#yearning for being part of the fandom again and meds are taking ages to fix me so i'm going to try coming back with a changed mindset

[unrestrainedbalderdash]

Gingerbreadward! Did attempt him from Arkham Asylum and Arkham City as well, but it went horribly wrong

[tara-l-blackmore]

Words

I've struggled with putting this anywhere. I started writing it in emails, on Twitter, on DeviantArt, even on Dreamwidth. I've stopped each time. I'm pretty sure this won't even go up, but let's see.

I'm having a lot of trouble dealing with people, right now. I'm lonely, and miserable, and yearning for friendship, but I cannot handle it. I cannot handle dealing with people, no matter how close I am to them. This includes – yes – people I consider to be family. This includes by family, even. I have lost contact with dozens of people that I’ve sworn never to lose contact with – or they have chosen to lose contact with me – and it's starting to… affect me.

All I’ve been able to do is write. I can't talk. Or if I do try to talk, I fuck it up. I have no been open with how I’ve been feeling, what I’ve been going through, and why I've avoided people I don't want to avoid. I don't want to talk about myself, so when I talk to people, once they ask about me, I end the convo or change the subject. I can't take it. I don't want to fucking talk about it.

But here we are. You're reading this, clearly, because you want to know what's wrong with me, for whatever fucking reason. Fine you want to know? Read on. If you don't? Stop reading and please stop asking me. I want to make this clear that I’ve kept this shit to myself because nobody cares about problems like I have. I think. If you're reading this, you're not nobody. Whatever, anyway.

My pain started getting worse two years ago, so I had my gallbladder removed. That was the biggest mistake of my life. I should not have done it. Because now, I’m worse off.

Since 2017, my health has been progressing into worse and worse problems, to the point that medications no longer work on me, save high doses of morphine. I'm not allowed to be on morphine, anymore, save dire emergencies in the ER (it's the only thing that stops the flare up). During these pain flare-ups, I want to die. I can't deal. I can't even think. All I can do is lie on the couch and cry, zoning out on YouTube. It's especially gotten worse since I quit smoking, but not enough to start, again.

The night I missed my niece being born, I broke. I lost it. I lost my patience with this illness of mine. I ended up missing one of the most important moments of her life, spending it in a hospital two hours away, being ignored and mistreated and mocked – and then ignored. It severed something mentally.

Since then, I haven't been okay.

I've ruined my own birthday, twice; the day of was spent sobbing over vaccinations. The day of the party was spent in misery, because the party had nothing to do with me – I was being used as a ruse to make it about Ellie – and when I left, the party went on without me – what I thought was the entire idea, that I'd been used for these reasons. And to be honest, I still don't know what happened after I left, because no one told me. No one thought to. No one cared enough to, it felt to me.

I started drifting more and more away, only now by people I speak to online, either through chat or phone calls. I stopped being able to deal with talking to people one-on-one, because emails gave me time to think about what I had to say, instead of speaking on the fly and hurting people. Only it still didn't work.

My depression was also getting worse. I needed more and more attention, more reassurance, in a world that is more and more making me feel adrift and left behind. When I was able to catch up, I merely discovered how much I kept missing, how happy people are without me around their ankle. I realised how many people I’ve been holding back for years, and it almost killed me.

I tried to explain it to those people I ignored, tried to explain that I’m broken, I’ll never be what they deserve or need, and that they need to walk lest I keep fucking them up further. I tried, but whatever I said was overlooked because I was a good person before now. I keep trying to explain that I’m not a good person, anymore, because the pain is making me insane, and I don't know how to deal with people, anymore, but… nobody's listening to me…

So this is my last try. This is what I should have said when any of you started to be my friends. Look at the people who've already walked, and you'll notice that I’m the common bad variable, and nothing else. I know that many of you want me to hang around because of what I was once like. And honestly, I miss what I was like back then, too.

But then, June 2017. It was the start of the end. The injections. The dozens and dozens of ER tests and humiliation and abuse. The money and ignorance of the hospital staffs (when told what to do to help and how fast it would help me if they just did it). People online, people offline, seeing me disabled and seeing a brat.

Over the past four years, I’ve been a part of the Undertale fandom, a game that saved my life and a fandom that kept me living, and I met so many of you, cared about so many of you – but somehow shoved you all away. The more you cared, the more I ran away.

Why? Because I deserve to be alone.

I've said this, many times, in different ways, but I’m told I’m wrong, when I’m right, and it hurts. So I stopped talking. I made it obvious that I’m not worth your time.

Because I didn't want to explain what was going on.

My medications aren't working, anymore, so they keep switching them. Now, they're switching my antidepressant, and it's… bad. It's very bad. I have to taper off my current med, then start from scratch with the new one, and the decrease is making my depression stronger. I haven't been able to speak on the phone or even go out (save mandatory doctor visits), and I keep taking everything personally and crying over everything. Three times, I’ve convinced myself that Terry is going to divorce me. It's bad.

Because of it, I don't know what's up or down, what's true or false, and no matter how much I trust someone, I still feel like all I am is someone to be pitied, and I would rather never be pitied, but either loved for who I am, or hated for that same reason.

And that's because I hate myself for feeling this way. I have been secluding myself to both punish myself and prove to you all how unreliable and gross I am.

A lot of you are younger than me, and have enough to deal with. I'm also aware that a lot of you are young enough to make your own decisions, especially when it comes to people. But what I’m doing is inappropriate. The things I complain and beg advice for are not appropriate. I treat you like shrinks, forgetting your age and your own lives and problems and issues.

It makes me sick, my selfishness. And I can't fucking deal with it.

So I’ve been staying away, save angry tweets and angrier YouTube comments. The rare times I reach out usually end worse off than when I did before I reached out, so I have learned not to.

And finally, for the very last time, I must say this: I know I am immature, I am stunted, I am behind the times, and I cannot fix it. I try to, by using all of you like the scumbag I am, and not bothering to listen to you or help you. I cry my problems, then run away the second you need me.

I'm so tired of it. I can't do this to people, anymore. I've been trying to gradually disappear, save stuff that keep me sane (fanfic and comics), and while many of you keep me sane, I’m tired of using you that way, too.

I know this is me mind-reading, as many of you will say. But, I’m sorry, this isn't that at all. This is me paying attention to what is being said and shown to me, and now, I get it.

Please, please, please stop insisting this isn't so. The fact that every time I mention it, it's left ignored, and often shamefully so, and that angers me. I pour my heart out, explain, answer the questions I’m being asked but it's ignored, only so that I can be asked for help that I just finished screaming myself raw that I can't help anyone the way I am, anymore.

My brain refuses to listen to kindness, anymore. It refuses to accept that anyone wants to bother with me, because on one hand, I’ve been given shameful proof that I’m absolutely right in my sad assessment. But on the other, I’m aware that a few of you are sincere, and do mean what you said.

But I can't tell the difference. I need help. I need real help, a kind that I need before I can even dream of being a good friend or a kind person to any of you. I can be nice, be complimentary, be honest in my affection and happy feelings for you, and all is sincere. But I have deep difficulty believing the same from you, to me, because of my pain and my depression. I know many of you with depression understand.

But why don't you give up on me…? Why can't you see that I’m right, that I don't blame you for giving up on me, because all I’ve been is a disgusting person, even at my most well-meaning.

I don't even know why I’m bothering posting this, here. I don't know why I’m posting it. I just think it's time to put words to feelings I couldn't put words to, before now.

I'm not trying to be friendless. But I’m trying to be worthy of friends. So far, I cannot see myself there, yet. So many of you have a real life to live, true futures within your grasps; what the hell are you doing still talking to some middle-aged pathetic loser and wasting your time on the internet that way? There are better places to visit on the internet than any place to do with me, personally.

I get wanting to want to read my bullshit stuff. I'm flattered. But no, you don't need to be my friends, no matter how pathetic or lonely I am. That's my problem, not yours. You are all young, and happy, and have your own hurdles to overcome. I write that stuff to provide an escape for you and for me. That's all that you need to know about me, really.

I'm not saying that you cannot be my friend anymore. I'm not saying you're not allowed to speak to me. I am saying that it might take me time to answer, or to do what you asked of me, etc. I am saying that thanks to my increasing mental illness, I am no longer a good person to be around, at least until the problem is rectified.

I actually don't know what I’m saying, honestly. I don't want to be alone, but I’m tired of bothering people who do. I don't like spending my days alone, but I don't want to harass people with better things to do. I'm tired of being what no one wants and tired of being unwanted once people discover the real me.

I'm a garbage person. I hate myself.

And you deserve not to have that in your life.

That's all.

I'm sorry.