I'm not good at planning out these confession articles. At most I start with some kind of semi-witty or insightful introductory idea from which to painstakingly draw a somewhat cogent line through my thoughts until they inevitably dwindle out into nothingness and the article concludes. But for this one, I didn't even have an idea for a beginning, nor a central thesis I wanted to talk about. I tried writing this introductory paragraph a bunch of times, and it all just felt like something I'd already said a hundred times over. But then, I suppose, ironically, that's also the feeling I just felt the need to express somehow: that this is all I know to do.
It is currently Monday, 4th of May, 2026, 00:34. I'm lying in my bed, naked, with a blanket over my legs and a laptop resting on it, slowly but surely cooking my legs to a crisp over the course of my writing. At the same time I have earplugs in, and music blasting loudly. It's the only way I know to stem the immensity of my sadness and despair enough to actually start doing something creative instead, with the faint glimmer of hope that vomiting it all out into a more concrete form will make me tired enough to actually will myself to turn off the lights and try to sleep. Typically with depression sleeping isn't the issue, but for me it is. I don't like to sleep. My anxieties all have to do with sleeping too much, wasting too much time, not getting enough done. Plus, in order to fall asleep, I have to bear with my brain spinning its thoughts and worries for minutes or hours until I finally lose consciousness. I can never focus on something nice for long enough, I inevitably fall back to thinking about work or something else unpleasant. I imagine the actual dreams I experience are similarly not very nice, since I only ever seem to remember unpleasant parts, and generally have trouble feeling properly rested in the morning, despite a regular sleep schedule and 8.5 hours planned out for sleep. Regardless, this is all I know to do.
It is currently Monday, 4th of May, 2026, 00:39. It has been a little bit more than half a year since I dropped out of my second attempt at university, a mere two months after the attempt had begun. Since then, my life has been thoroughly derailed and all of my attempts at getting back on track have failed utterly. Again and again I found myself unable to return to work as I had been doing before. Heck, I haven't even drawn much of anything. I certainly haven't written anything either, my failed attempt at actually getting a novel together left utterly in the dust since Summer. I haven't done any voice practise since December, and as of a month or so ago I haven't even managed to get much done programming wise. I haven't even managed to maintain a lot of the friendships I'd tried to foster over the past years. I can't remember the last time I'd done any serious Japanese practise, and I can't in good conscience count the in person language exchange I have been doing, since I just keep floundering instantly every time I try to say anything and my vocabulary doesn't improve any either. Every time I've tried to start any of these things back up, I got hit with some other issue that immediately tanked me back into being unable to work, or I just noticed I could not muster up the focus to do it. I feel like I can no longer do the only things I knew to do.
It is currently Monday, 4th of May, 2026, 00:47. A little over three years ago I started my transition. I remember at this time I was under a lot of anxiety about standing out and being seen as a weirdo, but I also felt a lot of conviction and pressure to "get it over with" as soon as possible. So I pushed to get every treatment and change I could as quickly as possible. Both because I'm inpatient, and also because it genuinely felt, for the first time in a long time, like I had a good goal to work towards, and perhaps even a path to get out of my constant depressive swings and general discontent with my life. It felt like, if I excised this irritant from my life, finally, I might be granted access to the kind of elation and pervasive happiness average people seem to experience regularly. And for a brief while, it certainly did seem like this was going to be the case. A lot of my issues disappeared, my circumstances changed, and most of all how I viewed myself changed drastically for the better. I could now look at myself in the mirror, take photos of myself, and feel less like I had to hide myself away at every opportunity. And for just a short span of a few weeks I felt genuinely happy with my life. But, as you can tell, this did not last, and before long I was back to my regular mood swings, back to my usual anxieties that had already plagued me all this time before, back to my bleak outlook for my future. After all of that, it turned out that this is all I knew to do after all.
It is currently Monday, 4th of May, 2026, 00:53. About six years ago I was for the first time seriously considering dropping out of university during my Master's of Computer Science. I'd been there for 8 years now, and had failed important courses that would set me back at least another year and a half, all for a degree for which I had no real need. After all, right before university had started all those years ago, in my internship, I learned that I really was not compatible with the corporate structure, even at its most basic and friendly. I had been thrown into depression for a good while, and that experience scared me enough to want to just stay in university until I, at some indeterminate point in the future, would chance upon another avenue for work that actually, well, worked for me. That moment never really came, but I was just tired and exhausted from university. And so I decided to drop out and try my hand at making games full time. After all, I was still young enough and even if it failed, as it almost certainly would, it would not be that big of a problem, I hoped. And besides, making games and working on things I found interesting was all I knew to do anyway.
It is currently Monday, 4th of May, 2026, 00:59. When I was still in high school some fifteen years ago, I spent most of my time working on my own projects and interests. I had a couple of friends at school that I got along with, went to eat lunch with, and occasionally met to hang out. Most importantly though, people generally finally left me alone now, and I was very relieved for that. Most of my connections though were online: on forums and in chatrooms I could talk to people that actually shared my interests, and I spent as much time as I could posting and chatting away, finding strong friendships, some of which still last to this day. At the time I didn't feel like I was lonely, because I had these connections online, and all of my personal art and programming projects that could keep my mind occupied. I was also convinced that the best and perhaps only way to give my life meaning and worth was to work as hard as I could and produce as much as I could. I remember frequently running from the dinner table as soon as I was done so I could get back to working on my projects. I had no interest in clubs or discos or ports or festivals or anything social on a local scale at all. After all, working on things was really all I knew to do.
It is currently Monday, 4th of May, 2026, 01:04. It is now over twenty years since the worst phase of my life ended. I still vividly remember crying a lot in primary school, coming home in tears, desperately not wanting to go to class because I was bullied and ostracised so frequently. And yet, I always went anyway, because that's what I was supposed to do. I was called slurs without knowing what they meant. I was beaten and had my things stolen. I got slammed into a wall hard enough to break one of my front teeth in half. I remember the teachers berating me for not getting along and not acquiescing to the demands of the bullies. I remember desperately thinking about what I could do to get people to leave me alone. I felt alone and didn't understand why nobody wanted to be my friend. I also remember computers. I remember sinking as much time as I could into playing around with old laptops and workstations from my dad's office, I remember circumventing child protection schemes to find more time to be on computers so I could make my own games and programs, so I could play around and occupy my busy mind with a seemingly endless world of interesting things. I remember printing out the entire manual of Mark Overmars' GameMaker 6 to bring with me on a school trip. The school trip on which, at night, the other boys in the dorm would do "jerking off competitions" to see who could last the longest. The school trip on which, when I wanted to leave because it made me uncomfortable, a teacher begrudgingly dragged out a mattress so I could sleep in the hallway, and him telling the other boys that I was being a baby as the reason for why I wouldn't be sleeping with them. So I spent my time reading the printed English manual, thinking about what all I could make, because that's all I knew to do.
It is currently Monday, 4th of May, 2026, 01:14. A bit less than thirty years ago while in kindergarten, I already didn't want to sing along with songs I didn't like. I didn't get along with many kids, and instead preferred to build and draw things on my own. I was fascinated by Lego, Meccano, chemistry sets, electronics, fireworks, mathematics. I wanted to learn everything and do everything perfectly. I didn't really take an interest in what other kids were doing, but I was happy to share what I was doing with other kids, an imbalance that remained true throughout all of my childhood, and which remains true to this day. I still have massive trouble approaching other people or truly sharing in interests of others, even though I am elated to talk about anyone that will listen about my own. I've tried to correct that imbalance, but it is always very much a conscious effort, even after a long time of trying, and I fear it will remain a behaviour I perform to my death. It truly seems to be all I know to do.
It is currently Monday, 4th of May, 2026, 01:20. When I complain about my issues, many peoples' instinctive reaction is to try and give advice on things I should do to correct those issues. I understand that instinct. The problem is that almost always I have already thought of those fixes myself before, and most often even attempted them and failed. Issues that have stood with me for a long time, through years and years of constant therapy, through years of trying different forms of countering, acquiescing, exposing, and yet they remain. I've learned to cope, to some degree. I've learned to mask, to some degree. But it's all leaky. I'm still weird, and people can tell. I still feel worthless, and all the things I can point to to prove my worth ring hollow. I still long, need companionship, and all the while often find myself thinking that I'm not worth loving. That with all my baggage, all my torment, all my ... disability, why would anyone put up with me. I know. I know. I can hear you scream in your head one of two things: "that's not how that works," or "in order to be loved you first have to love yourself." The latter in particular is something I see repeated online a lot in various places. It strikes me as one of those rather out of touch sayings that nevertheless sound good to the person saying them, because it makes them feel like they're giving some key insight that will push the other person to better themselves. But it's just not how it works, and worse it's the kind of thought that will only push people further into despair. Because hearing that kind of thing doesn't make you go "dang guess I better love myself then!" but rather "well heck, I guess it's impossible then, it's all over for me."
It is currently Monday, 4th of May, 2026, 01:33. I once again find myself writing a personal article late at night. Pouring my heart out to the foggy, intangible mass that is the internet, scarce few atoms of which will ever even see it happen. I don't want to be writing sad articles late at night. I don't want to be hating myself. I don't want to feel like I don't belong anywhere at all, especially after having changed so many things about my life. I don't want to feel like I have no future because I can't seem to make a living without destroying myself. I don't want to feel so utterly alone. I don't want to have these tears in my eyes. And yet, despite everything, this remains to be all I know to do.
