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i whited out my name
September 8, 2022 • 21:08

June 23, 2023 ~17.46
fckkk, i thought i posted this out of order but turns out i posted it in order already, in the past. i wanted to get through multiple backdated entries today but spent so much time on this one. i'm going to leave it anyway because i changed some features and i don't know if anyone reads it so i could probably put whatever i want here anyway and no one would mind but i do like having a very different version of the same entry up i think its cool just stupid i didnt get through more backdated ones. i have dozens of backdated entries that get further backdated every time i write a new one

Thursday night, a shopping center parking lot

Was looking through my computer's former iPhotos application to see if it could resolve issues with file creation dates changing from the date the files were created and into the date they were most recently downloaded. It could not.

But I saw photos from the last time I saw my friend. We were writing notes to each other with our Nintendo DSes. I sent her some pictochat pics, back then. Finding the pictures didn't make me too sad. It made me want to visit her again. I should have visited her twelve times by now but I haven't. I haven't travelled to see her. I haven't traveled much at all.

I am happy to say that I am talking to her after the nearly two weeks of not talking. I still have problems I'm still jealous I'm still bitter and wrathful. But now I get that those aren't mutually exclusive from being happy to hear from her. She's dealing with some things now, she's very upset, seems to be made restless from the upset. But I haven't written in a few days because I get to talk to her and that brings me some peace. Her gift box is coming along. I ordered something else for it but hope to have the box ready by the time the new item arrives. I would like her to get the box when she's alone, so this week would have been really good, but I don't think it will be wrapped up in time. But I'm really close now.

So I felt deflated from seeing the pictures. Hit me again that so much of my existence is just endurance, tolerating painful, uncomfortable, demoralizing experiences that no one should go through with no greater incentive than reliving it the following day.
Going so long without seeing her.
Why would I do that. why wouldn't I see her every year. Because I just try to deal with pain, I just try to endure it, distract from it, because it seems too much. maybe the attention deficit issues. maybe something deeper. A self imposed prison and mental paralysis

17.17 Publishing this on June 23, nine months later, and I still haven't seen her and have no plans to. I just want things. I want to see her. I want things to work out so that seeing her is easy. /17.18

I think that's why burnout is so common for me. I just don't have solutions for this crisis besides getting used to it and getting through the night and waking up the next day. Looking at images I made for fun in the past made the present day paralysis more obvious. Basic images I personally made without thinking about, and my only thought now was that it looks complicated, that I couldn't do that. Seems unreachable. I've become so used to tolerating life. Maybe that's why I seem distraught out of nowhere. It's a truthful response to ongoing decades-long distress and discomfort.

When i first became uncomfortable about physical contact with family members, it just manifested as reaching between the front seats from the back and taking her money with my sweatshirt's sleeve over my hand. Now, so many years later, lifetimes later, it means never sitting in my parent's homes, crouching while working on their computers, outstretching my arms to wash my hands or type on a keyboard, looking at some discarded junk on the floor and needing to schedule a good time to pick it up because picking it up depends on when I wash my hands, changing into a second set of clothes to take the dog around the block, questioning every instinctual thing that should be totally fluid and normal and taken for granted. But on the rare times I touch a parent, I have to plan it, for an ideal time, like picking something up off the floor. Nothing is natural and it's all slow. Everything else seems to have taken on these traits too.

it makes me wonder how much pain i'm in from seeing my parents suffer, from losing our dogs while the workplace became more torturous and unrelentingly hostile

it makes me feel so inadequate and ashamed. Because I get used to the discomfort and I feel like I should also be able to get a woman who likes being with me, but I'm so used to this inadequate state and repetition and boredom and discomfort that I feel inadequate, boring, gross. Because what I trained myself for decades to tolerate is just a part of me it seems. Like I can be giving them what seems to be a normal experience, the setting I'm in, the messes the physically discomforting or cramped spaces become invisible pain sources for me that are so obvious to anyone else. Asking a girl to like me would be like asking if she wants to sleep under a bridge with me in a stale urine-soaked city. I learned to tolerate this. My tremoring or constant fiending for anything, that's just because I got problems who knows why I got problems.
But everything is a problem and I feel like it's embarrassingly obvious to anyone who hasn't conditioned themselves to suffer like I have. Maybe that's why I'm jealous. I want my friend to tolerate and think I'm great, but the other people in her life are like a message that no part of my life is hospitable to a woman. That I just fucking suck.

So I want to see her again. Seeing those photos. And I feel so bummed out, that I don't want to run, but I also don't want to have a stroke before I can see her again. So I head out to run. Feeling weak, physically drained. On my way there I feel like I'm going to start bawling or something. Like overwhelmed. By things I don't understand because I've trained myself not to feel any of this even though it's constantly crawling under my skin, making me alien, making me alone, listless, blurred out, closed off to new experiences, to trying, unclear on how to do basic things, refusal to pattern break, anger when I'm told that it's my fault because I can't see how it's my fault, or what's wrong to begin with, or why everything feels wrong, or what it means to be right. All of that makes me feel inadequate. Makes me feel like I have nothing to offer. I think I used to feel like the situation was separate from me, just something I'm in. I hate to write about it now. Makes me think of her judging, viewing me as a collage of broken parts, instead of a person with potential for breakthrough, to do a million things.

I cannot see which lines lead to which outcomes. It's all the same. I'm trying to live through it.