/blog/ - Your own personal blog

I lost the ability to be scared of things when I was 13.

See, when I was younger I used to always want to kill myself, and kill other people, because they were lazy…stupid. They'd spew double standards and act proud about it. Even people I was supposed to believe were good, like my parents. One minute they'd be saying something interesting and the next they'd be saying something obviously unfair, mishandling the simplest situations. I didn't care if it was in my favor or against, it all made my blood boil that they'd be so fucking smug about being stupid pieces of shit and abusing what little irrelevant power they had.

But of course I knew I owed them. My dad worked and my mom took care of us kids, they'd be sad if I killed myself and I couldn't kill them. So I told myself I must be insane and that when I was 18 I would move out and get a job so I could pay to see a psychiatrist myself.

It wasn't until 13 that I was able to put my full understanding into words, and my parents and everyone were under the illusion that I'd magically become a LE SOOPER GENIUS overnight. Didn't matter though, people will defend to the death their obvious double standards and use all the scorn and guilt they possessed to silence me if I challenged them. When I dug myself out from under a lifetime of heaped-on guilt, they had no ammo, and they just stuck to sulky sarcasm until I stopped objecting to whatever they were doing, and went back to thinking they were righteous the next day. Everyone I talked to was the same. By this time I had forced myself down from the verge of suicide or homicidal rampages several times, but my instincts were growing more intense and frequent. I woke up one day with a sex drive and realized I couldn't afford it, so I completely suppressed it for about three years through sheer force of will so I could focus on not killing myself or anyone else. I guess most people associate suicidal tendencies with depression and apathy. Not me. I've always acted outwardly mild and never needed any companionship, but I've been on fire for as long as I can remember, suppressing my emotions, trying to improve, reading, thinking, trying to figure everything out, you know, the patterns behind things. I fought back numbness like I'd fight back stupidity or hypocrisy. I felt everything; I never got desensitized. Didn't allow myself to. I merely endured and built up my psychological stamina. Somewhere along the way I realized the pointlessness of things like fear, pride, and dignity. The only spice they ever add to life is at the expense of the people around you. Got rid of them. Realism is better. It wasn't automatic. It wasn't easy. It still happened. Nothing can scare me anymore…not the unknown, either. The hormonal surge is still there, naturally, a response to anything off or dangerous, raised heartrate, changes in vision processing. But my consciousness isn't perturbed by it, it's just another tool. I can react instantly and decisively and I can think everything through in the moment. A lot of people would mistake that for sociopathy; they percieve sociopaths as strong and competent because they're lacking something, and they justify their own shitty behavior and frailty, saying it's just part of what makes them human. I have everything they have, yet I am not weak. They're just as predictable as any sociopath. They're lost in endless Cluster B disorders. They make me sick and fuel my urge to kill. Not that I'll ever be in any danger of heeding it again. I already won. I was 15 when I realized psychology as a field is useless, jaded, pretentious; both modern and classical. So I just did it myself. I fixed what I could on my own just by thinking things through, in the natural course of understanding more about my environment. The rest I just repressed, which everyone says is so unhealthy. I guess the healthy thing to do would be to bare my soul to people who make me sick so they could act confused about it in a support group or something. Or I guess the healthy thing to do would be to stick an axe in their skulls and not repress myself. Like I say, psychology is stupid.

So that's my answer: nothing. I have no fears, not even the fear of nothingness itself like in Le Existential Bear Mene. Do I hate the idea that I will certainly die and long desperately for a way out? Of course. Am I afraid of ceasing to exist? No. Just sad.

I know, I know, post longer than five words and dealing with something not related to epick lulz and not encapsulated in at least three levels of irony. Sorry.
>Genuine sentiment on my /b/? *tips fedora*
But half of you still get super upset about screamers and feel the need to warn other anons, so don't try and act "hard" or whatever.