Diary of a Prisoner No parole allowed

2017-12-19

Looking for darkness

Filed under: Blog — Tags: , , , — Inmate #840528 @ 20:20

I came across this post on facebook, an image (I’m not even sure if that classifies as a meme) that just says:

I’m highly attracted to someone who has been through things in life. I don’t want someone who is always rainbows and butterflies. Is it strange that I am comforted by the darkness in someone?

It got me thinking. I am indeed sort of attracted to people who have a dark history and/or a dark side, whatever it may be, and people who are always happy kind of creep me out. I’ve always known this, though, so it’s nothing new. If anything, it was nice to see it show up on my feed because it’s a reminder that I’m not alone in my weirdness, and lately that alone is definitely a welcome thing.

The question however is: why? Why do I feel immediately close to someone who has lived through struggles? Until recently, I had never admitted to myself that perhaps I just wish someone were as miserable as me; and that still makes me feel horrible, by the way. But I guess hiding it doesn’t help anyone, so there it is again. Maybe this attraction to fellow strugglers is just another way of saying the same thing, in a slightly less selfish way because it’s about them, rather than me.

Note that, once again, this is not about love or romantic relationships. One of the very few “guy friends” I had also struggled through his own things, and that is actually what got us to be friends. There’s just that kind of connection between people who have or have had issues. Maybe it’s part selfishness: hey, I’m not as alone, as miserable, as ridiculous as I thought I was. Or maybe it’s the desire to help, though the line between generosity and selfishness can be thin: if I know that helping you makes me feel better, am I being self-centered? Still, there’s a connection.

Lately I’ve been following a facebook group about victims of abuse by sociopaths and narcissists. Even though many of the posts by others are heartbreaking, as one may imagine, the environment is very positive and supportive. I never posted there myself (I don’t feel my experiences are “worth” it; that’s a whole new can of worms, I know) but I’ve occasionally commented on other things, and I’ve had replies. That alone was helpful, especially when they were indeed supporting comments to things that took a lot of effort to write and put out there, such as my fear of driving issue.

In my life I’ve always been in touch with someone who had issues; perhaps it was a way of working on my own issues, who knows? Yet lately I haven’t, or rather, as I said in other posts, it feels like everyone’s sort of trying to find a way while I’m still locked in. The odd thing is that coming to the realization that perhaps I “used” other people’s issues to feel less alone doesn’t make me feel guilty. After all I wasn’t the one to cause their problems and I’ve always tried to help others. What it does, instead, is make me feel useless now, actually both useless and hopeless. Useless because I can’t help anyone, and hopeless because I feel like nobody will ever need me again, since everyone seems to be doing better on their own.

2017-09-17

Would anyone even notice?

Filed under: Blog — Tags: , , , , — Inmate #840528 @ 10:35

I don’t have many friends. I never have, really. Most of my friendships are born online, for a variety of reasons; mostly, it’s easier for me to feel at ease without the added fear, or anxiety if you will, of being judged for how I look, or how I dress, or how I move, or how I speak. Moreover, I’m an introvert and I just don’t do well in social situations, so I simply have few opportunities of meeting new people, especially since I finished my school cycle. Working from home is cherry on top, but that’s something I actually welcome. The thing is that is even when I have the chance to be social, I am not the kind of person who will strike up a conversation with strangers. Being an introvert nerd, my interests lie with the deep, and I’m given to understand that it’s inappropriate to discuss the question of life, the universe and everything with strangers.

So most of my friendships start online, and sometimes, if distance allows, they become physical; they don’t have to in order to be real, mind, indeed I have had far more honest friendships with people I never had the chance to meet than with people I had spent years going to school with.

And yet, the allegedly “more real” part of friendship, that is the meeting up and doing things together, often leaves me sorely disappointed. I am very easily forgotten. Oftentimes attempts to meet up, with all the best intentions, wind up into nothing. Not once, not twice, but repeatedly. There are people who claimed to care about me and wanting to meet me who never found a few spare hours in over a year, despite us living a couple dozen kilometers away; on my end, my only request was to be told at least one or two days before as I have work arrangements to deal with, but other than that , I’m generally easily available. In all fairness, however, I have had appointments I took a raincheck on due to sudden anxiety, though I’m working on that because sometimes forcing myself is all I need to have a very good time. I’m thinking about one person in particular here, who is actually currently going through some problems, and whom I would love to help out if only I could. That also makes me feel even more useless: I rationally know it’s just how it is, from my own experience, but my subconscious disagrees.

The worst part is when such things happen even online. With a few notable exceptions, I’m the one who always initiates a conversation with others. Perhaps it’s laziness on their part, knowing I will look for them. But it’s hard not to think that if I didn’t look for them, they would not look for me either. And sometimes, in a bout of psychological self-harm, I do just that: I stop looking for them and see how long it takes until anyone looks for me first. It is true that some don’t out of respect, because they know that my response to being overwhelmed is to withdraw, and I appreciate it. But at the same time, after a while, it simply becomes evident that I’m easily disposable.

If I’m around, good; if I’m not, who cares? But is it even good at all if I am around? It makes me wonder. It certainly doesn’t help my self-esteem to be made painfully aware that I may disappear, and few would even notice until much later.

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