Post-writing note: This was a post I just made up on the spot. No structure went into this, it’s just stream-of-consciousness about what’s been going on in my life lately. I’m in what amounts to Aspie Siege Mode right now so maybe this will give some insight to you who read this.
I’ve about had it with everything by now. Nothing happens the way I want it to and there doesn’t seem to be a way out other than hoping God decides His plan is for me to be happy. I can’t find the motivation to do anything at all. Literally nothing. I can’t even play video games right. Oh, sure, I can boot up a game and play for a bit but I rarely do and when I am it’s just not that fun. Not helped by the fact that I have the most fun when I’m playing a multiplayer game with my friends – preferably just my friends, nobody wants to play with those jobless lunatics who do nothing but play Counter-Strike all day every day and can headshot you twice per second without looking and playing with their feet, thrice on leap years.
Hell, at this point I’d settle for playing in a public game with my friends, but they’re never around. One of them is pretty much never around unless you schedule something with him (and I just tried that tonight and OF COURSE his computer screwed up) so he might as well not exist for all the scheduling we put into playing a bloody pickup video game. One of them I introduced to an online forum that had some neat fanfiction on it I thought he’d like and now he spends ninety percent of his time there. I refuse to get involved because that forum all but outright states that as long as you’re right you can be as much of a jerk as you want and screw that, what the hell is wrong with, I dunno, not being social cancer? And the last of them is the one I’ve complained about before who, when we finally do get things squared away to play a multiplayer game, he bails last-second because “you guys go ahead, I’mma play Fallout 3” or somesuch. Oh, and the last two are super into Dark Souls and talk about it nonstop whenever they’re online together, and I’ve all but had it. I want to invent a time machine, go back and run the stupid guy over so the series never gets made. Pretty sure Friend Two hasn’t played a game that isn’t Dark Souls in a few months.
“But Flag, surely you have other friends?” my parents say, recalling that I’ve mentioned other people. Sure, yeah, I do, but they’re not the sort that you just randomly play a game with. One of them isn’t a gamer. One of them plays nothing but strategy games that I haven’t figured out. And one of them is never online. “So why don’t you make new friends?” Same bloody reason an anemic doesn’t join the cross-country team – it’s bloody difficult! I don’t even know where to start with that. Oh, sure, join a club – except wait, I can’t manage my time effectively enough to schedule that even if all clubs didn’t meet in the afternoon – coincidentally the same time my classes and work shifts are on! And even then, I cannot into social skills. I’ll just turtle up in the corner and look unapproachable while everyone else has a great time, occasionally say just enough to feel uncomfortable or stupid, then go home.
On top of that I can’t freaking into schoolwork at the moment, I’m just so tired of deadlines getting dumped on my face anymore I’m about ready to break down entirely. And I don’t say anything ninety percent of the time. Having a mental disability is just as real as being a paraplegic – but it’s invisible. Everyone can tell when you’re in a wheelchair and nobody’s going to ask you to go run a mile or something. But with a mental disability there’s this mindset of “oh, you can work past it, you just need to focus more or work harder.” No, you bloody well don’t, that’s not how it works! Focusing is the next best thing to impossible half the time, for heaven’s sake! But that attitude is thrown around so bloody often that I’ve ended up internalizing it so the minute my flat inability to function in a way that everyone understands surfaces I instantly think I’m the problem.
That’s not even the only thing fueling my perfectionism either; I’ve always been told I’m hyperintelligent. Hell, I’ve got the IQ tests to prove it, for all the good they do. So, logically, it follows that I should have one hundred percent on all my tests, right? After all, I was a PhD at sixteen and teach classes at Harvard, don’t I? No, as a matter of fact I don’t. I’ve got all these ideas that I’ve either developed myself or have been put there by well-meaning individuals and as a result if I don’t live up to them I shut down, because I don’t get what I’m doing wrong, the world isn’t supposed to work like this and I don’t know what to do anymore.
One thing I’ve enjoyed doing was my brief stint as a YouTuber. I liked making videos of stupid things me and my friends (hey, remember when I had FRIENDS?!) did in video games. I thought other people would enjoy them too. But it’s not even that people hated my videos – they never even saw them. And that sucked. I could put all the possible effort into making my videos excellent, setting up tags so that they’d show up in search engines and everything. But it was down to luck and YouTube never pulled my name out of the hat. I still make videos, but at this point it’s much more of a hobby than anything that I seriously expect people to watch.
School is starting to drag too. My computer class assigns entirely too much homework for me to deal with – coupled with the fact that the website it’s hosted on is one of the most obtuse things I’ve had the displeasure to lay cursor on in years and the end-of-section quizzes frequently ask for answers that were never covered in the videos where they present on them. The quiz on memory had a question about processors overheating. What the heck is that?! Oh, and nothing got done this week, either. Or as close as made no difference – in my defense, I’ve been at least partially sick all week and I’ve had to deal with no end of shenanigans with buying a new car, but who cares? The assignments have their due dates and I’m expected to meet them, come hell, high water or mechanics screwing up your car’s allegedly routine repairs.
Hopefully that won’t matter in the end, right? I don’t want a stupid job, for heaven’s sake – I couldn’t stand high school and can barely deal with college. I sure as hell don’t want to end up in a job where I work every single day of every week for the rest of my life, on top of juggling every other stupid responsibility of being an adult. I’ll go completely nuts, and it won’t be pretty. No, really, I read Pet Sematary and all I thought was it’s interesting. So hopefully, if things go according to plan, I want to be a writer, specifically a novelist.
Except that requires throwing myself on the mercy of the same people who let Twilight become more popular than The Dresden Files. Would that this analogy sufficed but basically what I’m saying is that even if I write an amazing novel it wouldn’t necessarily sell enough copies to cover basic life costs, let alone anything I want to donate or use on top of that. And that’s probably the main reason I have trouble motivating myself to write – plus I have no idea where to start, either. As I’ve detailed before, I can make characters and I can make settings, but I have no real idea how to put together a story. I expect it will get easier once I start, since everything does, but it’s impossible to find the motivation
And I don’t feel motivated to try anything. So when asked, I respond with all the doubts and expectations of failure I have about whatever it is that I would allegedly be trying. Then I usually get told not to feel so negative (or something that I interpret the same way) so I change my expectations to one of success – like trying to set up a time with my friends to play a game. Then one of them has internet trouble, the other’s computer arbitrarily doesn’t play the game, and the last one decides to go to bed before the problems are resolved. Hell, the other two are probably in bed right now anyway. So I get upset – I aimed for success and got kicked in the face by someone wearing stiletto cleats. Then I end up being told not to expect everything to go right, so I expect everything to go badly and everyone’s on my case for being negative and not fun to be around. Well, I don’t do half measures – it’s just not a thing.
I don’t remember what the symptoms of clinical depression are (and I’m too tired after a long and highly disappointing day to look them up) but I’m pretty sure I tick off enough boxes for a diagnosis. Which, again, would mean something if I was actually a trained psychiatrist, but I’m not. So whatever.