life is a struggle

I've been complaining about my life since forever, ever since I was, like, eleven. I threatened to kill myself as early as that. I remember my life was shit at nineteen. Now seven years later, it still is. And, somehow, I still have some gas left in me to endure more of the suck and hope for the best. Hope for the best. What is the fucking best? Hell, having three friends would be better than the last seven years of my life.

I am going to start posting on this shit daily. I have nothing to lose. I want to document my life from now on so I can go back and see exactly how I fucked up.

I was thinking of figuring out a way of making money off of art without having to resort to NSFW, but... for what? I'm so sick of my life, that if I could get away with drawing the pope I'd do it.

So, how was my day you asking? Thanks, future me.

Today I woke up at roughly 04:30 and spend the next 2 hours browsing youtube and instagram. My friend which I developed an unhealthy attachment to, my online friend, who is also my only friend, hasn't replied to me yet. It saddens me because it means I am not important. Their list of priorities has no mention of me. It's been like that with every friend I had for the last 7 years. Each time there is something up, they forget about me. They are so important to me.

You see, I think about my friend every damn day. Almost every waking hour, I think about them. I said almost? I think about damn every minute. When I go out, I think about them, and picture me returning home and checking in on my phone and wondering what they replied, if they did. When I see some funny picture on the internet, I wonder what would be their reaction if I showed it to them.

My friend on the other hand... well... if there's literally a butterfly flying around with an interest enough pattern on the back of its wings, they're suddenly too busy to remember I exist. Nobody is thinking about me, right now. Aside from my mom. My mom completely adores me, even though I'm a fuck up. But my mom, well, she's only my mom.

What kind of person am I to warrant love from anybody? Am I good at being the center of attention while having nothing of value to do or say? Do I have anything of value to offer to the world? And by the world, I mean other people. Because, you see, the world never wanted anything from me. It never wanted me, but never not wanted me. Nature doesn't care about me. It doesn't judge me either. But the world, it seems, it does react to me as soon as I manifest myself to it. It makes judgments. And the world lives in me. So much so that I can predict what it thinks of me.

The world thinks I am ugly, poor, unsuccessful, unaccomplished, of no renown; the world has a plethora of adjectives and monikers to refer to me, to him, to her, to them, to it, to itself. Nature, on the other hand, haven't even noticed me yet. Nature has no concept of me. “Who are they?” is not even a question nature is able to utter, for it hasn't realized there was even a need to conceptualize they or its absence; it has no concept of lacking the concepts it does. It is a job that only the world can do. It's an absent mother so deeply so that it can't even begin to grasp what absence even is, and it goes further than that.

That's the difference nature and the world, or the world and the world.

It's only through the eyes of society that terms such as “self-esteem” have any meaning. Terms like “value”, “honor”, “success”. Only through its lens we can have so much as a pride in ourselves -- and shame. Only through the world.

On the other hand, nature, the world, can even be said to see us as equals, for it doesn't even see us at all. It's completely and utterly indifferent to us. So we humans, in order to protect ourselves from its staggering indifference, we created the world. In it, our lives can have what the world could ever provide us, the possibility to feel that we are important, that we matter.

I said the possibility. To ask myself “do I matter”, is to ask “does the world see me as someone who matters?” “Am I ugly?” translates to “how would the world rate me in terms of my attractiveness?” The world creates its own rules. Since the world was founded by people and is maintained by people, it is people, other people, who's responsible to determine what importance is, what beauty is. And other people live in me. It lives inside each one of ourselves. And we can predict what it is going to say to us. Why would we not? After all, we've been talking to the world ever since we first learned to speak, to think. It is our closes acquaintance. Our closest friend, if you're lucky enough.

Society doesn't love me, and it'll never do.

Nature doesn't judge me, and it'll never do.

Today I set up a sort of a roadmap, so as to be able to track what learning materials I'm learning from and how fast am I progressing through them.

From this point on I will turn this blog into an art journal. I have a roadmap, and I need to track my progress. This tumblr will now serve this purpose.

Imagine a fun, loving person. A person that sees good in you. A person that likes even your most random traits, like having a few white strands of hair. Imagine that when you talk to that person, you feel great, you feel home. I mean, the fact that you have depression, suicidal thoughts; the fact that you watch cartoons, that you feel you do not fit in; none of it matters. That person is accepting of you no matter what. You can talk you heart out, you can truly express yourself, and they’ll smile to you and ask more. They’re so patient, loving, caring, nonjudgmental, fun... They laugh at your jokes and you laugh at theirs. All the time.

They think you’re intelligent, interesting, beautiful, valuable. You’re one of the few people that understand them, they say. Imagine you have all of that.

Imagine they only want you as a friend. All of the time you spent together, all of those compliments, all of the drawings you made for them, all of the fun conversations you had. It meant nothing. You’re not good enough.

“I never thought of you as a partner”.

I just recently got raped by a goddamned fucking SD Hawlucha who then proceeded to Max Airstream my ass off as if there was no goddamned tomorrow, thus becoming fast as fuck. I did have have an Abomasnow. Did it have Ice Shard? Hell no. Somehow I managed to beat that monstrosity with leech seed and hail. My last mon was Shell Smash Blastoise. I could be able to win. Except... fucking Draco-fucking-zolt happened.

Mons. Why do I still play that shit? Because it gives you a high when you win battles. And I win battles most of the time. But I also lose a lot of battles, and when that happens, I don’t feel so good. I feel bad.

In the end, what is the reward for playing that fucking game? Nothing, but wasted time and knowledge on how to be a better battler. That’s it. No cash money, no views, no nothing. Because I am not a Pokétuber and hell no, I won’t become one. Fuck that shit. So basically I’m wasting my time on a fucking game for a few highs. I don’t think that’s the life style I want to have 5 years from now. And what better time to stop than now? I quit fucking mons, man. I quit missing Focus Blast. I quit being flinched by fucking Jirachi and Toge-my-dick-and-kiss. And I sure as hell won’t miss getting my ass handed to me by the spawn of Satan that is fucking Gyarados who now has access to goddamn power whip. As if he wasn’t bad enough already. Power whip + Gigantamax, which gives him a Frenzy Plant, but without the goddamn rest afterwards. Get the fuck out of here.

And don't get me started on these new speedster Legendaries. Every. Time. You can have the sloppiest plays ever, but as soon as you have Zalacian, it's game. Motherfucker is already fast as fuck and get's a moterfucking power boost just by entering the chat. That's it. "Hey, I'm here, and look at my attack stat, it's getting even higher FOR NO FUCKING REASON."

I don't want to face these problems ever again. Enough is enough. I want to face new kinds of problems. I want to face the kind of problem that makes you feel proud of yourself at the end of the day. The problem of having my eyes hurt because I was studying math like a motherfucker. The problem that my back hurts because I pushed to much on the close pushups (it happened to me once). The problem of having your rectum hurt because you just shat a huge thick turd from eating too much meat! That's MAN problems.

“Oh my God, my fucking Abomasnow, which I got radonmly from random battles doesn't learn a basic move such as Ice fucking Shard. Wow. my life sucks.” What kind of goddamn life is that that I'm living? What am I even fucking doing with my life.

Get back to work, you punk. Fuck, dude. Stop playing goddamn pokémon. That game ain't gonna do shit for you, dawg. Fuck you.

Today I just deleted the most interesting posts of my other blog. I think I will delete that blog now, since the posts that were left out were just silly images. Many interesting comments deleted, mistakenly. I just wanted to get rid of a double post, but ended up deleting a whole bunch of them accidentally in the process.

I just said the same exact thing three times. I think I’m becoming a little like my father, where wherever he says is prolix.

Did I tell you about my ex-friend now? I ditched her with a text message and blocked her. Of course she won’t call me back. She won’t because she doesn’t care. Her not caring is the reason why I decided to stop being her friend to begin with.

You see, my emotions are too intense. If I saw her sad, I’d be sad. If I think she’d abandon me, I’d be sad and cry. And I would cry for whatever other reason as well, because I loved her and my brain is silly. I may still do to be honest. But I read this book which said that we’ll always have problems. We cannot choose to escape from them (without killing ourselves), but we can choose which problems we have.

So I had to choose between two problems: a) missing someone I like and b) caring too much about someone who doesn’t feel the same way about me. I chose the better problem, the former one. Sure, I’ll miss her, but at least I won’t be held hostage by my feelings and be part of a fucking relationship that will go nowhere anyway and that makes me suffer most of the time.

The other girl who used to say all sorts of nice things about me? She left me. She didn’t say a word, she just straight up stopped caring and talking to me. Honestly, by this point in time, I don’t care that much about it. But, oh boy, wasn’t I infatuated with her. That little liar and hypocrite. She sure has a pretty face, but that’s all. Her words my be sweet, but her heart is sour. Good Lord, what was I thinking. Opening up to a complete stranger in exchange of bits of attention and loads of ignoring my feelings and shit. What in the flaming hell was I thinking back then?

Yesterday was a day filled with joy. As I walked to the streets, I had a grin on my face. When I arrived my destination, sometimes I couldn’t help but laugh. Yesterday was an amazing day.

Nothing important happening yesterday, though. It was just that interacting with my baby cousin really made me happy, and with the birds in my house. They’re so cute.

Today I finished that loooooong chapter in the textbook I’m currently reading. Really, really looong chapter and difficult to grasp. I haven’t fully understood its concepts, but I will, eventually. I always do.

Yesterday I had a fight with my gay ass father, for the same reason as always, which is him being an ignorant low-IQ cunt. Dumb people have the annoying habit of pretending they are intelligent and not realizing that anyone smarter can effectively see through their bullshit.

Yesterday night I went on /r/depression. I hate reddit, but I figured that if I spoke to some people I’d feel better.

In the end someone actually replied to me, but that’s not what made me feel better. I realized that it’s all my fault. I was the one who screwed up my life. I am the one who’s going to fix it.

I also noticed the spending too much time on the computer makes me feel really bad. I will time myself now. I will study much more responsibly.

I thought I would create a fucking blog where I could complain about my fucking life. Since I don’t have anyone to talk to anyway, and nobody gives a fuck about me, I figured it’d be a good idea. I want to register my thoughts on a world where loneliness is my only company.

What did I do today? Well, thanks for asking.

Today I woke up really, really, really early, around 9 am (I know it’s not too early, but compared to the time I used to wake up, it is), and immediately sat on my chair and started reading a book about something important. This chapter in particular is really difficult to grasp, so I’m really taking my time. It’s the fourth time I’m reading it, and this time, I’ll do it very carefully and meticulously.

What? Does the word meticulous already implies that special care is being taken so I didn’t need to write carefully at all? Holy Grimer. I’m such a terrible writer. I guess that’s why people do not want to be around me. Perhaps this blog will help me improve my ranting writing skills!

Oh, did I tell about this one online friend I had who I used to write every week? That friend that I liked so much talking to and who ghost’d the fuck out of me completely breaking my heart in the process and making my life 10 times more miserable than it already were to the point where I couldn’t take anymore so I decided to fucking kill myself but the plan didn’t work out because I started crying before going unconscious and seeing that my parents hushed me to the hospital where I was ressucted? No? Oh, it’s nothing, just a silly thing that happened.

That’s basically who I am. A silly thing that happened. A fucking mistake, that’s why everyone despises me.