Monday, November 23, 2015

Rules for suicide

        I used to have a set of rules that I'd have to follow if/whenever I decided to kill myself. I've since realized how dangerous one of them was. I don't remember all of the rules I had written out, but they included my death to be beneficial to someone; my organs going to another person, death to occur outside of anywhere my family would ever want to visit; I don't want to ruin any place for them, that it doesn't involve anyone in my family's personal items (my dad's tools, my mother's medications, etc); I don't want them to blame themselves, and the dangerous one, my death to have some kind of meaning; to spark a debate on a subject I'm passionate about. That is likely in the heads of the many mass shooters of late. Kill as many people as possible, to try to get people to think about what you see as important, but the outside world often sees as incoherent ramblings of a madman. I'm not sure what I had in mind, in either a goal or a plan of execution of this one, but the more I think about it, the more dangerous it seems. If I were to continue that path, I may at some point get it in my head that I should kill health insurance lobbyists for killing any healthcare reform before it ever sees light. Or maybe politicians for allowing themselves to be bought and paid for by multi-billion dollar companies. Both causes I have strong feelings about, but the murder of anyone, even if they deserve it, is not the way to bring about change. If anything, the group gets stronger by people rallying behind them for being attacked. So, when it comes time, I plan to go back to my home town, visit a few people, say my goodbyes, write some letters to be found later, travel to a town in which I used to live, but hated the people, but loved the scenery, find a secluded spot (maybe rent a boat), and just do it. I just remembered another one, I don't want any kids to be around when it happens. I'll follow that one. The world is screwed up enough, I don't need to scar any kids on my way out.
                  Or who knows? Maybe I'll meet a great girl, get together, and find happiness... not likely. At this rate, the only foreseeable thing that could happen that could make me happy, would be for some attractive woman to physically drag me away. I'm a coward. I'm attracted, on some level, to nearly every girl/woman I meet, yet I cannot speak up. I talk myself out of it. I tell myself I don't want to drag another person into the black hole that is my self worth, and ruin their chance at being happy. Is that the real reason? Am I afraid to be happy? Ugh, this one really got derailed, didn't it? Bottom line, it's not likely I'll ever be happy, probably because deep down, I don't want to be. I don't see how it could even happen, really. The things on my mind that get me down, primarily, are outside of my control... religious fanatics killing innocent people, the people we elect pandering to idiots, lying, cheating, filling their pockets at the expense of us... the multi-billion dollar companies polluting and spreading lies to idiots and make them believe we aren't ruing the climate... the pharmaceutical companies (I don't think I need to elaborate on that one). It could be because I'm so powerless. We're all powerless. We're puppets, lab rats, sheep, and pawns. We don't matter to those in charge. We're slaves. We're consumers. Seriously got off topic, but I'm gonna leave all of it. Fuck it.

Tuesday, November 10, 2015

If anyone read this, I'm sure I'd get hate mail for this one

                            I'm about to prove a modified version of Godwin's law. The law states that the longer a conversation on the internet lasts, the more likely Hitler or the Nazis are to be mentioned. This isn't a conversation with anyone but myself, but it's on the internet, so here's Hitler. He did deplorable, unforgivable things, but he did do at least one thing right, but he went about it very much the wrong way: Eugenics. The weeding out of undesirable genetic traits. Of course, killing people because they don't look like you is very, very wrong. It shouldn't be used for getting rid of particular races, but I think it should be used in a purely voluntary, but encouraged program of self-sterilization of people with harmful hereditary conditions. Cancer, diabetes, depression, and hundreds if not thousands of medical issues could be nearly wiped out in just a few generations if it has a 100% adoption rate (which would never happen, the whole world doesn't agree on any one issue). It would also do wonders for the environment; not as many people using fossil fuels or adding waste to landfills, and many more. My family has a history of cancer, diabetes, depression, heart attacks, and probably a lot more in the way of things that should not be passed on. I think my dad may be somewhat autistic, but it was never diagnosed, and I think I may have it, too... but that's another story. So, if you have a serious medical issue rampant in your family tree, do the world a favor: Don't reproduce, and encourage your siblings to do the same. There are millions of kids who need homes in orphanages and foster homes who need a home. Consider giving them a chance. I plan to someday if I abandon my plan for suicide and become more financially and emotionally stable. But that's not likely. Just remember: It's selfish to create another human being just because you want a tiny person who looks like you. Especially if you will be condemning said person to a lifetime of medical issues.

Another fun fact about the Nazis, I hear he had an anti-smoking campaign that was well ahead of it's time.

Monday, November 2, 2015

Conflicted emotional confession and justifications

                Before I come out and say it, I want to say, I have never acted on these feelings, and likely never will. I have yet to sort out my feelings on it, and certain criteria (which will be explained) would have to be met before I ever would even consider it. That said, I am technically a pedophile. I have sexual attractions to young girls. On an emotional level, I despise myself. This is another factor in my plan to kill myself, perhaps the main factor. Anyone who hurts a child is a terrible human being. That said, the more I think about it, I'm not sure the attraction is as wrong as it may seem. I have a few points to get through, so please, bear with me.
  •  Why is sex automatically a dirty or wrong thing? We're all born with sexual organs, and chances are good that most of us will use them at least once in our lives. If care is taken that no one gets pregnant prematurely, to not injure either party, to not pass on any diseases, is consentual, and everyone involved knows the act will end if/when either party wants it to, I see no reason it shouldn't happen. As a society, we are very prudish, and that often manifests in uninformed children, teenagers, and even adults in the practicalities and safety precautions of sex. I think (again, consent and care is key) practical instruction would be beneficial, with a respectful and informed partner.
  • Evolutionarily speaking, it makes sense. An established, fit male mates with as young and fit a female as possible to guarantee the most offspring, and can, in turn, protect and provide for the female. Up until about a hundred years ago, people had much shorter life spans, and it was considered normal, even in the US, for men to have wives around the age of puberty. There are countries that still do this (which I do not and will never condone unless it's consentual. Non-consentual relationships are NEVER ok). I know as a society, we're past that need, but the attraction can't be expected to go away after just a few generations.
  •  Sexual feelings do not magically manifest the day you turn 18. As a child (the first I know of I was about 3) I had sexual urges. I didn't have the words or knowledge to describe them, of course, but I loved to run around naked and play with myself. Once, as a teenager, I was at a friend's house, and I caught the friend's 4 year old sister playing with herself. I was on his computer, and I turn around, and her pants were down, and there she was. She pulled up her pants and ran off embarrassed. I used to read rage comics a lot, and there was one story of a 6 year old pressing herself up to the jets of a hot tub. And a few times I was charged with changing his diaper, my nephew would often play with himself, too. Humans are sexual beings. Why are we so quick to try to forget that? 
                  I have to say again, on an emotional level, I find all that disgusting. Though, when I think about it deeper, I don't know why, other than society telling me it is. I also have to say again, NOTHING non-consentual should EVER happen. I would love to have other people's opinions on all this, so please comment.

Sunday, September 6, 2015

No way out

                                   We have no choice to come into the world, yet the only way to opt out of it is frowned upon, and usually attempts are physically thwarted. Suicide. I understand that sometimes, maybe in most cases, the thoughts of killing oneself is the product of curable or treatable mental illness... but not always. There are people who have genuinely good reasons to take that option. If someone is terminally ill, or in the case of my mother, has multiple medical conditions that slowly whittle away at their quality of life, and that of those around her. If my mother were to come to me and ask me to end her life, or help her end her own life, I would like to think I would. Yes, I would be sad, and miss her for a long time, but I'd know she's not hurting anymore.
                                For some mental illnesses with no cure, I think suicide is a viable option as well. The decision, however should not be made lightly. I have had suicidal thoughts for years now, and I fully intend to take that option at a point I find convenient, and have the means. With the various neuroses I have (you know many if you've read the other entries) I cannot be happy. I don't realistically see myself ever becoming happy in this world.
                               We are thrown into this world, then forced to take part in it, with little to no hope of ever changing anything. I understand the emotional aspect of not wanting someone you care about to go away. But isn't it selfish to force that person to continue to suffer for your benefit? They had no choice to be a part of this broken world, and likely had little to do with how they turned out. Who would choose to become an addict? Who would choose to have cancer? Let them go. If you truly love them, let them go. I know it's probably not that easy, as I am saying this with no experience losing a loved one to suicide, just as someone who has decided to do it, but I would not want a friend or family member to continue to suffer on my account.
                               If you are a family member of mine who has found my red notebook with the URL to this blog written in the cover after I'm gone, I truly am sorry if I caused you any pain by leaving. Just know I am not suffering any longer, and I wish you a long and happy life, if that's what you choose to have. If you found the URL and I'm still alive, shame on you for violating my privacy, but that's ok. Talk to me about it, and I'll try to explain if you give me a chance.

Monday, August 10, 2015

Coerced apologies are not apologies at all

I hate Donald Trump... I REALLY hate Donald Trump. However, I must admire the fact that he doesn't apologize for being a massive dillhole.
When someone makes a racist, sexist, or otherwise offensive comment, and is cause for outrage of the masses, an apology is often demanded. When given, after that, it is not a genuine apology... It's relenting to bullies. People have the right to be assholes. They are not, on the other hand, immune to criticism. If you have something you want to say, say it. If someone demands an apology, don't give one. If someone says something you don't like, respond. Don't just demand an apology, challenge them on their statement.

Wednesday, April 15, 2015

Another irrelevant story from my childhood

   When I was about nine or ten, my cousins lived about 2 hours away. I loved hanging out with them. They were like brothers to me. Still are, even though it's been years since I've seen one of them... That doesn't really matter for this story. The point is, I went to visit them for a week one summer. To get there, I had to ride alone with my uncle the whole way. To this day, I don't know why I was so scared of him. He was an awesome guy, he was like a second father to me. Anyway, on the way, we had to pick up a load of firewood and put it in the trailer he was hauling. It was a makeshift plywood and steel bed frame trailer he and my dad put together a couple years before. As we were loading the trailer, the bolts on the back of the trailer broke (or the wood broke, I don't remember, doesn't matter), leaving the trailer unevenly balanced and it was soon going to break the bolts that remain if we were to pull it as-is. He was pretty upset, he really liked that trailer. He was about to abandon it. I got the idea to unload most of the wood and leave the largest pieces of wood over the broken section to keep it in place using gravity. He called me a genius several times, and we tried it. It worked. The rest of the week he expressed how proud and thankful he was to me. No one ever had expressed that to me before.
      Before and never since have I had any real confidence in my abilities.  Every time I tried to build it, my father would crap all over my self worth. My mother tried sometimes, but all her praise always sounded hollow and meaningless.
      About 2 years ago, my uncle died. The last few years I didn't talk to him at all. Not because I was mad at him for anything, but because we lived so far apart, and we weren't all that close since they moved out of state when I was in junior high.
      I know this has nothing to do with anarchism or anti-political stuff, but I don't really care. No one reads this anyway. I don't have anything unique to say on the subject, anyway.

Sunday, March 1, 2015

Let me tell you about my parents...

Before I go off on a rant, I want to say, they never beat me, and I never went hungry. I know I was luckier than some, but other than that, my parents sucked.

Earliest memory: Every morning, I had to get myself to school. From kindergarten to first grade. Well, let me amend that... my friend's mom drove me most mornings. There were some days she couldn't, but most mornings Kim (his mom) was there for me. Looking back, she wasn't mother of the year either, one kid in diapers at 7 years old, another my age who smoked behind the parking lot wall, both from different fathers. But she was there. That counted for me.

The next year, we moved. I had to get myself to school... really, this time. I had to make my own lunches, get myself out of bed, get myself dressed, and walk to school (1/4 mile is a long way for a little kid). One morning (it may have been my first day, thinking about it) I forgot to put shoes on. I was a dumb kid. I didn't realize it until I got to the tanbark. Would not have happened if I had a mother who gave a shit.

I got a little better at taking care of myself after that.

The rest of my school years, never once did they ask to see my report card. Not once. I always gave it to them, though. Only reaction I would ever get was either "Oh, good work" (almost never happened) or "oh, you need to work on that". And nothing else. Never any offers to help with homework, and when I did ask for help, it was usually math. Only answer I remember getting was "oh, that's the new math. Sorry, I don't know anything about that.".

When it came to friends, I always had to clear everything with my mother a week beforehand. She could not handle anything last minute. Also, unless I was bringing them to our house, she would almost always say no. Even in high school. One instance that sticks out for me, was I was invited to a restaurant that was about a mile from my house to play on their foosball table. A couple friends of mine and their friends were going to have a tournament. It sounded like a great time, I really wanted to go. Problem was, it was happening that day. I knew it was a long shot, but I called home to ask, but no. No good times for me.

I had a few good friends growing up. I had some great friends. But once I got comfortable enough with them, and my mom with their parents enough to have sleepovers and such... we'd move. Constantly moving. I hated that. I went to 8 different schools and lived in 7 different homes (that I can remember off the top of my head).

I didn't know at the time, but my mother had bipolar depression the whole time. That's why she was there but not really there, and so intolerant to last minute schedule changes. I hate her, but knowing it now, I feel unjustified for it. I feel like I'm a horrible person for it.

If you have bipolar depression, either get it under control or don't have kids.

As for my dad, he worked a lot, and until recent years, I never felt all that close to him. Sure, he was there, he took me and the family camping a couple times each summer (my favorite memories). But he also would undermine my self confidence at every turn.

My dad loves and always has loved to make and fix things. All kinds of things. He's taught me a lot about that stuff. But when I was a kid (still does sometimes), when I would try to make or fix something, he'd watch me like a hawk. Which would be fine, but whenever I made the slightest error, he'd literally grab it away from me, and do it himself. The first few times I was in tears. But I got used to it for the most part. I didn't confront him about it until I was a teenager. He got a little better about it, but not completely. To this day, if I'm doing anything in font of him I screw up somehow.

Going back to the 5th grade: During recess, I loved the swings. Unfortunately, so did a lot of other kids. One day, all the swings were full up, so I decide to wander the playground, and play on whatever's available.  I get to those acrobatic bars (you know, the ones that have 3 heights? I can never remember what those are called) and decide to hang and swing my legs back and forth. Earlier that morning it was foggy, and it was a little damp. I slipped off and landed hard and awkwardly on my right wrist. It hurt real bad.

I make my way to the nurse's office (It felt like i was walking for an hour), and they send me home (mother couldn't be bothered to pick me up, so I walked). My dad (retired EMT, current orderly in a county hospital) came home and took a look at my wrist. He said it was just sprained, and put an ace wrap on it. A week goes by, and it still hurts. They finally take me to the hospital, and it's broken. I was at home in pain with a broken wrist for a week. It wasn't that they couldn't afford it, it's because my dad thought he was smarter than he was and falsely diagnosed me. A little bit of knowledge can be a dangerous thing.

I love my parents, but when I think about this stuff, I question my decision to take care of them in their later years.  My mother is now in a wheelchair most of the time, and can't do most things for herself. My dad has COPD, survived cancer, and has a weakened part of his heart (I  can't think of the name of it at the moment) that could burst, killing him within minutes, so he can't do as much as he used to, and if I left them alone, he would kill himself caring for my mother.

Now here I am. Depressed, lonely, mildly suicidal... complaining on the internet. If you've made it this far, thanks for reading my story.