The Walking Dead

I’m scared of death. Not of dying itself. I’m scared of “death” as a concept.

A lack of life and vitality. A lack of feeling things. A lack of a soul.

I’m entertaining the medically incorrect idea that I don’t have Autistic Burnout and I’m in fact fighting for my soul against every machination on earth

The Rest and Relax and Be Kind To Yourself and Recharge advice simply is not working.

There’s a will to live and experience life in 4k that persists in me no matter how suppressed and shrunken into hibernation it goes. And it had been.

This is the deepest I’ve ever been in the doomer headspace.

I am dead right now. Walking, breathing, writing, physically healthy, and dead. I haven’t left the house in a few days. This has been the way for several months. I can’t look at myself in the mirror with pride, knowing who I used to be on the inside and out.

What use is all this maturity and wisdom gained if it’s contained in a shell with no spark?

“The walls are closing in” made no sense to me because I always thought it meant the room starts literally feels smaller. That’s not it though.

The room doesn’t feel smaller. My life feels smaller. My reach feels smaller. My power, my trajectory, my agency, my balls feel smaller.

I feel smaller.

The brick and mortar walls haven’t moved. I feel the other, realer walls encroaching. The ones in my head.

Invisible barriers blocking me from doing normal things like I haven’t unlocked a video game area.

The bounds aren’t technically real, but my nervous system treats them as instant death. The safe side of the wall is a slow death.

Like a twisted inversion of my Young Man Self Improvement Arc, my life’s out of bounds area conquered most my playable area in life, over the space of half a year misspent just writing and reading and reflecting and rotting.

This isn’t right.

I sometimes feel the real me for fleeting moments. He’s still in there. The beast. The shredded demon who did difficult things just because it was funny to see how much grit I could pull out of my ass and brutally fucking MOG NPCs in every avenue of life I could because I’m a fucked up masochist and enjoy pain so I can outwork most people.

What happened to him?

A big shift occurred when I stopped believing in the games I was playing, but that doesn’t kill a demon, they move on to the next game to beat.

Here’s what actually put him to sleep:

I lost respect for him. I saw his rough edges as flaws. I saw him as a jagged, carcinogenic, and highly volatile element to be refined into something more. I overcorrected. Now he lost respect for me.

He’s unavailable until I become worthy again.

Odin rewards the brave.

Fortune favours the bold.

Who dares wins.

The Valkyries are watching.

I have a plan to get him back and save myself. It’s ugly and messy and financially irresponsible, bad for my health and good for my soul. Wish me luck.

Thanks for reading.