now I have what I wanted… to be able to be left to my own devices and not have to worry about disappointing my parents for not doing what is expected of the majority of this world.
What started this little “gem” of writing was another night of lying in bed and thinking. I thought of this and I thought of things I actually wanted. I thought I’d write them down.

I Want:
01. To never lose my sense of self ever again.
02. To not fall into depression.
03. To always be truthful.
04. To please those important to me.
05. To be a good person.
06. To not be a hypocrite.
07. To be and be considered as reliable.
08. To always be aware of what I should be grateful for.
09. To have a content life.
10. To remain happy with who I am.
11. To be accepted for who I am.

I still remember how I was back when I was suicidal. I remember telling my mother that what I had done was selfish. After all, is that not usually the case when it comes to someone who suicides?

“You did not think about us!”

“You did not think about the lives you’d be affecting!”

Looking back though… was it really selfish in my case?

The thing was… I thought about those in my life a lot that point in time. In truth, I thought I was doing them a favor. My mom likely would have said it was a twisted sort of logic. It is logic to the thinker and on some levels to others, but it is completely illogical on the whole. At the time the act was of good intentions, which I guess is why the V-Tech guy’s ramblings seemed to make an odd sort of sense to me.

I had seen my parents’ lives. I had seen what disappointments my siblings were. I had seen the stress, financial issues and all sorts of lovely things. Then there was me (mentally ill and all that junk) who would repeat the process and make their lives even harder.

By then I did not really have any friends. There was Kyle, but around that time he moved. I doubted my lack of presence would affect his life greatly. After all, from what I had seen of life and death… people will mourn for a while, but soon enough, it stops. They move on and almost seem to forget.

Yeah. That is why I went on with it. I did not think I’d be missed. There would be mourning for a time, but I’d be forgotten soon enough.

My parents would have one less kid to worry about, thus less on the finances and emotional rants. They would not have a mentally screwed idiot to deal with. There would be no more having to find me head doctors or pay for medication. They’d have one less thing to be helpless about.

I also remember feeling really bad when my father turned his office into a room for me after I slept on the couch for about two years. It was his office. It was his refuge. He did not need to give it to me. He needed an escape more than I did, I believe.

Why am I talking about an office? I had sent Shred an email a bit after I gulped down all my meds. It was a sort of will. In it I mentioned my dad getting his office back.

So, I wonder… were all those thoughts really selfish? Who knows… perhaps there was an underlying selfishness?

I know what helped lead into such a decision. Some would assume it was to stop the pain. It was to gain control. Shit like that. The thing was that did not really come to mind with me.

I think… back then, I lacked most of my soul. I mean, even after I took the meds, I did not regret. I just hugged my parents good night so it could not be said that they never got a goodbye. It was something of a comfort. Often one reads that once a person dies, the person left behinds regrets not giving the deceased a hug when they could have during the last time they saw each other. Therefore, I bid them farewell with a hug and the words “I love you”. I remember lying down and I had my cat near me. I still did not regret. I just waited.

So, what does this have to do with the lacking of a soul? I think it is the soul that keeps a person living. I was already dying in that department. How did I know that? I think I just knew.

I still wonder this. It is how I saw life at the time. “Clockwork”, “doll”, “music box”… I was life without a soul. I saw my life to be that way. It was like I was a robot, doll, puppet, or maybe a zombie even.

I’d wake up, eat, go to school, do work, maybe eat lunch, work more, got home, do more work, eat, shower and go to sleep. The next day would be the same. The weeks would be the same. The months and eventually the years… it was all like clockwork. What was the point then? If that was my life, what was the point? The cycle would carry on and then I would die.

Some people looking for meaning in life, some try to leave behind a sort of legacy… the thing is, nothing lasts forever. Look at history. Look at the Bible. Archeologists will dig up so much, and yet it is only a handful of the different time periods they stumble upon. Recorded texts are translated into different languages and lose some of their meanings or are overall edited until they no longer resemble what they once were. Historians look back, but they only get to the surface… I’m supposed to give a damn about leaving behind something that can be warped over time if it even lasts? Right.

Well, what about the people who know me? Eternal life if anything is achieved by living in the hearts and memories of others. That is just it though. Those are memories. Even more, they are memories created from the views of other people. After all, what is real when people will remember things about you that you do not even remember yourself? Most of all, if you do not even know who you are, you hide away your self, and all the jazz… Then the only memory others have is a lie.

Ashes to ashes. Dust to dust.

What did I have to share? The world through my glasses was just an inevitable void. What was the point in living when inside you are dead? It seemed very much like being a vegetable without anyone even knowing. That in itself is even more pathetic… to know your existence is all based on just your physical presence.

So… I have to say… when I found myself still alive in the hospital… I still did not regret the suicide attempt. I did learn something from it though. I did find regret from it though. What was it?

I learned I apparently mattered to my parents.
I regretted that they ended up hurting because of it.

I never meant to hurt them. That was the last thing on my mind… that it would hurt them so much.

I wonder if that is what makes life precious… not knowing how others affect you, but how you affect them. I did not know. I know now. I do not think I quite understand even after all this time, but I think I’m getting there. Now that I know, I silently promised I’d never put either of them through that again.

Still though… I cannot help but question… were my reasons at the time actually selfish? I really don’t know.

A day after writing the above, I relayed it a bit to my mother. After doing my best at explaining off the top of my head, I asked her if I was being selfish. Alas, she never gave a clear answer. All I did find out was that the talk made her sad. I wondered if it was because of my thought process is the way it is and she would not be able to change it or my inability to understand emotions like most people. It seems that she was sad by my words because of how she could have lost me.

The sad/pathetic thing is that I do not really get that in any way other than logically. That leads to the other things noted. She said it was likely due to my schizoid side… or perhaps a bit from the Aspergers even… Maybe it is both or the little of one and mainly the other. I can only take her word for it.

One might question, “Jeez! Does this person have any emotions at all? Does this idiot even care about the parents mentioned in this journal?”

I’d have to say, I do on both of those accounts. While I am uncertain about many things, I know I care about my parents. Heck, if I worry about anything it is them. However… There are just things I do not process correctly if at all.

Heh…

In the conversation, there came the mentioning of giving and taking. My mom mentioned something about me feeling guilt being the reason. I noted it was perhaps a small part, but it certainly was not the core reason. I think it can be established that the guilt part was the belief of being a burden to my parents.

Mom said… that I took less than any of my siblings. The thing she asserted though… was that I gave more than I realized. Apparently I still don’t realize. I’m sure she gave something of an example, but it did not compute apparently.

All I know is that not long after that noting, I remarked that in an alternate universe, where I had died rather than lived… she never would have known what she was missing to begin with and would not have mourned the loss since it would not have been there to begin with.

I tried explaining the clockwork, which is something I have noted to her many times when depressions hit, and the soul being dead. She asked me if I thought my soul was dead back then. I told her it had been dying. It had not died completely… It had been wasting away, I believe.

After all, when there is no will, no strive, no interest in life… When not even your instincts care to save the body… How is there a soul? Looking at my state at the time… I think it was dying. I think what it functioned on was anger and pain. Even more… I believe that is what helped weaken it. A flame will eventually burn itself out. I think that was my soul… just burning out…

I thought I saw my soul once even… in a human shape that was deep within myself. I’ve described the scenario before. In fact, I think I told my mom about it. I doubt she remembers though. I wrote it out to keep it lucid should I forget it over time.

“It was nice to be alone in her solitude. Turning on a soft light she sighed and let her mind just stop. The light was warm.

A cold sensation overcame her body. She couldn’t see. Their blinding black depths were as if her eyes, themselves, had gotten lost in the darkness. A decayed scent entered her senses and she was in a dark and gloomy foreign place. The place reeked of the smell of wet fungus. A specter of dim light could be seen lazily scattered here and there. It was so dim you’d think the light itself was terrified to trespass in this depressing dwelling.

Where was she? And how did she come to such an ominous place? She looked about troubled. Stepping forward she decided to see if there was a way out of this dungeon-like wretchedness. But as her walking progressed a sound could be heard. Someone was in there with her. The shallow breaths were evident.

Her eyes finally focused to the badly lit place and it was before her she saw a figure hanging limply. The person’s wrists were bound together in tight shackles that cut through the raw skin. From them the, she assumed to be, man was suspended up vertically. Hanging there was a man unlike any she had seen before dangling motionless.

He was a skeleton with how his skin was thinly stretched forcefully over his bones. His whole body was so thin and delicate it was appalling to look at. He had not seen the light of day for a long time for his skin had a gray-green tint. His black hair was already streaked with silver strands. His head hung down to where his chin touched his chest so she had no clue to who this poor man was. Advancing closer she looked at him with pity.

Unfortunate soul.

Edging closer she was surprised when the stranger swiftly lifted his head and looked up at her. It was not a man who had been imprisoned there, but a woman. And it was not just any woman. Her eyes didn’t see the sunken cheeks or the tightly expanded skin that covered the skull-like face. The dark woman was paralyzed mind and body at the sight she beheld. What she saw were the unearthly eyes that stared deep into her own. No, it was not just any woman… It was herself!

She couldn’t breathe! Jerking forward she sat completely upright in her chair. Her chest heaved up and down anxiously and her whole body was shaking like a leaf in a deadening autumn. After some minutes passed she finally managed to regain control and calmed her trembling form down.

What the hell had happened? She was still taking long deep breaths but the shaking had finally ceased. Her hands roughly kept rubbing up and down her tense arms. Finally calm she experienced a few shudders but all in all she was out of her shock.

‘You are broken…’

Her eyes widened. Where did that come from? Furrowing her brow she sighed.

Shaking her head a bit she arose from her seat. She was back in her room with the soft light of the small lamp. But what was that? She hadn’t fallen asleep. She didn’t go unconscious… It couldn’t have been a nightmare. A vision? No, couldn’t have been. The place was real. She felt, smelt, heard, tasted, and saw it. But… she hadn’t even left her room… Had she?”

I probably slipped into a dream in all logics, but at the time it was too real for me to be certain of the differentiations. Also my psyche might have been crazed enough no longer tell what was “real” and what “wasn’t”.

That was how it happened though… even when I close my eyes I can still see the dim light filtering and the musty air dancing about across one’s vision because it was so dust ridden… almost… fog like.
I remember how my heart was racing when I was no longer in that place, how my brow was covered in sweat and I was breathing harshly as though I had run a marathon. I had been shaking uncontrollably for what seemed like forever…

And as noted in the recollection… when I was about to leave the room… that phrase went through my head without consciousness. It was like hearing someone else say it… it was never expected… Solemn.

I felt damn certain I had met my soul back then. It was in there, in me, somewhere… so deep and dark… a basement where things were hidden to die, rot and diminish…

Yet somehow, I was there for a moment in time… and my soul was silently screaming.

Sigh. Then a few more years passed. My soul stopped screaming. It eventually stopped caring too. With it left the internal wiring that makes the body fight to live… survival.

With no soul… why does the body need to live?

I think that is why I felt no concern when I took the pills. I think that is why I did not feel regret when they were in my system. I guess that is why I could lay down so calmly. I guess that is why I was not struck with a sudden change in perspective when I woke up and found myself to still be alive.

Well, even though I am pretty sure I still consider that to be logical… I’m in a different scenario now. For one, my soul is not dead. It is not dying. I don’t think it needs life support. It still does not really strive or anything… but if it ever did, I would probably be freaked out anyway. Secondly, for some reason I matter to some people. I still think they would get over me in due time if I ever died, but… knowing they want me here makes the difference. Back then, I have to admit… I really did not think they would need me… I really didn’t.

Heh… I tell them I am stupid. That is just another example to prove it. Perhaps obtuse would work?

I’ve often had times where I’d pass by a mirror and suddenly be surprised. What? It is just my reflection. Do I simply avoid looking in them? No. I look everyday. I guess don’t focus I suppose.

It happened again tonight (August 31). I was stopping by the bathroom and suddenly caught sight of myself. I was somewhat… bewildered I guess would be the word. It was like I did not expect to see myself. It was a, “Oh, yeah… that person is me. That is me in existence.”

Now, when I asked my mom if she ever underwent such a feeling, she thought I was lacking much sleep, which I am, but I just can’t fall asleep no matter how long I lay down. Anyway, I left after that disheartening response.

Despite that when I went to my room the phrase “a dream within a dream” kept popping into my subconscious.  I soon enough ask my mother if she knew of the thought of whether a person exists or really is just the dream of another, reality and all that junk. She seemed to understand better, but I doubt she grasped what I was trying to get at.

Then… Bam. The realization finally settled in when I sat down and snacked on some chips. I really did not expect my body to be there. I live too much in mental view rather than conscious physical view. I usually just observe and think. I read, watch and hear things… and while there are feelings, it does not connect with my body so easily. The feeling is deeper, like the soul or spirit. It is all… mental… intangible.

 Then every once in a while… I guess I forget myself in physical form. I forget my body as being an identifier as to who I am in reality. So when I noticed my reflection tonight… it was a jolt. I recalled I am in more realities than just my own, I guess?

I wonder if that is my reality. A reality of merely souls touching souls… Maybe that is why, when I look at people… I feel little association. I know better, but I really don’t feel it. I don’t realize my corporeal form… so I have trouble relating to theirs…

Heh. Even on the ‘net… I have trouble relating to people. I prefer just reading thoughts, ideas and the like… but when it becomes too human… I feel alien.

Yeah… it has been going on for a while. I’ve notice manga has started to depress me a bit the more I read it. There are places that scanlate unlicensed manga even. At a board I go to, there is a separate entity of the site for such a thing. People can comment on the scans. I know I don’t have to read them, but the comments are there. They make me sick. Their minds and views of the world make me sick. I read things… watch shows… The things humans do, the ignorance, the knowledge, the usage of such things… my god…

Is there any depth? Any depth at all?

I wonder if I am being too “Holier than thou”… I hope not. I do not wish to be… but… damn. Humans make this world one damn depressing place. I like the world. I love our cats. I like watching animals, seeing nature, hearing music and all that…

However… all the fakeness in the human society, the fear, the hate and so many other things… I only shake my head at the thought. It depresses me.

“Where’s the killing? There needs to be more action!” – comment on a manga that doesn’t stay vapid.

“I wish I was old enough to be in the army! I’d get some guns and blow them all to pieces!” – idiot classmate claiming he’d be a war hero after the fall of the world trade center.

“Look at that face! He’s a goddamn thug! I know it!” – basing on looks and not the soul.

“You are such a fag. That is so gay.” –needing to seem superior, cool and all that shit.

“Attachment disorder, PTSD, and all of those disorders caused by abuse, rape, neglect…” –humans turning on others and fucking the future of mankind over even more.

 

 

Sigh…

Heh… back on the previous topic, I remember my dreams. If people look at my life in physical sense… it is likely boring as hell. To me… I’m a pretty damn fine with it. I dream a lot. I’m not talking about day dreaming or anything. I certainly do not aspire. I mean the nighttime dreams.

I think I live more in my dreams than in my wake. They aren’t exciting or anything… and they certainly are not ideal, fantasy shit… but… I feel more alive in the dreaming than in this at times. I live more in my mind than I do in the physical world.

A part of me wonders if that is just running away from reality… but the thing is… reality is just a figment in itself. I merely do not accept/see reality like others do… it is not even a conscious thing. I only realized it tonight…

Hm… I guess that is all. Yeah.