[TW: Talks of s*icide]
Sure, this is something, right?
It's been like this since i was young. Young, like age 10 or 11. I started bleeding and that freaked me the fuck out, but my mum explained it to me, and so i trusted what she told me. I always thought i was going to die early. I kept having strings of weird visions and thoughts i couldn't understand. I tried speaking with my parents about it but of course that did nothing but concern them. And so, that's when I started digging. Reading every book i could in the house i could get my hands on. Trips to the library every week, and hours upon hours spent holed up in my room alone, filling my head with whatever I read on the pages of the endless number of books. To find myself in another place that didn't feel hopelessly devoid of happiness.
I didn't particularly have a difficult upbringing or so i thought. Life as the 4th child of immigrants but the only one in my family who was born in America, I realized I was alone in this. I was always considered "lucky" whenever I was introduced or spoken about to other filipinos. "How fortunate" and "how lucky" but i never considered myself either of those things. I wondered how i ended up living this long. I had always planned to d*e before i hit 30 but i also never tried too hard. After a pretty life altering traumatic experience at 12 i found it difficult to believe life could be anything truly wholesome. The positive things i post i read and wish the information could imbed itself into my brain and i believe it.
The happy moments i come across, whether they are my own experiences or not, always hit very deeply and i find myself crying very easily when i feel touched. Moments of growth, positive and negative, deep depression, agonizing betrayal, and euphoric meetings all contributed to the person i am today. Once I saw the framework of it all, nothing really sparked joy anymore -- the only thing that did was this overwhelming need to laugh. I had to find out how to make myself laugh, otherwise i'd be too busy crying. I'm not here to compare my life to anyone else's, garner sympathy or any of that. I simply want to explain how it came to be like this. If i had to cry, I'd want it to be from laughter.
It didn't take me long to recognize my own patterns. I started medication to treat my depression at age 26. It was one of the most eye opening and heart breaking years of my life, but every setback is supposed to be a lesson, right? I only enjoyed work when I was in an environment that still allowed for some individuality. I would find the thing I could make my "fun" thing every day and that would stave off the woefulness for a short while. I used to envy people who were good at working for other people. I realized early on I was not one of those people. Once I began to work for myself, I began to feel like there was a place for me in this world.
I had opened a couple businesses and they had failed, but I learned much from those failures, and I am currently running a couple of ventures now. My body will not allow me to fake anything. A career, a business partnership, or any relationship. The part of me that thought i'd be dead by now rolls its eyes at me watching me try to live any semblance of a happy life. Money and fame and all that comes with it, how it changes a person. All ive ever wanted was to be proven wrong about this sort of thing. I've known both kinds of people, and watched the progression in some from one type to the other, and it makes my heart sigh, melancholically. If i am thankful for anything, it's that i've met and spoken to so many different people. Different ages, races, from every walk of life. Witnessing tragedies at a young age somehow primed me for understanding as i grew. Consideration for others had always come naturally to me.
It's strange when someone who claims to be "humble" tries to humble you. Its exhausting to see these traits in people. I did some research about other ways of "making a living" and everything felt so exploitive. Sell my body, sell my stuff, post about my dog, sing on tiktok, learn how to gamble, sell a stupid fucking coaching course your had AI write for you. I am so tired of this world. The only solace has been my chosen family (my wonderful friends) and my sweet baby dog. My work is rewarding, and it barely pays the bills but it's running me ragged.
You may say that this is the only life we've got, and its the only life i can remember, maybe. There are several theories and ideologies about what happens to us when we die. Some people believe we return to that which we came; back to the earth. Others believe we go somewhere else, like heaven or hell. I want to believe in something so bad, but no matter how much i have tried to convince myself, my brain has been difficult to rewire.
It was age 13 where I began to think i knew too much. Too much about the world in a way that wasn't healthy or positive. I didn't want to know so much. I hated that I did and that it kept me from allowing things to happen. I loathed when my family members would talk about other people as if they knew what was happening in their lives and would shame them for their choices. It made me painfully aware that I never wanted to think like they did. I was never taken seriously when i would tell them that they shouldn't be talking like that. "For someone so young and naive, how would you know what they're feeling?" It's true, I didn't know. But i did know that I wouldn't want that being done to me, nor would i feel good speaking ill about a situation or persons that had nothing to do with me. And that was enough for me to stop believing what my family would say to me from then on.
That's enough of my rambling for now, thanks for reading if you did get this far.