longer.blue

It Was Always Kodokushi ✌️ --- (Imagine that ✌️ as if I were doing the leg up peace sign pose. A morbidly whimsical way of accepting adverse reality.) I have had plenty of time to think. To think about connections and their relations to two things I'll refer to as The Poverty and The Model. **The Poverty**. I was born into a working-class family, which meant the "study so you don't end up being a menial worker like us" Kool-Aid was rampant. While my classmates were out socializing in high school and university, I was slaving my butt off for the promised "good life". Of all the things about which I didn't listen to my parents, this was the one I blindly heeded. Meanwhile, my peers, they secured support systems - partners - while you couldn't see my head from all the studying paraphernalia I could get my hands on. They were the "losers" getting laid, while I was the "hard-working student" chasing A's. And... here we are. They are happily or, in the worst case, complacently married, while I'm socially stunted, having "won" at the thing which, in hindsight, seems like it should not have been the top priority. And... they have managed to graduate too... maybe with an exam or two retaken. So, dear parents, please don't have children if you can't afford them sometimes flunking exams while they seek their lifelong partner. I would have preferred to have never been born rather than having this "good future" with a cold bed and no one to embrace when the weight of the world feels... a bit too much. In the end, the "loser" in the grand scheme was... me. The one who chugged coffee and energy drinks, feeling an odd stab in the chest and then, as if nothing happened, proceeding with the perseverance of a madman, pulling all-nighters, all to ensure that sweet promise of a "good future". And here I am, in that "good future", feeling... like... I've wasted my youth on the wrong thing. I've got a somewhat satisfying career and savings I... can... wipe my arse with? **The Model**. A while ago, I postulated that having both the lookist portion of my brain on board and the feeling of a soul-level bond at the same time would be impossible due to societal dynamics, where the individual activating the former would be rewarded enough by the society to make developing the capability for latter feel like a waste of time... and vice versa. And, of course, I've met plenty a sample of "lookist brain happy, soul bond absent" cases. And then I met Her. The unicorn. Felt heard, understood, felt, embraced. Wanted, needed even. I, a defective meatbag, felt acceptable, accepted. Bucket list magically turned from a hopeless "yeah, right" to an intoxicatingly hopeful "wait, why not?". My baby. My sunshine. My everything. My future, which made my heart sing in a way it hasn't in what feels like an eternity. But... the gray piece of shit between my temples refused to light up. So... heh... scratch all those "my"s off. Experiment failed successfully, I guess 🥲? Omnia vincit amor - love conquers all - my ass. Seeking connection as a person in their thirties was a fool's errand. A mistake. A costly one, which exacerbated my executive dysfunction to unseen proportions. "[...] the most terrifying thing of all is to leave one's heart unshared." I'll have to disagree. Respectfully. Vehemently. I would've been better off had I never confirmed The Model and lived with naive hope. That brief period when everything felt possible, it felt heavenly and I am infinitely grateful to have experienced that, but being kicked out of the Garden of Eden, having the blood of that relationship on my hands... scarred me. (Mood: https://www.reddit.com/r/grippysockcrayonbox/comments/1v4rxgj/and_now/) With that being said, it is time to serve the rest of this lifetime sentence in solitude. A "less-than" mockery of a life with all the delightful and delicious bucket list items never to be materialized. This is what you deserve, you despicable freak of nature. I can act as if the "lookist portion" is not me, but it's me as much as my hands and feet are. I hate it. Does that mean I hate myself? You could say so, yeah. I'll laugh my ass off when something completely salvageable by the presence of another person (a slip in the bathtub, an unfortunate whack while sleeping) moves me to the spectator player group just because no one was around. A kodokushi ending. Naturally... deselected 😄. And with that being said, begins the slow wind-down of all my outreach activities. Fading away from the society and focusing on being a good brick in the wall. AI chatbots say my life is valuable, and I'm sure they meant it in the taxable subject sense, so I guess I have to prove them right. Hey, if anything else, I've ascended from an incel to a volcel. That must count for something, right? Mentions and DMs are welcome, but... I'm done. I've had my good ending. I just wasn't born under the lucky star to make it a last a lifetime.