Upon further in(tro)spection…

This is going to be something different from me. I’m kind of going through a writer’s block. It was either I write this, or try to write a short horror story about a mummy-priest I’ve had ideas about. I’ll try the other thing later. My ideas have run short so I suppose I’ll take some time to write about myself. I don’t really blog about my thought process, but I’m going to try it right now.

A lot of people always tell me that I’m a very introspective person. My doctors tell me that, my dad tells me I have a lot on my mind, friends online on twitter or discord say I reflect on myself a lot. I suppose that’s true. If you’ve seen my twitter posts before undertaking this sabbatical from the site, you could always see me tweeting about what I’m thinking, or how I feel regarding things- events that happen in my life, good, or bad. Sometimes I’ll talk about media or art that has made me feel something. Most other times I’d talk about feeling sad or angry and frustrated about something I found unfair.

I’m a lonely person. My other poems have cemented the fact; my own living situation is isolated by both circumstance and choice, and while I like being alone I would also prefer if someone I knew lived with me. I’d like to talk with someone during the day, or at least late into the night, about anything. I don’t really use my voice much every day. I barely speak at all, only typing on my laptop to communicate, really. I only talk to my dad once a week, too- and that’s even just a few minutes to let him know how I’m doing and asking how he is, as well. I think I’m selectively mute. I don’t like speaking to people unless I’m comfortable with them. I like speaking to my therapist and my HRT doctor since I’ve known them for a few years now, since it’s important to let them know how I’m feeling so they can help me out with the troubles on my mind or the happenstances I go through week to week. The old insult “you must be fun at parties” shall always be subjective from person to person. I’m unsure if I actually am fun at parties. When I’m at a party thrown by relatives I usually sit by myself and read at the table after I eat my meal, and I tend to get scolded by either my father or eldest sister who is 9 years above my own age. I am told to say hi and be cordial and I do so, but I cannot speak to my older cousins, around the same age or even a bit older than my eldest sister- they are in their 40s now and I cannot relate to that age, especially since half of my cousins have children and I want no part in wanting or having children in my future. I shall most likely die alone with no next of kin, and that shall be fine to me. My bloodline shall end with myself, but I at least plan on writing more and more, and hopefully being published before I pass away.

Before I told my dad that I have autism he said that my cousins and the rest of my family think that I am too aloof. But really, I have no desire to relate to my cousins, as I stated previously. I don’t know any of my cousins’ phone numbers, I do not use Facebook to keep in touch with family, and my father is the only person in my entire family that I maintain contact with. If that is being aloof, then so be it. In truth, I think a lot about different things; I do not know whether or not that’s my ADHD doing the thinking for me, or if it’s my autism. But dozens of thoughts run through my brain when I’m awake, when I’m thinking, when I’m even writing right now. I’m thinking about coffee, I’m thinking about Japanese vending machines that can give you warm canned coffee or hot corn soup, I’m thinking of the tomato bisque I have in my fridge, I’m thinking of microwaving it, putting some goldfish crackers in it while I eat it so I can have a blend of textural feeling with creamy soup and salty, crunchy crackers on my tongue. I am thinking about how the tongue is the first thing that touches food when eating, I am thinking about all the immediate synapses and nerves used to eat, used to make my tongue salivate, used to taste, used to make me swallow my meal, used to make me feel hunger. I’m thinking about chess. I’m thinking about games. I’m thinking about a hypothetical tactics RPG where you have limited time to play a battle and scene, a limited time of moving and fighting, like how a chess clock works. I’m thinking about how the first chess clock was invented. I’m thinking about how chess was invented, I’m thinking about the ancestral games that came before chess. I’m thinking about the necessity for humans to make and create games. I’m thinking about the wide philosophy of game theory. I’m always thinking. Of something. No matter what I’m doing, I’m always thinking. And this is why I’m writing all this, I guess.

I have a lot of time on my hands. I have a lot of emptiness before me, and a lot of solitude and quiet, which I am always grateful for. I spend most of my day sitting, reading, or watching things. I spend most of my waking hours listening to music, and musing things thereof. I have had a lot of time to think and reflect upon myself and my life, and it’s what led to this moment here, in this space and time, within my life and yours, and the lives adjacent to us. I’m not even sure why I do spend a lot of time reflecting, it’s just something that tends to happen. Like a winding river, the path down it leads to a creek where the only activity save from water flowing is the act of reflecting. And perhaps a leaf, drifting and fallen from a tree by this creek lands on the water, the center of it still and peaceful- until the leaf breaks the surface, and a ripple flows forth from the center to the shore. And that ripple is a thought, expanding, searching, yearning, wondering. I suppose I get a lot of catharsis from thinking, from wondering, from being curious. And quite a few of you reading this may even say to me (or have said to me before) that I am full of a wonderment and curiosity that never ceases. I like that about myself, honestly. I never get to talk about what I like about myself, because I really don’t know what other parts of me I should allow myself to like in the first place.

Within my curiosity, I think a lot about myself. I am unsure what spurned this on initially- probably because I am a constantly guilt-ridden person. I feel as though I still must make amends for things I have done in my past, I still feel as if I’m not someone who has done anything worthwhile in their life, I still feel as though I’m not truly a good person. So I sit and think about everything and nothing, simultaneously. I question my moral character. I question my own feelings, I question the validity of them, my own legitimacy. I always tend to end up feeling incredibly guilty if I get sad or angry and I beat myself up for the rest of the day with feelings and thoughts of debilitating self-loathing. Admittedly I don’t talk about that much, but I do suffer from hating myself a lot. I try not to bother anyone else with these feelings, however. I don’t think I should be allowed to feel such extreme emotions. Wish that wasn’t the case, but oh well.

With reflection, I think about the people I surround myself with. I think about how I interact with the people I like, and I think about the surrounding world- the adjacent people around the ones I know, and I think about the places I go to and the ones I don’t. I am always asking questions about the things I don’t know about, questions about things that I find intriguing, questions about things that frustrate me. And I suppose that leads into my curious nature- to always seek out something new and exciting, or at least within the vicinity of learning something new daily. No one can know the infinite, but it’s at least nice to go and explore new things and seek new concepts that you’ve never even heard of. But what about the Self? What about your own thoughts, your own feelings, your own virtues and compulsions? How much can we truly say of knowing ourselves fully, truthfully, faithfully to the point of trusting one’s own judgments and morals to know that, perhaps in a compromised position, one won’t act differently or maliciously? Again, I spend a lot of time sitting down. If I’m not reading or listening to music or watching something, I’m asking myself different questions. I have the time and energy to think about myself on a very intimate level, within a philosophic way, within a religious way with my Buddhism, within a way of how I treat other people and speak to the ones I care about. I’m unsure if this is a compulsion out of my own autism or ADHD, or if this is a result of my own ever-present self-guilt, but it’s something I like doing nonetheless.

I worry about a lot of things constantly, as much as I think about myself and have random thoughts blipping about in my mind. I worry if I’m good enough to my friends, to my parents, to the people I surround myself with. I worry if I’m seen as a piece of shit still, I worry if I’m ever seen as a constantly good person by everyone, I worry if I’m doing the right kind of thing by distancing myself from twitter, I worry if my talks about my own faith and interest in Theology as a whole isn’t annoying to people. I worry that my need for self-isolation and solace doesn’t worry anyone else in return- that I’m not making anyone fret over my own well-being on how my mental and physical state has been recently. But I suppose that’s why people check in on me, or I get a reality check from friends when I ask them. I can’t help but think that I’m a nuisance to people. It happens. People always have that thought linger around them, like some sort of haze that never truly goes away. Maybe that’s why other people exist, though? To help those bad thoughts go away, to shoo them off for a good while. That’s what love is, isn’t it? To help other people feel good about themselves and the world. That’s great, really. I love that about people. I love the comfort you can get among others that care for you. I love the warmth of community and the special moments that exist within their own pockets of time. It’s always good, and it’s such a good feeling to be reminded that you’re alive and with others. That’s what makes love, life and living so tenderly beautiful. That’s what makes people hold the ones so close to them so dearly. That’s what makes others hug and kiss and hold hands, and invite others to join them by the fire, or on a walk, or to even just sit and get a drink and chat. To speak about what’s on one’s mind. Love is such a wonderful feeling. Love is one of the best things in this entire universe. And I hope in my next life, if reincarnation is real, love and enthusiasm is still an emotion I get to feel. Or maybe love and enthusiasm is combined into a much greater feeling that doesn’t even have a word in this reality. That’s how wonderful it is.

I do enjoy writing about feelings. It reminds me of how human I am, even though I’m trans, and people tell me I’m not a person. Even though most of my waking moments are spent as a snow leopard, or as a goat. I’m somewhat of a crybaby. I weep often, probably at least once or twice a week, either from being happy or when I’m feeling sad about something. And that’s okay. I used to be bullied about how much of a crybaby I am, but I’ve come to accept that part of me. Crying makes me feel human the same way love does. And love doesn’t even have to be for a person, it can be about the world, or nature, or a piece of art or media you’ve had the special pleasure of being around. Crying reminds me that I’m able to feel things still, that I am able to still be vulnerable and susceptible to happiness or bouts of sadness. When you’re a very solitary person, you tend to lose track of time- days seem to mesh together, and your lack of a consistent sleep schedule can cause your circadian rhythm to be abnormal. I don’t really feel guilty about that anymore, and as always, I have time to think about things while the rest of the world is asleep (or I’m asleep while the rest of the world is bustling or up in discourse on Twitter).

It is my personal belief that not a lot of people take the time out of their daily lives to just sit down and think about themselves. Perhaps that’s too selfish of a statement? I’m not too sure. Regardless, I do think it would benefit us all if we took the time to meditate, or just stop and think about how we’re each doing once a day. This could be in the morning before getting out of bed, or during breakfast, or during one’s lunch break, during or after dinner, in the shower, or right before bed, too. I think about myself a lot so I can keep myself in check- that is, if I’m not going through a major depressive episode and I’m feeling well enough to. I am always worried about how I impact and affect other people around me. I don’t want to be a monster, yet a lot of people still treat me like one. I get told that people have to walk on eggshells around me, and people think I’m just some ticking time bomb about to explode and get angry all the time. The truth is, I hate feeling angry. I don’t like it at all, but I am susceptible to my own rage. Even more than Swamp Thing or Ultraman, I relate to the Hulk as a character. Like him I want to just be left alone, I feel remorse after I get angry. I want to be away from people, away from places where anyone would give me trouble. It seems that I am always subject to being harassed by people, both in real life and online. My therapist and even my HRT doctor agreed that it’s somehow a common happenstance for me to be heckled by people I’m around. Last month in August I was called a fatass by two middle-schoolers at a Barnes and Noble store. My doctors say I’m prone to these things happening to me because people probably think I look like a person who wouldn’t fight back. Luckily the cashier that was by the comics section saw what happened. He’s a trans guy and told me he’ll ban those kids from coming back in. I think these things constantly happen to me because it’s a cosmic testament to see whether or not I’ll give up. This is my Sisyphean boulder, and getting through these things is my act of pushing it up a steep hill. Right now, I am atop this hill with the boulder unmoving, in a momentary time of peace and calm, but I fear that the boulder will fall down the hill again, and be twice as large as it is now, while I face yet another new problem. I fear my own solace. I fear that things will come crashing down and I’ll become depressed again, that my feeling good will not last as long as it has- I have had about a month of calmness in which I’ve had time to recollect myself and detach from the world at large and I wish to upkeep this slow momentum. In order to do so, I must be left alone.

On Tuesday morning, I had the time to get some Filipino breakfast. Driving on my way to a local Pinoy restaurant, I was thinking about the term “ultimate reality of things” and how to process that. It comes up a lot in Buddhist discussion, where the ultimate reality of life is when we are able to see past the veil of suffering and Samsara into the first stages of enlightenment. Whether or not that really is the ultimate reality we do seek is up to one’s own interpretation, though. As I say over and over again, I’d just like peace and quiet. I’d like to be alone with someone I care about, in a place by some water and trees, where the Summer season isn’t too hot, the Autumn season is crisp and provides cool nights, and the Winter season is peaceful with snow. Perhaps it is then that my wish for an ultimate reality really is somewhere without suffering- somewhere without all the hustle and bustle of everyday life, and someplace away from online things that, in the long run, shall be unimportant when looking back at one’s scope of time when dead, able to look through the index of one’s life when one has the rest of eternity to do so.

I like to sit down and think to myself. I like sitting among gardens, and especially among trees, where I can hear the stillness of the world, the rustling of the wind between leaves, and nothing else around me. I begin to think about my behavior, how I act around others, what I do around people and if I’m being good to my friends. I wonder if I am doing good for and by people, for the gods that I worship and venerate, for the precepts that I hold close to me. I wonder if I’m doing well enough as the youngest child to my parents, if the things I partake in would satisfy the excess demands of my parents, if they’d be happy with me for what I’m doing. I try not to worry if my friends are wondering about how I’m doing, or if my absence makes people scared that I’m not doing well. I’m doing okay, in actuality. I’m doing fine and I like not being too logged on. I spend my days reading, as I said. I spend my days watching educational videos on YouTube, and at night I browse for any scary videos to watch, sometimes with friends. When I reflect, I think of ways to be better. I think about my overall feelings, I think of what makes me sad, what makes me happy, I think of what to say to my therapist and HRT doctor and psychiatrist, I think of why I don’t like to lie. After what I did in 2014 to my ex I suppose a compulsion came over me within my guilt; if people were to believe me in what I say then I might as well tell the truth. It’s easier for me. It’s less of a hassle to deal with people if I am honest and true to my word. Again, I am unsure if this is an Autism thing or not but lying makes me uncomfortable. I can’t do it to people I know, I can’t do it to strangers, I like telling the truth to my doctors and I feel like being upfront with people takes the stress out of needing to put on a mask with others. I’m unsure if I mask, if at all. There is always a level of politeness and a level of being more casual with people compared to ones you barely know, but I suppose that is just a commonplace thing. Games like Among Us make me panic, I always just perform my tasks thusly and panic if people think or say I’m lying. I cannot prove to them that I am telling the truth, but I cannot say I am lying, either. I don’t think I have played a session of Among Us where I haven’t gotten upset and cried, so I hide the game on Steam and avoid playing it. Is that act a lie in and of itself? Am I being true to myself and others in telling them that I cannot stand playing the game, that I am unable to? I don’t know.

I wish I could sit down with the people who’ve left me in my life and check up with them, to get some closure. I wish I could apologize directly to these people one-on-one, and spend as long as it takes in order to do such a thing. I wish I could air out all my grievances of the world, let out all my anxieties and instantly feel better, like all my woes are just bits of pressure building inside of me, to be released with a valve so I don’t feel as tense or stressed out. Perhaps in a way, therapy is like that for others. I do feel relieved after seeing my therapist but I do wish I did not have to wait for over a month in-between visits. I have things happen to me so rapidly, so suddenly that usually there’s always something bad to talk about by the time I have another session to go to. The fact that I am so prone towards the inexplicable happening to me is why I don’t like to go out, why I don’t really tend to bother with large groups anymore, why I try my hardest to not be involved with weekly online discourse. Becoming one step closer to such troubles means there is a nonzero chance for me being hurt as a result, and as a person whom has been through too much hurt within the past two years, I’d really like an end to that, as selfish as that may be.

My wishes for the future are that I hope to be published as an author sometime soon. I hope that people will like and read and share my writing, and that I’ll be able to impact the world, or at least a good number of people in a positive and significant way. I hope I can maybe inspire others to write or draw or make things that they want to make for themselves, and in return inspire others, so on and so forth. I hope to live in a better place, with the person I care about in a peaceful life, and I hope to be with them for a long period of my time on this earth. I want to read more books and comics, practice my gongfu, watch a lot of interesting movies, discover more music to listen to and share, and spread peace and joy. I want to continue to reflect upon myself. I want to be as happy as I can be, at peace with everything in nature and with everyone I surround myself. I want the best for the people I know, the strangers I don’t, the select few that I love, and even the people out of my life who may hate and wish me the worst. In the end, I just want to be okay. And right now, I’m at least the most okay that I have been in a good while.

I love you.