Confessionals, personals, digital diary entrys

Whatever you may call them, that's what these entries are. A collection of my thoughts and feelings written out for all the web to read. Warning for general life stuff, bad writing and everything else. Read at your own discretion.

Go back?

The mystery of why I act like a prey animal

CW: repressed trauma, sexual trauma

March 3rd 2025

I don't know why I am the way I am. I can't remember who I was more than a year back. I have maybe 2 or 3 memories from every age I've been. Things get especially blurry before age 10, which I guess is pretty normal. I'm scared, I'm scared I don't remember something important, I'm scared that something made me the way I am and I can't remember it. Every time I try to even think about it I start crying and I don't even know why. It's like the topic itself sends me into some kind of defensive prey animal mode where I completely shut down and just wordlessly stare into one spot, tears rolling down my expressionless face. I wish I could remember so I could at least have a reason to feel like this. I've always felt weird around older men (those over 50 or 60) or I guess just old people in general. I used to lock myself in the bathroom or hide in my closet when my paternal grandfather would come over. I'm not sure why though, he's never been mean to me, I just had this automatic response to avoid him and my paternal grandmother whenever I could. They don't visit anymore on account of my grandfather being over 80 and constantly sick, as all old people are. I still dread going over for dinner, not as much as I used to, but there's still a part of me that wants to hide. Any time I have to interact with an old person I feel the need to finish it as quickly as possible and get away. I have no logical reason for this response. I can't recall anything weird nor traumatic related to people over the age of 60, yet I still run from them like they have the plague, even the ones I have a positive relationship with such as my maternal grandmother. Something weird I also find about myself is my relationship with sex. As a confirmed virgin who's only ever gone as far as kissing and touching a girls boob, I have a weird list of sexual deviations. Once again I have no explanation for this except for the fact that I, as all children of the web, was exposed to graphic pornography at age 9(?). But that's pretty normal, we all take some kind of interest in the topic around puberty and if I had been born a generation earlier instead of porn sites I would've seen porn magazines, so what difference does it really make? Honestly I think I've done pretty well at seperating fiction from reality. The things I think, write and draw are pretty much completely seperated from my real life. My fetishes and kinks are kept to myself or posted online in places where no one can ever connect them to my face. Yet I still wonder why exactly I developed so many and why so many of them are as "extreme" as they are. This circles back to my repressed memories and trauma. I feel it's something sexual. Sometimes I'll be writing something or perhaps just thinking and I'll randomly start crying and I don't even know why. I just seem to break down over sexual topics. I haven't been bothered to try to figure out what exactly triggers me so I guess it's my fault. I have all the symptoms of someone with repressed trauma; heavy anxiety, attachment issues, strong reactions to certain people/types of people, constant exhaustion, a lack of ease in certain places, ect., ect., yet I don't think I'll ever figure it out. Maybe that's for the best, maybe there's a good reason I can't remember large chucks of my childhood.

Internet stress

CW: references to vomit, emotional selfharm

January 30th 2025

I'm sick. I feel sick. I feel so fucking sick when I interact with fandom sometimes. I threw up when I saw fanart of my favourite male character with his wife. I threw up when I saw someone selfshipping with my favourite character. I threw up when someone tried to tell me my brunette favourite character was actually blond. I threw up when someone told me I shouldn't publish my smutty fanfic if I'm underaged. I feel physically ill and I puke, I puke so much--- it's a symptom of my unmedicated anxiety. I know I'm mentally ill, you don't have to tell me. I don't block people online if they don't personally attack me, it's just not who I am. I've heard it's called 'digital selfharm' and honestly I'd agree with that. I've been on the internet my entire life, I was born on the web. When I was 13 and 14 I'd go on 4chan and gore sites just seeking out something to hurt me emotionally. Now, I refuse to block people on tumblr.com because even if I feel sick from what they post, I feel rude blocking them when they're honestly just doing their own thing. I seek ways to hurt myself even if they're not physical. I don't want to be hated. I want the fandom to love me, I want to be a god amongst men and when I get block I feel like I've been tossed out onto the street. I feel sick but I love this place. I want it to be the way it is in my head. I want this fandom to be bigger and I want to be loved, I want friends, I want people to talk to me. I'm too socially anxious to seek them out myself.

Never enough, never enough

January 19th 2025

My work feels like it's never enough. I draw constantly, but it never feels good enough. My inability to get whatever is in my head onto the page or screen really pisses me off. My art isn't good and I hate it. I love drawing but it never turns out good enough. I feel horrible when I look back on something I drew maybe a week ago. When i post my art online I feel like I'm just ruining the fandoms tags, as if the people in my fandom don't want my art even if there's nearly no one there. I feel the need to be the best, draw the best, feed my small fandom and just be amazing at art no matter what. But I can't. I feel horrible. I wanna stop drawing, but it's fun to me. That should be all that matters, but no, I still feel awful about not being perfect at drawing. I need to get better. I need to spend every waking hour drawing. I can't live like this, as some shitty fanartist. I wanna be as good as those who came and went before me. I wish I could've just been born as one of the greats instead of having to spend my entire life working to get even somewhat good. I'm too selfaware for my own good.

Untitled

CW: suicide, selfharm

December 22nd 2024

They say suicide is a selfish thing. I don't get it, I really dont understand. Why would taking you own life be more selfish than wanting someone to exist just for your sake? Maybe I just don't understand, maybe I'm one of those selfish people who dare wish for an escape from all of this. I really don't know what I'm going to do with my life. I feel sick every day. I can't remember a single day in the past 5 years where I haven't felt sick from sadness. My future feels nonexistent yet I know it'll happen. I can't keep doing this, I can't keep existing for the sake of existing. I'm holding off from any act of self mutilation at least until after christmas, I'm staying clean so I dont have to be told the same speech about how I'm beautiful and that I shouldn't damage my body because one day someone will want it. God I always feel so digusted, with both the world and myself. I hate how I look, it's all wrong. No one will listen to me, no one wants to respect me enough to at the very least call me by a different name. Is it also selfish to hurt yourself? I really can't help the way it feels to hold a blade to my own skin and press down to make shallow, superficial cuts. I'm fine. I don't think it's bad to hurt yourself and the people who cry about how awful it is have never felt a mental torment so strong the only way to express it is physically. Sometimes I close my eyes and try to imagine life after death. Heaven and hell aren't real and the kooks who genuienly believe are insane. I picture a void, a dark void, one without pain nor pleasure. A true nothingness where not even one's subconcious exists. True freedom is the type of nonexistence one feels when asleep. I can't fucking wait to leave.