No New Memories

To those that dwell in darkness…

I acknowledge that following is annoying to deal with and quite frankly boring as all hell. But if one, only one poor soul, comes across this poison, then at least I may die with a clear conscious to know that I actually did indeed exist. So if it seems like a whole lot of nonsensical first world problems rambled on and exaggerated by a millenial, it’s probably because it’s written by an extremely self-deprecated immigrant that so happens to be a millenial. That also ran out of emotional outlets. Furthermore I would like to note that: I know the pain I feel, is and has, not only been inflicted by my own shifts in mentality but that I have allowed those shifts to overtake my every aspect of my life. Thefore! I also would like to say that this is probably with the utmost certainty the last place to seek any form of aid, I trully am not seeking any aid from anything(pills) or anyone “friends”(will explain quotes later) or “strangers” nor therapists. Less am I asking for consolation or pity, I am doing this for attetion to ask a question, one I hope will get people here could answer me. And maybe just maybe, think about how to fix a very poisonous and or corrosive mental illness that is “extremely common”. I do this for my own knowledge, I am no activist, I am no recognized journalist nor some notable scholar doing extensive research on mental health. But I am a child with an insatiable thirst for knowledge. (I don’t actually talk like this, but I like to think the drama helps support my idea)

And though all of this sounds like a spoiled rich kid cries and weeps. I must say that am spoiled but not rich. I am aware of my faults, bringing about them has been my downfall. I have exaggerated almost every possible fault of my self to forcibly make myself feel superior to those that have not yet face them, or have. As sly as my pessemistic jokes may be, I have become what my father feared would happen to me, become isolated, enfatuated with materialism and being incorrigible. Bitter and lustful I have forced myself into an isolation I cannot seem break away from.

A cringe worthy, not so short, story. About of my self-forced-transformation from a highly social kid into a stalking creep that no one cares about. Though it doesn’t have sad, it will most likely cause you to feel enraged at least agitated for knowning that a person, that is, I, me. Actually existed, specially since I knowingly wrote all of this with such a poor structure and ambiguity to denote that that this is how I think, how I feel, how I wish it would be read aloud. A skill I like to believe, few know about, and ever fewer know how to use it. I just hope it entertains. In some odd way.

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