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[personal profile] tito
Five and something years ago, I started this journal alongside another one - rainspirit.

I started blogging when I was fifteen. I really was a teenager. I had skipped grade 9, going through a period that I barely remember. I did so much blogging as opposed to the writing I wished I could be doing, the hard stuff - novels, for one, the thing I'd dreamed of writing.

I'm hard on myself. Always have been. And I'm at a low point as I write this, because I think about blogging and I think about livejournal, and I think about how old-fashioned I feel in this internet age that continues on and on. And I know, I know, at some point I'll look back on this and think, oh, how young I was back then.. But fuck it, I'll be moody and dismal in my own time, thank you future me person.

Because who else am I going to let read this. My parents? I don't know. I invited them into my life before, reading every entry, but I got tired of that. I want some thoughts to myself, thanks. The emails I send to them, personalized and containing information they want to hear about, that's good enough for now.

So what about this? I don't know. I could try my hand at making avatars again. Don't really know how to do that given that I'm still learning how to manipulate this tablet, with the stuttering bluetooth keyboard and the cracked plastic stand it precariously rests upon. I'm learning, and while I'm doing that I try to imagine doing this on tumblr and my mind snaps back like an elastic band. I'm old. I'm getting old at twenty-six years of age, twenty-seven soon, I'm getting older and I never imagined what I'd be like at this age. I don't know what I'll be like when I'm thirty, but I do know I want to be somewhere. I don't want to be this self-loathing, fucking wreck of a human being held back by his neurologically atypical behaviour. I want to be somewhere this year.

I get so goddamn lonely. And I try to hide it even as I squash it in my interpersonal interactions. I cling to people, particularly those I take a shine to, falling in love with them in my own childish adoration, and then when the illusion is shattered, I get moody like a teenager. My little private hellish cycle of trying to maintain an existence while being so utterly isolated from other humans.

I want to be acknowledged and loved. I don't particularly understand the barriers that have held me back from the latter for so long, even though I pretend to. I laugh and joke and say that I just have terrible luck, but I know it's deeper. I'm deeply repressed. I go for women others might consider unconventional - heavier, plainer, stranger - in part because the women I do genuinely find deeply gorgeous are terrifying to me, their beauty terrifies some part of me and makes me feel unworthy. I find almost nothing but ugliness in my own flaccid, impotent form, as much as I struggle to change it.

I don't want to admit the things I feel. And so I plunge into masturbatory fantasies too dark for anyone who's ever known genuine carnal satisfaction. I haven't hurt anyone yet, at least. That's nice to remember. At this point, the most harm I may ever truly do in this world is to myself - though if I go too far, it'll spread to my family as well, if I do something I can't truly recover from. My soul is too gentle to do much worse.

Violence, anger, hate and grief and loneliness. I'm back here again. The holidays were a wonderful reprieve, but I'm back into this messy state again. It's going to take a lot to get me out of it. But at least I'm writing again.

I have some awful-tasting french vanilla ice cream in the freezer, given to me by my roommate. It's horrible and plastic-tasting, but with some maple syrup it could taste pretty decent. Expensive shit, though, and I've already pushed my luck with my parents' financial aid.

Tomorrow I go climb mountains with an old schoolmate that I barely talk to anymore. I have no idea what kind of person she is, though I do remember she used to be part of the anime club in high school. I just finished Ghost in the Shell: Arise, so there's that to talk about, maybe, maybe. But I will have to get to bed.

Guilt, guilt, guilt, remembering the commitments I failed to honour today, no matter how superfluous. Try to push it aside. You'll go to bed at a decent hour tonight, but you'll probably toss and turn and moan and reach for the tablet to seek oblivion. That's what you will probably try to do.

Try again. Tomorrow, try again.


tito: Picture of the main character from the game ICO. (Default)
Tito MN

January 2015

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