Untitled i_ai_r Super Aphorism #2: True Blissful Death Implies Blissful Death Is Innately False
For a plethora of reasons, I spent most of my adolescene indoors, mainly in my own house and I don't think I can recommend that for anyone. It comes down to some armchair psychology which you see in practice whenever you see fiscally well-endowed old people still working: when your life becomes almost entirely what you once saw as "leisure", it becomes a prison of sorts rather quickly. To elaborate, it's the everyday (the "off day" maybe) or the lack thereof which takes place of whatever burden you've had at work or school. The inability (or rather MY inability) to be able to perceive when exactly this becomes a major issue is what I can only describe as the double-edged sword of self isolation. Many times, I found and still do find rather large amounts of comfort while being completely alone. So comfortable, in fact, that it's made me even question how the further stages of any relationship would be going forward. I feel as if it's led to me involuntarily pushing some people away and, although the act in itself can be perceived as malicious or extremely worrying in some instances, it's just how things have been for me since time immemorial. A part of me wants to change, yet I'm sure I can't (only learn to manage such) due to a history of some personality disorders. I'm as plainly as a sperg as can be, but often times there exists an overlap in social processing with other underdiagnosed personality disorders as well (namely those of schizoid and avoidant which I'd be damned not to say I have) which leads me to believe that this is simply my disposition; stood static for life. Retracing my memories and re-discovering the tendencies which made up the earlier parts of my life, I could see how that could be the case-- yet I could still say that things have gotten better for me since-- but self-imposed isolation remains a constant. I think it would be in my best interest to recall some of the thoughts and feelings I remember having about my life then.
... namely that of my greatest delusion. I once held a rather absurd belief about my entire life, that what I had been doing up to then being some sort of intentional subjugation sent out to me by some higher power which would serve to give "great meaning" behind my life, which would inevitably lead to my labor being exclusively that of some creative endeavor putting said meaning on full display. The "meaning" in question was always a stand-in for what I believed to be my mental's greatest issue: my inability to communicate exactly how I thought and felt without running the risk of being painfully misconstrued and having no choice but to hide deeper within my shell. It was a rather eccentric belief, and then I could never act in earnest anyways; nothing I could write or draw could be without heaps of irony shrouding deep insecurities. My response was then to do nothing, really. I couldn't say I faltered in my belief at all, yet the catalyst for any of what I told myself would never come to be with my inaction. It seems to be a pattern if anything. I'm always full of these grand dreams and ideas, whether they are rooted in the ground or far up in the sky, that I can never seem to even make an effort in making them a reality thanks to the puppetteering of some invisible forces. I can see why I never did as well: getting out of bed was hard as is, and now I have to indulge myself in more work on top of what I had already been struggling with-- no matter how easy any of it may have been-- because life itself had became a burden for me. I had become overindulgent in my own comfort and all I got for it were several wasted years and disposition that I've been fighting to reverse to no avail. That feeling of control may have been enough for me to sign away my life like that. Since I had none in the first place, could I really blame myself then? There was nothing outside, I was definitely too young to drive, and for a good year its not like I COULD do anything outside either. Even then, I felt a drive to work on my hobbies, namely that of language study and low level programming, but nothing came of that due to my motivation slowly burning out after a good 2 or so months. I exhausted my options, and that left that which only felt right to do. Which definitely wasn't by the way. If I had found more healthy outlets, and if I had found the desire to use my brain (a rather good one at that), i_ai_r blog wouldn't exist. My digital footprint would have shrunk greatly, I may have had become the secondcoming of Richard Stallman, I DEFINITELY still would have been addicted to Touhou porn, but at least there would be some semblance of direction in my life going forward, that which I still have trouble with discerning right now.
I could say I still have time though. I still have time to do all of the things I set myself out to do. People older than me never cease to tell me that "I have time", and I definitely get it, as I've seen a fair few decades-long marriages which made me ask if there was anything in there to begin with; both parties can't even begin to think whether or not it would be right to get a divorce given their own circumstances so it never becomes anything more than an absent-minded threat during a weekly argument. I'm not in one of these "marriages" right now I'd say (unless we're operating on Elon Musk standards). The motivation which beckons me to strive for truly great things pops up every so often. When I find myself working efficiently, writing a blog, or reading for an hour out of the day, that feeling makes itself known. It's a good feeling. I see it as a braek from the incessant monotony that my "everyday" holds currently (which I just see as another prison akin to what I've dealt with in years past). Do I attempt to chase it? Even as a form of some "break" or incentivization for days of particularly intensive monotony? Of course not. I feel more inclined to stay distracted and waste time than do something which could help keep me in the flow states that I periodically found myself occupying. This is the super cool segue to how I may feel that the environment I foster for myself (as opposed to the environment that is fostered for me, due to my lack of autonomy) contributes to this behavior.
The environment I've created for myself living alone is no different than the one I took up prior, despite the fact that I have infinitely more options on where to go, what to do, and when to do it. I still stay in one room a lot. This is bad. Sometimes I find myself lying on my bed when I do work sometimes. This is bad. Sometimes I begin to study impromptu on my big monitor. This could be bad as well. The issue in itself is not the fact that I spend most of my time in one room, it's moreso that when I spend that time in that one room, it is a mix of both leisurely and soul-crushing activities which turn my subconscious into a jumbled mess. When I try to go to sleep at night by lying on my bed, how can I be so certain that I can have a nice night's sleep (or even fall asleep in the first place) knowing that I was cramming for an exam hours before? When I clear the papers and books on my desk so I can have a particularly un-distracted view of a movie or a TV show, how can I expect to silence the voices which doubt that I've studied enough? The answer is that I do not. There exists a rather apparent solution which I've tried to solidify into my brain as of late. Find a separate working environment. That's it. If I could just work somewhere more focused and sit in my room doing fuck-all pressing "again" on Anki cards that I haven't seen in 8 months whenever that's done, I could sufficiently satiate the part of my brain that yearns for self-isolation while ensuring that I don't find myself deep in the depths of social retardation again. Besides, it's good to be outside-- I certainly have taken that to heart-- yet I have done nothing useful or interesting with that time outside. This weird relationship with motivation is characteristic of this whole generation really. There's a plethora of ways where I can mend my behaviors and bad habits of the past while not striving to mold myself into someone I'm not. I just need to find the motivation somewhere. Also no getting a job won't fix me I hate you.
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