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Life was rather dull for me. I found little joy in what most people found their meaning in. Girls never made me smile.

Video games were beyond my style. Writing was boring and sports were pointless. I never found work and friends

were non existent.


What amazed me was suicides. I researched them, found videos and pictures blogs and poetry. It wasn't for any

pornographic value just an amazement. It was simple, easy, and it made me think of power.


When I was six I accepted the fact that everything dies because one week after my first cat, Sparkles bit the dirt,

my grandfather's heart must have decided to teach me the only truth as well.


I was never particularly depressed, although doctors sure thought so. I was just simply lethargic and ill motivated.

“Go to school so you can get a job and meet a girl then grow a family.” my mother would preach to me.


That only ever translated to “Sex, sex is why you're alive, sex is the meaning of life. You need to work you're whole

life to get laid and spawn more parasites so they can work they're whole life to get laid and spawn more.”


That idea disgusted me. I felt purely animistic in that sense. Only dumber because animals don't work their ass off

their entire life to reproduce. No they simply advertise their self until a mate comes along while looking out for

personal needs and being driven by instinct.


As a human we go out of our way to avoid instinct in-fact we strive on denying that we are made of all the same

shit as every other living thing on this ill-important dirt ball circling a stupid ball of fire.


My entire life since I was six and after the passing on of sparkles and my grandfather, my mother thought there

was something seriously wrong with my mind.


Doctors led to therapists, therapists led to drugs. But drugs never helped me. Drugs for depression, drugs for

schizophrenia, drugs for bi-polar...you name the psychosis, I've been prescribed something for it. High dose, low

dose. None of them seemed to have an effect.


Throughout my school career I've never done work, not a test not a crossword not even raising my hand to answer

a question the teacher stupidly asks. Don't get me wrong I can read and write, I can do university level math and

the sciences are common sense to me. I just could not focus on routine work even on Ritalin.


It made me feel like a sheep getting herded by a narcissistic Shepard. Pathetic, pointless, insignificant and blind.


I pictured the life process as a production line. First you're born and you're parents are burdened with you're

incapability to fend for yourself, next you're in school getting taught social values and pointless information. Then

you're in high school where social structure becomes even more in depth, and after that university or college where

you are trained to a profession where you then set off to slave your life away for a monetary illusion of security and

wealth.


Needless to say I left school early. The doctors said it was an unfit environment for me and that I was incapable of

allowing myself to achieve any success within.


At home I started my research of suicide. Of course never vocalizing my interest to my mother. I read of the

Japanese Hara-Kiri and how men would kill themselves of dishonor. I thought this was pathetic as the idea of honor

was too an illusion of man.


I read journals of people who have killed them self because of spouses and this too passed me off as pathetic for it

followed my idea of life being for the soul purpose of sex.


I read stories of people who killed themselves of depression, no job, no family, no friends. This got to me a little

more because it matched up with my lifestyle. However I was never particularly depressed. I thought of friends as a

burden and the upkeep needed never interested me. I found joy in solitude and freedom without worries.


People bullied into suicide left me confused for I never found true reason behind it. I was bullied mercilessly when I

was 12 and still in the first grade but it never got to me I passed it off as the social norm and just another reason

why friends were a waste of time.


When it was time for me to find employment I never tried. Disability welcomed me with my unnamed disorder, and

my parents offered me to simply stay in their home as I never caused troubles or even spoke to them often.


My research was my friend and my hobby was trying prescription after prescription forced on by my mother and

my doctor.


I stopped seeing the shrink after I was 15 because the awkward once a week silent hour seemed pointless and a

waste of my fathers money.

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