I never really know where to start when I write these things. As some of you may have noticed, I’ve been rather down in the dumps lately. I guess that’s pretty much an understatement — or maybe even an obvious fact — at this point, but it doesn’t make it any less true. However, I recently felt a lot worst than I ever did, and feel like I should address something about myself.
I’ve said before that if I couldn’t find a reason to live for, that I would kill myself at the age of 25 (at the moment, I turned 24 two months ago). Some of you thought that I’m being dramatic, and maybe I am. So, let me explain why I even have this mindset in the first place. My life isn’t a very eventful one. I’ve always been “shy” around people, so for the majority of my life, I’ve mostly done three things: played videogames, watched TV, and do whatever school work I had. I didn’t make many friends so whenever I was in school, I would devote most of my time doing homework so I wouldn’t have any to do at home, so I ignored a lot of kids.
If that sounds familiar to you, it’s the same exact thing Twilight Sparkle did in My Little Pony: Friendship is Magic. The only difference — besides not being a pony — was that I still never really made friends. Her life turned around when she had five other ponies to hang out with; I mostly stayed alone. As a result, I could focus more on my studies, but it always begged the question: what was life worth living for? My mind quickly changed when I met this girl in my junior year of high school. She was the best friend I could ever have: she was quirky, into the same things I was, and was just all around fun to be with.
For that one year, my academics went down. Although we had assigned seats, I’d always sneak over to the other side of the classroom to talk. I found myself ditching a lot of work just to hang out with her. I recall this moment, we were taking a test. She wanted to goof off, and I responded that I wanted to actually to take the test. I’ll never forget that look of sadness she had when she said “oh” in a pretty depressing way. I could write paragraphs about her, but at the end of that long story, she moved away after the school year, and we lost contact with one another shortly after that.
Why am I telling you this? Because that was the moment that I thought I felt what “life” was. I looked back at all the years I’ve been alone, and regretted it. All those days refusing to eat lunch just to get some homework done, and kids calling me weird because of it… it made sense. What they did was living. What I did wasn’t. And what do I have to show for my hardwork? A scholarship… that I didn’t even use because once I finished high school, I stopped with my education immediately. It was hard enough going back to being alone in senior year, and I didn’t want more years of the same old same old.
I went to work in a restaurant after high school. I would say I was good at it, but the truth was, I was only kept on because people felt sorry for me. I broke dishes, couldn’t talk to patrons, couldn’t even speak to co-workers because they spoke another language… all I could do was bust tables slowly and take even more time cleaning dishes. The only things keeping me going at that point in my life was videogames, TV shows, and fan fiction. I used to write stuff in my spare time in order to feel like I was achieving something with my life, honing my writing skills.
After a while, I decided to quit my job and go back to school. Why? Because my mom REALLY wanted me to get an education, and I was always on the verge of being fired anyway (my new boss refused to let me do anything but clean dishes and bust tables, so when I consistently failed doing those, I knew it was coming) so I figured I might as well. My school years went exactly as I feared: I was back to keeping my nose in my books all alone, only now my mom was paying the school to let me do it. Eventually, as I completed enough classes in my sophomore year, my guidance counselor told me that I needed to pick a major so I could continue my education. I didn’t know what I want, and my mom wasn’t exactly making much money. We had financial aid, but it wasn’t covering everything.
So I dropped out to avoid wasting more money on classes I didn’t need, and now I’ve been doing nothing with my life. Well, I guess that isn’t ALL true. I spent more time working on my writing… which didn’t matter one bit, as it would seem.
Forgive me for my tone, but I must be completely honest here: I felt betrayed by you guys.
Two years ago, in the low point of my life, I decided to become more involved with the community here, if only for some human interaction. The websites I used to go to were… less inviting by that point in time, so I figured I’d make a bigger impression here. I was ready to introduce myself, and you guys welcomed me with open arms. I felt like I could belong. Sure, I wasn’t known at this point, but you guys made me feel like I could be. As a result, it motivated me to want to give something back, which is why I read and commented almost every Cblog, and became a Recapper.
The one thing that stood out to me in this community — besides the dick jokes — was the earnest concern for one another. Sorry to bring up any painful memories, but when Mike Martin needed money for his father’s funeral, or the brief time he himself was homeless, you folks pitched in and helped him out. You guys chipped in and got Elsa a PlayStation Vita to help deal with the things in her life. You guys even did Secret Santa with one another, and (I THINK it was Luckrequired) would give away free videogames over Steam. Out of all the communities I’ve been to, I’ve never seen something like that.
Sure, I’m not a beloved community member like these fine folks were, but part of me was hoping that maybe a little love would be extended to me. I didn’t want your money. Hell, out of the 60 weeks I did Comments of the Week, I never once asked for a job at Destructoid. Why? Because I was doing this for the community. Yet all I asked, besides allowing me to bitch about my life every once in a while, was that people would read a piece of writing that I’ve created, and I felt like no one wanted to do even that. Sure, I got a lot of “yeah, I’ll give it a look” but I feel like people just told me that to placate me.
Even if they did check it out, benefit of the doubt, I still didn’t get what I needed out of most of you. I needed people to critique the writing itself, and I mostly got “oh, the art sucks” and “there’s no music.” Very few people actually commented on the writing, and only things like “grammar could use a little work”, which admittedly is my bad.
Outside from community member Bardley, who sent me paragraphs of critique and insight over a private message, no one else did what I asked. He COMPLETELY IGNORED the bad art and whatnot to tell me that the characters were good, developed, and entertaining. He gave me advice on what could’ve been improved with their personalities, and we chatted a bit about what else I’ve could’ve done to make the overall story better. THIS was what I was hoping people would at least do for me, and when I saw that no one else would’ve, I felt like I didn’t matter to you guys. Maybe you guys were busy with your life. Maybe you guys really had to put it off until later. But one person out of dozens? I can’t tell you how much I was relying on your critique.
Sure, on its own, as it was, the visual novel was useless. But I was hoping to have a good example of my writing so maybe I could use it to convince others to let me work with them. For that, I needed whatever examples I made to be as perfect as it could be, and no one was willing to help me out. Heck, even if it wasn’t enough to get someone to let me on their team, at least hearing I had SOMETHING would’ve brought a smile to my face.
The worst part is, I don’t even WANT to be a writer. I feel like that’s a misconception people think about me. I want to be hands-on enough to make the characters and the dialogue, and I would’ve written it myself if I had to, but I never wanted to be an author or something. I just wanted to be a storyteller, which is why I really wanted critique about the dialogue, plot, and characters. If I had to write it myself to convey what I want, so be it, but it was always a means to an end, not the point.
Speaking of points, let’s talk a bit about why I don’t believe in therapy and whatnot. The reason is simply because it can’t help me with the problems I have. Is therapy going to make people care about me? No, it only makes me care about myself, which is just sad at this point. Is therapy going to make me more attractive to woman? I HATE talking to people face to face because I absolutely hate the way I look, bad haircut aside. Why would a woman date me when they can’t stand the look of my face? When I can’t? Is therapy going to give me all the years I wasted back? It can only make me okay with it, but I’m 24 and yet 15 at the same time. Is therapy going to give me a bigger penis? Okay, that one sounds like a joke, but when you have a erectile dysfunction AND premature ejaculation, both of which I’ve tried to fix, having a small penis is just the cherry on top.
I don’t even feel like I could fall in love anymore. I know people get married when they’re like 80, but I feel like I missed MY window. I wanted to fall in love with an older woman when I was younger, but that didn’t happen. Even if I could get over that, I can’t meet someone else now: I’m a worthless human being. Hell, I can’t even be USED because I have nothing. Woman in my age group are most likely married, or at the very least, independent. No one is going to give me anything but a scowl for even trying to talk to them. And trust me, I tried. Therapy can make me confident, but it can’t change reality..
Anyway, I feel like I had to get this off my chest. I’m not sure where we stand, but I hope it explains a little bit about me. I don’t think life is worth living anymore. Why get a job? There’s no point: I’ll work for the rest of my life in some dead-end job where I’ll spend my days holed up in some apartment alone anyway. Why go back to school? I’ll just rack up debt for me, or my mother, to pay. Why even write anymore? No one’s going to read it anyway.
I just turned 24 two months ago. If this is my last year on Earth, it didn’t get off to a good start. Maybe I won’t kill myself, but that’ll probably be when I stop trying for real. Despite my FAILURE in getting people to read ANYTHING I wrote — besides Comments of the Week — I’m still working on another story. It’s a brother/sister incest romantic comedy I wrote that I’m editing as I transport it into a visual novel engine like Ren’py.
Have I told you the definition of insanity? “Doing the same thing over and over again, yet expecting different results.”