eat me henger

i hate it when people like me. i can see ahead. they're adding to the list of people whom i will disappoint. it feels like a prison when people hope for my potential. i can never seem to live up to people's expectations. having lived long enough with as long of a list of people disappointed in me already, even mere anticipation of my capability feels ominous. their rose-tinted glasses of optimism can't see the incoming heartache they're bound to feel. time and time again, the worst in me reveals itself after the best of me have attracted hopeful patrons. and it's not like i wanted to let them down. yeah sure, i've anticipated it will happen. but i never wanted to architect my own downfall. it hurts me to hurt them. probably more so than their pain. when they walk away from me, they'll find joy elsewhere. but i have to sit disgusted with myself, adding another name to an ever growing list of people that hate me. it's my unfortunate duality. the stories of...

it's been a year since i started subscribing to a paid version of chatgpt. it didn't come cheap. it's equivalent to a month of netflix and hbo max combined. but i believe i'm getting my money's worth. i've since let go of my media streaming subscriptions. i can always torrent the shows i want to watch, but i can't get an untiring and intelligent simulated consciousness elsewhere. i will admit, my actual long-form writing has gotten duller after a year of depending on chatgpt to do most of my writing. all i've been really doing is to to engineer the substance - "i want a paragraph with a sentence that describes what are we doing, another sentence for why are we doing it, and ending with a sentence that explains why do we need their cooperation" - architect the style - "the language must be cold and technical for a reader that is thoroughly familiar with the nature of work we're doing". and paring down the output into something th...

i don't see it.  i don't see how i can be a lover again. i have a dwindling career. i only have fair-weather friends. i have no interest in living life outside the same things i do at home on weekends. i've regressed into debilitating mental instability. i'm just good at temporary roles, for when my moments of lucidity allows me. i can't talk to my folks because they were never there. just enough to keep a roof over my head. i'm invisibly disabled. i can go through enough real-life motions to convince others that i'm allowed in society. but really, once my parents are dead, i'll soon follow. i'm not convinced i can make it through life given my limitations. neither am i convinced anyone is capable of helping me get through life. people have given up on me several times. i don't blame them, i gave up on myself too.o because what's the point? i'm only temporarily useful.

i keep fucking up intimacy.  i'm too sensitive that i perceive most things as threats, and i'm too combative that i escalate hostilities whether real or imagined. it's a recipe for constant conflicts or eroding emotional distance. once again, i prove i have no business being an intimate partner. i'm thoroughly flawed and burdened by deep trauma. i'm convinced that has no room in any romantic relationship. so why the fuck am i forcing myself? i need a shit ton of work. it's probably insurmountable that i'm perhaps irredeemably broken at this point. coming to the conclusion that i should not dabble in any romance didn't come lightly. it's been painful to conclude that all of my flaws significantly outweigh the good i have. but it's better i contain that pain to myself rather than bringing in someone else to see the disappointment i truly am. i'm a positive presence when i play a limited role in people's lives. a temporary treasure, i call m...

i'm only dramatic when other people are involved.  either alone or detached, with the necessary psychoactive substances, i'm ruthlessly invincible. no fear of disappointing others. no one else to consider. nobody accountable to, except my own worst critic. just me and my mission to inch closer to greatness. and in a story of one, there is neither hero nor villain. just me.

i don't want to go on dates anymore.  i've lost my sense to see myself as a viable romantic choice. i'm thoroughly aware of my ineptitude and the apprehension that prevents me from overcoming my failures. i'm convinced other people will be better choices. i've resigned to miserable loneliness as my default option. conceptually, i know the right things to do. but with failure after failure, never integrating the lessons, it's becoming more difficult to embody the genuine expression of love. all i see is how much of a mistake i am. i can be fine with that. i can be the occasional friend. i can be the companion in a pinch, especially when no one else can join the trenches. but to be the guy one can show off? to be the guy one would desire to be publicly associated with? i'm a walking red flag. i'm synonymous with warnings. i'm trapped to feel pity over anyone who will suffer the consequences of choosing me. it is thus my duty to protect others from the ...