eat me henger

i'm a hermit by misguided design. everyone's kept at arm's length, while every thing  were kept close. i found that objects are more reliable than people. objects are engineered, designed to follow rules. it hurts less to be disappointed with objects rather than people. there's always a troubleshooting guide online for when things break. but people are so unique, they barely understand their own instruction manuals. but i try. people have significantly higher inherent value than inanimate objects. and i just need to sincerely connect. appreciate the good, compassion for their failings. my biggest stumbling block was always been my transparency. i never expressed my appreciation nor disappointment. i always had to put up this ironclad unbothered persona. when good things happen, life goes on. when bad things happen, life goes on... without them. ruthless, i know. it makes for a terribly lonely life. i've adopted it so well that when people ask me "how are you so...

there is such a thing as being "too old" - it happens when you refuse to leave a phase you've already outgrown. i'm neither young or old in my early 30s, age is relative. but i've been definitely feeling awkward lately. like adolescence-adjacent awkwardness. in my teens, the hormonal changes were apparent. school would even teach about pimples and pubic hair. but in this phase of life, where everyone's doing their own thing - be it family or career, nobody talks about the changes that happen in our early 30s. the closest thing is the common understanding that we've fully developed our prefrontal cortex, but then that's around the mid-20s. what the fuck happens to us in our early 30s? i've definitely felt a discernible mellowing. not the same insatiable hunger to prove my worth to the world. brain feels ever so slightly duller, especially given that i've amassed a bunch of knowledge rendered obsolete by recent developments. my signature emotiona...

for a time i was chosen, and that was enough. i find fulfillment in being needed and heeding the call of duty. it gives my life direction. i'm lost myself, so outsourcing the objective to others feels like a decent shortcut. i may have some of my shit together - like systems to keep my health and performance in check - but the grander purpose for existence is lost on me. so when people who need saving present themselves, i respond swiftly. i want smiles on people's faces. laughter, if possible. lighten their load, lift their hearts, no matter how brief. that's how i try to make a difference in this absurd existence we all share. i'm not looking to be thanked. i'm not looking to be remembered either. i'm just focused on my process of delivering the highest quality connection i can create. i think deeply about it all the time. strategize sometimes. as long as my effort put them in a better position than before meeting me, then i consider it a success. whether it l...

i'm uncomfortable as fuck knowing that there are readers of this blog who personally know me. while i believe they are kind people, my inner critic imagines them bashing the fuck out of my writing. duh, it's not hard to find. my username has always been the same since the early 2000s - way before the term "social media" was even coined. i am that fucking ancient. i check this blog's analytics, see where the readers are coming from, what devices they're using, and most importantly - what entries are they reading. and when i re-read entries from years past, i get the urge to travel back in time and choke the fuck out of my past self. the vast majority of my writing here has been meandering. i'm the least bit proud to be associated with such writing. yeah sure, it's me. genuine about depression. genuine about insecurities. but my fucking god, that's why i don't actually open up to friends because this is where i dump my shit so i face the world c...

after half a decade, we finally met eye-to-eye. i finally saw the woman whom i once loved.  "love" is the right word. after years of denial, resentment and grief, i've come to accept that, at its core, it has always been love. no matter how the word's meaning has been reframed. for the longest time, people asked: what would you do if i saw her again? i never gave it much thought, i kept saying: i'll feel whatever i'll feel in the moment. and so the moment came. from afar, i saw her slender figure. as i got closer, her shape became more familiar. and when i finally saw her face, the contours etched deep in my memory. to my surprise, i smiled. involuntarily. even more surprising, she smiled back. that beautiful smile i once worked so hard to earn. that same smile that made everything feel better. years later, i get finally see that smile again. effortlessly returned, as if on instinct. and somehow, that smile still carried the same magic. i felt an existential ...

i have unhealed wounds that i never tended to.  they were never treated, just built around them so they don't have to be triggered. intellectualize emotions and social dynamics, so i don't come off as insensitive. deeply study non-verbal cues, so i can recognize threats and opportunities. it was always an academic pursuit, rather than letting my heart run my humanity. i'd like to think that i've developed an impermeable fortification for my sensitive soul. but no, there are the rare instances where a presence extremely resonant comes through and makes room for them. and that's when it gets dangerous. true vulnerability. doesn't matter how intensely i prepared to be protected. it only works on outsiders. for the longest time, i've been focusing on building my walls higher. when i'm devastated by my reckless offering of presence, i respond with fortifying further. i failed therefore i have to whip myself harder. i haven't thought of ever flipping the s...

i frequently find myself being the reason why relationships are pushed to the breaking point.  and it has always been the same: just me genuinely showing up to provide emotional scaffolding buttressed by intellectual rigor of understanding the underlying dilemma.  apparently, playing to my strengths inordinately reveal a romantic relationship's weakness. ironic because i don't keep the strongest relationships either. so i have empathy for the partners who suffered the consequences of my presence. at several points in my life, i was them. i may not fully know these people - based only from the stories their aggrieved partner - but i have love for them. despite being the reason for complaints now, i'm sure at some point they felt strongly about their affection for the partner. they used to be excited for them, their hearts used to feel full from them. but i'm always the guy who has to hear how their love is crumbling. i share the pain, because i too was the reason for com...

i'm always grateful for mornings i wake up without depression weighing on me. but it's also the period of my cyclical psyche where my writing feels less soulful. it doesn't feel like there's a conflict wanting to be resolved. that's the magic of it really. i write to resolve an inner issue. i sit with the feeling. i type my thoughts. i somehow build a narrative with the next word, sentence or paragraph unplanned. it falls into place, messily built, but assembled intuitively with purpose. i don't believe it makes any problem more solved, but it definitely makes it easier to believe that if i can construct order in this debilitating chaos, then i have a fighting chance to have control over my own life. and that belief in agency is the first step to a proper solution. it's just square one though. once i publish my writing, i have to step into the real world and follow through with concrete actions. that's the hard part. you can't just sit in one corner ...

i'm afraid. i'm afraid of hurting those who decide to love me. i want to be loved though. i really do. i just carry with me decades of integrating the many times i've been the bad guy. i truly wish for a love with the cleanest slate. not the piece of shit i see when i look into the mirror. i act out the bad guy, the piece of shit that i think i am. i hurt others because i'm not being pure, not honest. i guess before i could begin to consider love, i need to first be real. because the "bad guy", the "piece of shit", they're not really me. they were me, they were others' perceptions of me for a momentary period. but the me that has the capacity for care, protection, joy, love - lives within me.

it's 1am on a workday and i can't fall asleep. i yawn. my eyes are getting blurry. but i've been laying in bed for hours and i can't be at peace. i reckon it's my irresponsible use of caffeine to blunt the medication comedown that i avoid. perhaps it could be the blunting of endogenous melatonin from repeated use of the substance to stun me into unconsciousness. i guess this is the new phase of my life. being drug dependent just to stay functionally alive. i've longed for the sweet release of death. i'm gifted other things instead. ostensibly everything that goes my way are gifts, one way or another. i'm just not getting the one i truly want. and i give up, if i have to struggle through a sleepless night every now and then, if i have to survive anxiety attacks every now and then, then fuck it, we ball. truth of the matter is, i've already gotten the sweet release of death already. just not in the form i wanted it to be. essentially, i'm already d...