Hitaru

You've already recommended me the Sam Harris lecture, it was great! (perhaps could be nicer without that bit of pretentiousness typical of die-hard atheists, but I can't ask for miracles, pun not intended) I'm checking out the rest of the recommendations, thank you again. Day 0.5: 0.5 because I had a tiny, very small relapse this morning. I held myself all I could but boredom beat me. Bad luck, there were holidays these last days, everything and everywhere was closed, so I got stuck at home for days at the worst moment. Fortunately, I've got plans for the rest of the laboral week, but I'll have to improvise something this week-end. I'll be surviving day by day until I'm strong enough to take up some outdoor hobbies, the more I can handle the better. Probably I'll have to do it before that moment arrives. Actually I have some stuff to do here. I have a violin, not the best quality but perfect for novices, an electric keyboard, missing two octaves, so I think I'll stick to the violin for now. I was learning both years ago... but then the same story as usual. I also have books to read, I've been stockpiling lately. And finally some Python manuals, because I'd really like to learn about the Ren'py engine and start making my first visual novels. But, BUT, this house, their inhabitants, it feels like there's an invisible fog that drags me into routine, boredom, despair and games. That sounds "teenager-ish" but it's nothing but the truth. So I think the best move, at least for now, will be to go outside. Being outside empties my batteries, and if I do it too much I usually end with anxiety attacks, "social hangover"... and relapses. Damn it, nothing seems to work as it should! I really am like a naval officer, always "choosing the lesser evil". But all these difficulties add to the fun. They shouldn't, since this situation is anything but fun, but I seem to have inherited some kind of sick satisfaction in being the target of misfortune. Specially if it's self-inflicted. Thanks Mom! When I'm cured and I have a job, I'll take you around the world, like you always wanted. I'm being serious. Enough babbling. I'll report my progress in Friday, when I have sorted out those plans, then again in Sunday. Forward we go! (I saw the veterans writing things they're grateful for in every day they write, so I'm trying that too: ) Today I'm grateful for: 1. My high-school ex-principal and director in the play I'm currently rehearsing. I've explained my circumstances to him because I was absent two days in a row the last week when I was having my big relapse, and he was completely understanding. 2. Cloudy weather. I love it! 3. My healthy liver, I'm pretty sure I'm going to binge in industrial sweets very soon.

This should have started a lot earlier. After my first relapse (yay!) I finally start my journal. So it's day 0 I guess. The D-Day. Or the G-Day. - I've learned some things this week: - I'm chronically depressed since I was 4. Nice. I'm going to have to deal with it, it's part of my identity. - For people fearful of death such as me, life is a box whose walls keep coming closer until they smash you. Good news, if there are, you can't properly measure where are those walls (the "size" of the room), so you may establish an "imaginary end" and arbitrarily gauge the room within your own standards. Yes, the famous comfort zone. I've discovered in my case (perhaps some of you too) I have a tendency to shorten these walls when I'm in a state of inactivity, with terrible consequences. I can always do less, including not showering or eating. Or not even getting out the bed. For days. BUT, the tendency to shorten doesn't apply conversely. I mean, it's easier to me to shorten more as time goes by and size goes down, but it's harder to make the room bigger as time goes by and size goes up. I think I'm naming this phenomena as the Fishbowl Effect. If you make yourself tiny, your fishbowl will look like an ocean. But what happens if you want to expand the glass? It also happens with currency devaluation. But it's just a temporary escape, a one-sided road. So my life it's going to be a constant struggle pushing those walls forward until my own walls meet the real ones, and then keep pushing to slow them down with the best of my ability, willpower, immunitary system and luck, until nature fatefully overpowers me and I die, fighting, like a samurai. Banzai! I guess. There's not other option, really. The japanese also have a term for that: "Shikata ga nai". Clever guys. Several people have stated their disagreement, arguing about some mysterious addictive property that relies in worshiping self-proclaimed achievements, making worthy the act of struggling. Further investigation is required. - And I say self-proclaimed, because: Theoretically you can do anything you want in life, and therefore you're born free. But the only unavoidable limit (besides taxes, like some prominent rebellious colonist said, if I remember correctly) is death. So you aren't born free, you are born dead. Therefore, life has no meaning nor objective besides life itself, keeping yourself alive. And suddenly the value of everything settles in 0. Which is actually a good thing, because you can give things any value you want for no particular, but usually sentimental reasons. But you MUST have a reason in order to make sense of the nonsense, and here enters faith. Not just a religious faith (but is also an option), faith in science, in the progress of mankind, in a prospective personal legacy... and in self-growth. Because, what is faith if not an unexplained hope of things to get better? You may say "I struggle because the alternative is a disaster" and you'd be right (I've never said otherwise) but, wouldn't that be a rationalised flight (even if it is forward)? - ANYWAY, whatever the philosophical or biological nature of this behaviour, I have to pursue and develop this "faith" if I want to motivate myself to do practically anything, and that's going to be real tough. TL;DR: I need a life purpose, a meaning, meaning is personal/arbitrary and I suck making things personal. So I would actually have a great future as a gangster, lawyer, businessman or politician! (and excuse me for repeating myself)

Thank you, really. It's been a rough time these last days, but I'm getting to work the sooner I possibly can. Now with a bit less profanity! I hope.

Then I shall. I'm not very experienced with forums and journals but it shouldn't be that hard. It'll be a good way of motivating myself to do at least one thing worth writing. And maybe somebody could find it useful in the future. I hope this "honesty" turns into righteous anger and strength. I'll try, and we'll see!

My name's Jose. I'm a 21 year old NEET from Spain. Well, where to start... My father was an amateur web designer and taught me how to use computers since I was five. He is also a slob and a parasite, and by that time an abusive alcoholic. My mother was working all day because of that, so I was mostly left alone with my pampering grandma for years. And videogames. My parents were concerned about pedophiles and scammers so I wasn't allowed to play online, be in forums or communicating with the outside world in general. My games were at first mostly PS1 and 2 inherited by my much older cousin when he began a middle-age lifestyle, flash games on the internet and the ol' Game Boy I still own. I was declared with giftedness when I was 6. It's probably the worst thing that happened in my life, and the one that affected it the most. My father was overtly proud of having a "special" son and heir. Asshole. My mother was traditionally weak of character and the whole thing overwhelmed her, like everything else in her life. They followed the advice of doctors and we were invited to join an organization "of people like me" to receive special courses and formation in order to optimally exploit our natural talent. In the end we were just a bunch of pretentious bullied retards. Then one day I was visiting my uncle and he's always been a fan of grand strategy and simulators. By that time I adored him, he was my role model, the "cool uncle" stereotype, and we shared a common interest in military history and being cynical bastards. So there he was playing that gem of Rome Total War, with its dark humor and all its megalomaniac glory. I was never praised for my grades. "It's just your job". "Do I get praise for doing my job?". I was bullied, even by people I thought were my friends, or completely harmless. Supposedly I was a special snowflake, but nobody had the kindness, or the common sense (I developed many theories to understand this "contradiction") of acting accordingly to it. I talked too weird, too pedantic, trying to appear clever, better than anyone else; or so they said. I was never accepted. And it was only my fault. But here, these motherfuckers all with the same face needed ME to command them for fictional world domination! That submarine NEEDED a captain! And each summer I could go to my uncle's place and show him my improvements, endlessly trying to surpass him and achieving his acknowledgment as an equal. His respect. It was magnificent. But then things got out of hand. I started playing more. Compulsively, again and again. Eight, ten hours a day, every day. I stopped studying. Things in school weren't easy anymore. I started failing. Everyone screamed "How could you, being so smart?" My classmates to justify their aggressions. My teachers, to justify their inaction. Mom, God knows why. I wasn't the number one anymore. I wasn't the special snowflake. In fact, I was a failure. Everyone treated me like that, or so I felt. That feeling kept growing and growing. Only videogames remained. Some of you talk about the social aspect of videogames, the rewarding experience of development and achievement, or the endless discovery of new games that keeps you hooked. Well, for me it was literally a drug. Numb myself for all day, with the same games, the same two or three games, always by myself, then going to sleep with regret, angst, hatred and a nasty headache and nausea. I used to be terrified, thinking I probably killed enough neurons to not being special anymore. My only value as a human being was exclusively related to their existence and potential applications. Now my mother treats me like I'm psychologically impaired, my friends just have that knowing smile, "He's just at it again", and I've got nothing to prove to anyone, so I guess it doesn't matter now. Dad left, Mom started growing a pair of ovaries and adolescence arrived. I had an outcast, spiteful phase and a "feigned normalcy" phase. I degraded myself to the extreme in order to be accepted. I was a clown, a doormat. It somewhat worked. I got into anime and games were left for social occasions. And then the dreaded opposite sex (which later became both of them) made their sudden apparition (nobody expected them, like our Inquisition). I'm 16 and I meet this girl, horrible in the outside, all messed up in the inside, but we kind of have an empathic connection, I see part of me in her. So we fuck and we chill and I treat her like my bitch, and she gets her (deserved) revenge making me all alone and guilt-tripping me into a cozy, crazy, codependent relationship. I never stopped playing, mind you. I used dating her as an excuse to stop attending class, until I finally dropped it completely, and things spiraled into a complete nightmare which I somehow got away after two years. I started trying to make friends again. Complete failure. I couldn't even speak properly after two full years of talking exclusively to one person. I still have a bit of stutter from back then. Desperate, I began to pursue one of my passions, theatre. I've had a main role in a play in high-school but nothing else, so I start taking classes. Then a miracle happened, and I entered a Dramatic Arts College in a matter of months (I'll tell how this happened the next time). New town, new friends, new life. It was Heaven. But then all the anxiety, all the social problems, all the spoiled childhood never having to do anything at home, and all the addictions came forth at once. And I dropped it. My God, I dropped it. My whole life, my future, my greatest chance, put there just for me. This happened this year. It's been 7 months again at home, playing games (now it’s the turn of Paradox grand strategy) 16 hours a day. Grandma's ill, she says and does the same things again and again, watches the same news on TV all day and verbally abuses everyone. My mother works all day, not out of economical need now, but to avoid being at home. And here I am. When an obviously senile and delusional woman is still able to call you a loiterer, you should start worrying about your situation. I just… I just can’t deal with this. With anything. I don’t know what to expect. I've told enough information to be easily recognized by any of my acquaintances. What if they find this? Will they mock me? Will they pity me? What if you do? But you know what? Fuck it. Seriously, fuck it. I don't care anymore. I'm afraid, I'm vulnerable. You want to take advantage of me? You want to kill me? Go ahead. I've had enough. My genes and brain are not with me but I have to be brave to get out of this or to jump from a cliff and end it all. I don't feel inclined to one way over the other, whatever comes first will do. It's probably the best option to try the first option first though. So here's my start point. 21 years. No studies. No job. No hope. No motivation. The list goes on. I'm at my lowest moment and I don't really know where to start from here on. I don't know what's going to be me in the next 90 days but I know for sure, it's not going to be fun. Thank you so much for reading. I hope I'll be boring you again very, very soon.