I’ve decided to hope again. Not because anything has changed in my life, but because I have decided to hope, embracing even the crushing discouragement that comes from having your hopes shattered. But those that hope can also possess joy in what is to come.

If I was placing my hope in something of this world, I would have no right to hope. Death takes all, events and people melt into the sands of time after their passing. The world will never be a just one, and those with power or money are no more evil than the rest of us, but simply have the ability to express it without regards to punishment. What I’m trying to say is that the world is hopeless, and no man can change the hopelessness of it because man is hopeless. You can only really have any hope based in reality if you have hope in God’s plan, and if you believe that His plan is a good one.

Today, the pastor spoke about the story of Leah and Rachel in the Old Testament. Rachel had a hot bod and a pretty face that was such a turn on for Issac he worked a total of 14 years for his uncle Laban to have her hand in marriage. Leah was the unwanted +1 of the 1+1 wife package that Laban sold to Isaac. Not pretty, but she had a good personality. Issac paid Leah practically no attention throughout their entire marriage despite her being the one that bore all of his children, and only showered his love on Rachel. Leah was a woman of faith, and although she initially held onto the hope that Issac would eventually love her, he never really did. Her hopes were continually realigned with every childbirth she had, from hoping for the things of this world (Issac’s love and recognition), to hoping for the things not of this world (God).

The central question that God posed in my heart today was this. Can I, in faith, say that in spite of everything in my life that makes me miserable, this is part of God’s good plan? And trust that He loves me, and wants the best for me? And that all my suffering will mean something? Can I hope in that, even if God’s definition of good does not fit my definition of good? If so, I can have joy, and I can have hope.

For the past ten years, I estimate that most of my time was spent in a headspace of misery. Refusing to hope in anything because I expected imminent disappointment, seriously considering killing myself, and wallowing in my misery and social isolation because that gave me more pleasure than hoping, then feeling stupid for having had any hope if disappointment came. If I was always miserable, I could always expect to be miserable, and unsurprised when disappointment came. It was my way of controlling my emotions. But this is in direct conflict with how God tells us to live, who commands believers to have joy. Philippians 4:4 – “Rejoice in the Lord always. I will say it again: Rejoice!”

I am going to stop fantasizing about opening up gashes in my arm with a kitchen knife, or feeling relieved when I imagine someone killing me. I am going to stop engaging in self-destructive behavior because I secretly want to disappear off the face of the Earth, and I will not be the one that kills me. I will now bear the fear, uncertainty that comes with having hope in a future that I have no ability to predict, and even the heart-rending disappointment that comes from not having received what I had hoped for. I will have to unlearn my entire life, and I don’t expect it to successfully happen overnight. But when I am through on the other side, I expect that I will not even recognize the man I see in the mirror.

I have placed even more of my trust in God. I have decided to hope again!

#personal

I estimate about a third of my waking life has been spent in a state of numbing misery. When I’ve been in this state for longer than a week, I start needing to feel something. Anything to cut through the stupor in my brain. The usual suspects are alcohol, listening to music loud enough to hurt my eardrums, Muay Thai, or imagining my death. But I don’t even drink anymore, so usually I just blast some music or work out, which are pretty healthy coping mechanisms. I’m glad I never got into the hard drugs or psychadelics thing.

I’ve never told anyone about these things, so consider yourself special. I wish I could tell someone, but I can never do it in the moment. The moment my mouth opens and I’m about to say something, my emotions are wiped from my brain, and I can’t express myself anymore. Also, I’d feel really bad for the person listening. Everyone has their burdens, mostly burdens heavier than the troubles in my life, so I never am happy about heaping another worry on their list of things to worry about. And if they just brushed my troubles off, then I’d really really want to kill myself. I also feel a deep sense of embarrassment that I feel these things. Can’t explain why.

The past week, I’ve just felt like giving up. I want to dig a deep hole in the ground, crawl into it, and stay there for a month. I can’t talk to people anymore pretending like I’m completely fine upstairs.

I regularly fantasize about someone choking me or beating me over the head with a heavy object.

#personal

Hello to all that are congregated here at this moment, reading this drivel of mine because you have nothing better to do. I must announce with great joy that I AM OFFICIALLY NO LONGER WORTH ANYONE'S TIME!

Exhibit A

As dumb as it sounds, the value of time actually appreciates over time. What I mean is that at a certain point even the most mentally challenged of our society must accept that the amount of time given to each human being is finite, and that the sweet release of death is drawing near. That’s when time becomes a scarce resource. You’re rationing this uniquely limited element over various priorities such as, but not limited to: getting that bag, punching drywall, and watching anime.

That’s the whole reason behind why nobody wants to hang out with me anymore. My existence is no longer important enough to justify hanging out. I’ve recently moved to a new city where I barely know anyone, and everyone I ask to hang out is rejecting me with a deluge of valid excuses, all of which are meticulously constructed polite sayings to tell me that their life is already full, and there’s no space for lil’ ol’ me. I ran away from Hinge to avoid getting ghosted by hot women and rejected by everyone else. Now I’m getting Hinged on in real life by people I know.

OK FUCKERS I SEE HOW IT IS

I’M NEVER GOING TO BE FRIENDS WITH ANY OF YOU FUCK ALL OF YOU

Nah I’m just kidding. I’d settle for anyone at this point, as long as your pronouns are breathing/alive. Or I’ll settle for inference/AI. I’ll build up a bot farm to host AI friends so they can text me at various times during the day to ask me how my day is.

Despite this, I need not despair. Jesus is my friend.

#personal #humor

I was drinking a can of Athletic (non-alc beer) the other day at a Friday happy hour with coworkers. I relinquished whatever control I had on my brain, and let my thoughts and worries go. Serotonin rushed into my bloodstream, and my head began to feel light.

My imagination cast a spell on my eyes, and I saw myself shoving my fingers up and down into my can of Athletic, and blood dripping from the cuts. The thought of me bleeding profusely brought me more joy than it should have. The fantasy continued when I got back to my apartment. I imagined myself dancing in my kitchen, dripping blood from various self-inflicted cuts on my arms and legs.

To be clear, although I've thought about self-harm throughout my life, and still have residual self-destructive thought processes ingrained in me from my early twenties / teenage years, I've never cut myself, and don't plan to. But sometimes it comes up in my daydreams, framed as a pleasurable experience, watching vivid droplets of red drip to the floor, and paint my body.

I have a host of fucked up thoughts in my head, and this is one of them. I've never told anyone about this one, and I wonder if I ever will. Sometimes, telling someone about a dark thought does more harm than good. Instead of pushing it back into the undercurrent of your subconscious, you surface it into the light as a formulated, and concrete thought that you share with another human being. If it becomes unbearable, I think I'll talk about it.

I have a host of unhealthy thoughts that populate the dark recesses of my subconscious, and I do my best to push them back into the darkness where they came from. But when an overwhelming amount of them surface, my mind becomes a prison. I'm trapped fighting with urges that torture me to act upon them. My mind is walking on a tightrope, and I've been lucky to not have fallen much so far, but how much longer will my luck last? Should I be more open about my thoughts? What would Jesus want me to do?

#personal

I pissed my pants in broad daylight during 5th grade summer camp.

I left the cafeteria trying to find an open bathroom with a little bit of spring in my step, an advanced form of the potty dance. We were out in the woods, and it was the weekend, so most buildings were locked. Peeing in the woods was not an option in my mind. I needed a urinal.

I tried building after building, rattling the locked doors in increased desperation. I even encountered a camp instructor at one point who didn't understand the gravity of the situation. My bladder was about to burst, and I needed somewhere to release. She just shrugged her shoulders at me, said, “Everything's locked”, then walked away.

My willpower remained strong, but my bladder eventually buckled under the pressure, and I started to piss my pants. Being the idiot that I was, it had never occurred to me that we were in the woods and I could piss anywhere I pleased. I stood there for a traumatic, but cathartic minute minute while apple juice soaked my black shorts and trickled down my legs. After I relieved myself, I walked back to the cafeteria a shell of my former self. I wondered how I could possibly hide for 8 more hours – I couldn't get to the cabins and change clothes until the end of the day.

I played it cool. Nobody was observant enough to notice that whenever I got up from a seat, there was liquid residue remaining on the seat afterwards. I let my pants dry out through the day, and by the end, it was as if nothing had ever happened. I don't even know how nobody noticed. My classmates were not nice enough to have intentionally turned a blind eye.

The fact that I have a small bladder has not changed much into adulthood. Now instead of pissing in my pants, I lay in bed naked and piss up into the air. If I piss for long enough, my room starts to fill up to the point where piss starts to cover my body. The water level crawls up my body, closes over my face, and eventually my nose. Then my gills open up and I begin to breathe in the piss. My room is a swamp, and I am a catfish, waiting in the waters for a snack to pass by. Yum.

#personal

Even if you are not a Christian, imagine you are for a second.

The God of the entire universe wrote a book and inside that book He tells you everything you need to know in this life. Who He is, why He created you, what kind of life you were meant to live, and what the meaning of this crazy thing we call life is. That's the Bible. Is it not the most important book to exist? Is it not impossible to read too much of it and think too much of it? You might have it rotting away on your bookshelf in pristine condition, but if you only opened it, and had the eyes to discern it, it would completely turn your life upside down.

God also gave us the ability to pray. He gave us the ability to speak directly to Him, and yet we don't do enough of it. Is God not the most interesting being to talk to in the entire universe? He created all things, including you, and knows everything about the world and the universe, down to where an electron will be in a given moment of time. Would He not be more interesting to talk to than your friends, your significant other, celebrities, or anyone else in the world? He's the best. He's the one and only. There are none like Him.

#personal

I'm walking down the street. You come up to me, front kick me into the gutter, soccer kick me in the ribs, then pound me in the face until I look like a panda. Then you keep my face firmly anchored in the gutter with one hand, forcing me to make out with the algae stuck to the cement. You light a cig with the other hand.

I think I would just let it happen, and watch as you extinguished the cig on my face. I don't have the energy to defend myself, or even hate myself anymore. I probably would have the energy to scream, however, and you'd probably get arrested.

I am just deeply convinced that I am a worthless person, and my existence is largely inconsequential. But to be clear, I don't want to die, and I still work hard at my life. What this means is that I still work out, try to meet people, and take a glance in the mirror to fix my hair once in a while. But I also don't tell people about my problems (I'm not worth being concerned about), I don't have much intention of dating / marrying / starting a family, and don't make any long-term future plans at all.

I'm not in any distress, and I feel calmer than ever. I'm even getting better at handling negative events in my life, and continuing with the motions despite how I feel. I've decided that I'll keep on living until I no longer am. But I wonder how long I'll be okay with this way of life. When I get even lonelier and more alone than I am now when all my friends get married, have families, and move on, will I still be okay with everything? I wish I knew, because my dating and marriage prospects are pretty fucked if I decide to start looking when I'm 30-something.

Please do not tell me to go to therapy. I've already made an internal vow to never go to therapy. Therapy is for people that are schizophrenic, deeply depressed, recently divorced, something like that. For people like me that were brought up in fairly happy families, it's rare that there is more to be said than variants of “suck it up; life is pain”, “take a chill pill; stop overthinking and take a nap”, and “love yourself”.

Especially that last one. “Love yourself.” Some of the greatest brainrot of the twenty-first century produced by Western pop culture is the message that we somehow, do not love ourselves enough. Homo sapiens is the most self-obsessed being on Earth, maybe even in all the universe. So much that we decided to keep telling ourselves that we need to somehow value ourselves even more than we already do.

“But how can you love other people when you don't first love yourself?” It's literally possible. I already do this in some capacity every day. If it's possible for me in the grace of Christ, it's possible for you too in the grace of Christ.

I don't blame people for drinking the kool-aid because this rhetoric has already permeated every millimeter of society and we are now indoctrinating people with it. I typically don't voice my disagreement though. I pick my battles, and this is definitely not worth dying on a hill for.

#personal

I recently joined a small group at church. They seemed friendly. We started talking about God, and they seemed genuinely invested in their faith. I was excited. Then we were talking about community and spending more time with each other and getting to know each other. I was so down.

So the very next day on Monday I sent out a text to our group chat. I suggested that we volunteer at a nearby food pantry in the morning and eat lunch together. I had been there a couple times, and I was always overtaken by the warmth within the people that served there and the way they treated people that came to the food pantry for food and the volunteers that came to help.

Kakaotalk (Korean whatsapp/ wechat / whatever) has this feature where you can see how many people have read your message.

There were a total of 7 people in the chat, so when the number dropped to 4 and nobody responded, I was still okay. And then it dropped to 3, and my social anxiety started to kick in and I was imagining never showing my face at the church again, and then it dropped to 2, 1, and 0 by the time I left work.

I know it's not the most convenient hangout. You wake up at 6:30 A.M., walk yourself over to the train, then make your way to the food pantry, get there at 7:30 A.M., then you fucking starve till 12:00 P.M., get some lunch, and go about your day. Or in my case, go back home and sleep until 6 P.M..

This is an overreaction, but I just want to blow my brains out. I think I'm the only one without any kind of social circle in that whole entire group of people. I've moved around all my life, I just got to this new place for a new job 3 months ago, and I barely have friends here. I feel so embarrassed that I even tried to do this. Honestly, I should have asked people for when they were free, taken recommendations for what the group wanted to do, etcetera, but that kinda shit never works in my experience. Everyone wants something different, you can never find a time when everyone is free, and enjoying time with other people is more about the mindset you have going into it than anything else anyways.

I'm going to keep trying to make something happen, and I don't blame these people at all for not being free on a Saturday morning – you might want to sleep in for once, plan something with friends, or something. But I feel like such a loser for trying, and then having people just tell me that they aren't free or just ghosting me. Nobody's forced to wake up with me at 6:30 A.M. on Saturday and have the only thing to look forward to after it be a lunch with me.

This is a pattern in my life. Sometimes at work we'll talk in a group about what we did over the weekend. If there's ever side conversation happening during when someone's talking, it's always me. It makes me a little flush on the inside, and I don't even feel like talking anymore, because it feels like nobody even cares about what I'm saying anyways. I'd rather not talk then. I'm wasting my breath, and I'm wasting everyone's time.

I've been coding way more than I've been talking to anyone recently, and I'm not confident that people like me anymore. Before, I would just lie to myself that people did, and I would manifest it in the way I carried myself. But I'm not so sure anymore. I think everyone's too busy in their own lives probably to give any attention to me. I'm always worried that someone will hate me at work, despite the fact that it doesn't even matter if they hate me. I don't want to leave my apartment anymore. I don't want to see anyone anymore. I think I actually do, but also I really don't.

Marriage is what most people do, and well celebrated in Christianity. But celibacy is also seen as a gift in the Christian faith, one that allows you to dedicate your free time and life wholly to God. I've been walking the path of celibacy my entire life, and maybe this is it for me.

This blog post was over half a page ago. If I've learned one thing from writing for fun for many years and taking classes here and there is that you want to be concise, kill your darlings, and keep things as compact as possible. But I didn't want to stop talking, because I feel so damn lonely right now, and I'm not going to call someone at midnight to rant for thirty minutes. I'd feel a little bad about that.

I'm going to go to sleep. I want to go on vacation, and rot in my room. I just reread everything I wrote, and I sound like such a loser. I also got so much worse at writing. I'm a useless human being. The world with me in it is no different than a world without me. I wish people didn't look at me like I'm crazy for just being myself. Half the time I enjoy it because I'm desperate for any kind of attention I can get but the other half I want to disappear into thin air. I don't want to ever die because I'm selfish, but if someone killed me, it would probably be a net benefit for the world.

PS: Don't hate church people because of this one post. The people at my church are amazing. I'm just horrible at dealing with rejection and failure. I catastrophize frequently and I'm very neurotic.

#personal