Journal Entry 12-18-16

Sia – Alive.

Blehg. I’m a coward. People would find this hard to believe, seeing me casually approach many dangers. I do so not out of bravery, but acclimation: I’ve experienced varieties of hardship, and learned to cope; I was scared when initially navigating those situations.

But metacognition remains terrifying. Despite knowing it can easily solve my in-set depression, I nevertheless avoid it. The fear, of course, comes from my historic mistakes, but its not merely that: I’m already very different from the masses [whom I once foolishly hoped to find comradery with], yet I’m merely intermediate at metacog.

So, it seems that to pull myself out of depression, I have to exacerbate the cause of the depression. To clarify: in deepening my metacognitive ability, and thus sentience soasto manually control the thoughts and emotions which cause my depression, I further the disparity between myself and the average person – thus reducing my compatibility with most.

My inability to find companionship is causing the depression, you see. To clarify: I fear permanently being alone, and I don’t merely mean romantically: I fear perpetually being isolated due to my character. Not ostracized, but isolated: though sections of my personality are regularly appreciated, even loved, I’ve yet to be fully understood; without that understanding, connections are meaningless to me.

So. Become stronger, and thus more isolated, or weaken myself to increase my chances of finding companionship. But, I can’t choose weakness, for the simple reason that I’ve seen the beauty that strength grants access to: I’ve known peace, love, order, and the wonders intelligence and maturity produce; how can I choose less? Nevertheless, I continue avoiding severe metacog – as I have for 14 years.

Simple cowardice, nothing more. Hmph. In the week that I’ve lived at the new place, I’ve had peace. I’ve stopped working for the boss with OCD, idiocy, and numerous socializing issues, as he reminds me of everything I hate in people. I’ve instead found a place to volunteer, soasto facilitate finding work once I choose to – I’m putting it off while dealing with depression. There are no immediate external stresses in my life, but the primary problem remains.

The possibility of perpetually being alone is only half of the equation; the other half, is being surrounded, while alone, by fuckwits and the chaos they propagate. This will seem like a detraction. I’m currently volunteering at an animal rescue shelter. I don’t especially like animals. I don’t dislike them, they are certainly momentarily entertaining; if I see an animal suffering, I help, even if that merely means putting a bug outside.

But I wouldn’t choose to have pets, unless they required very little attention on my part and were highly intelligent. The reason for this is simple: animals don’t do anything of interest. They can’t alter their surrounds like people, and I don’t find them very emotionally engaging: they’re too simple. I feel the same way toward immature people – with an extreme exception.

For the most part, animals aren’t capable of negatively influencing their surroundings or my life. But shitty people fuck up my entire life, reducing the quality of it: the world is a flaming shithole, and it’s entirely humanity’s fault; immature, crazy, and stupid people – the overwhelming bulk of humanity. No matter where I go, the environment is dominated, and thus primarily molded by, these fuckwits.

So, the beautiful life I crave, is beyond my reach. I highly doubt I will live to see a community of mature, sane, and intelligent people, whom work to achieve and maintain peace, order, productivity, and the higher beauties which only they can produce. Instead, I have to spend my life cleaning up after, watching my back against, and living in the filth created by, fuckwits. Because of this, I’m depressed: fuckwits rule the world, and the world they make is ugly.

My depression has reduced; I’m in a better mood, but I’m becoming increasingly numb and lethargic. I look at humanity, the the world they create, the life I’ll endure under their reign, and think: “Not interested.” It turns out, that’s a greater source of my organ pains than I realized: I simply have no motivation to live, and it seems my previous motivations were intermingled with whatever subconscious processes that kept me vigorous.

I’ve tested the theory repeatedly, fanning the naive hopes which used to keep me going – the various physical pains subsided, and my old mental and physical vigor returned. Unfortunately, that is no permanent solution: I don’t have it in me to pretend a problem away. So, I have to learn to face the ugly truth of humanity, while still desiring to live. Guess I’ll just have to stop being a coward.

Well, one good thing about my current lack of will to live: I have less to lose if metacog goes bad again: who gives a shit if I go nuts, if I’m sane without hope. Oh, speaking of, I should probably clarify a point regarding my social dynamics with fuckwits, which further worsens the issues, but this entry has gotten long enough – and that’s quite a large topic.

Journal Hub



~ by Louis Naughtic on December 18, 2016.

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