- Jun 18, 2018
My apartment is really just a prison made tolerable because of internet access.
I feel the same wayI feel safer inside than when I am outside. The outside world always gives me this feeling of uneasiness to the point where I can almost vomit from the fear and trepidation it induces to me. This reason alone stands as a powerful excuse for me to stay inside than outside.
Yep. 11 years and counting, at this point. Again though, it's pretty much been a lifelong thing. Even when I was just a kid, all I could ever think about when I was at school was how much I yearned and looked forward to going back home again. The moment the final bell rang, I'd essentially sprint/power walk my way back home as fast as possible. Eventually the act of leaving here became so traumatic for me (right around the start of Grade 6), that I simply couldn't handle it anymore and, thus (after very sporadic attendance due to struggling with my Godzilla sized anxiety every day), I ended up dropping out of school in Grade 9 after my first semester of high school. My mother, in particular, tried as hard as she could to help me throughout it all and to, more or less, "heal me" somehow. This basically took the form of me & her going to see countless therapists/psychiatrists/energy healers (some good, some not so good), briefly dabbling in medication (Effexor/Paxil), to even having numerous special concessions be made for me like not having to take tests with everyone else with the added bonus of no time limits, to not even having to attend class itself and, instead. just going to see my own personal teacher in a private area), but, ultimately, it was all a waste of time. At one point, I could've finished the rest of high school just by going to our local library a couple times every week to meet with my private teacher, but, by that point, my anxiety/agoraphobia was so intense that even something as easy/convenient as that, seemed totally insurmountable. It was then, with a heavy sigh of fatigue, that my mother finally accepted that she had literally done all she could for me and it still hadn't been enough, and so, finally, let me drop out. She moved mountains for me and yet, in the end, I let her down. I wish I hadn't been so afraid. I wish I hadn't had to put her through so much heartache & stress. I am what I am, though. As broken & defective as that might be. The idea of going outside in those last few months before I quit, with my only destination being a safe, quiet library, let alone a bustling school, felt about as unrealistic as asking a paraplegic to somehow flop his/her way through a triathlon. The only difference between the two is that one crippling disability is something you can physically see and understand, whereas the other is an affliction that's just as fucking crippling, if not more so in some cases, but, unfortunately, also happens to be hidden within the heart/mind/soul and so, what seems to sadly often be the case, is quickly dismissed as being bullshit/laziness/weak willpower (etc.) In the case of my mother, she's always understood on some level the pain/anxiety that was inside me. At the time, she just didn't want to see me throw my life away. With absolutely zero help from my father (who, to this day, still thinks I was just "lazy"), it was a never ending battle for her to try and get me the help that she thought I needed. That takes its toll on a person, especially when you're effectively on your own, as she was. We all came through it, though. It was so many years ago now, that it's basically just an old story we all laugh about at this point. As Kurt Vonnegut's son (Mark Vonnegut) said when asked what our purpose is in this life, his response was simply, "We're here to help each other through this. Whatever this is". I might be nothing more than a burden and I might have, indeed, thrown my life away all those years ago, but.....no matter who or what we are, I'd like to believe that, fundamentally, we're all in this together. Maybe that's wrong and I'm just lying to myself, but whatever. My family loves me and that's all that matters. Plus, let's not forget, that this globally Dickensian society we all currently live in, is, to put it lightly, a right fucking mess. No jobs/swiftly disappearing ones, stagnating/insufficient wages, enormous amounts of debt for anyone foolish enough to get a degree/seek higher education (etc, etc.) When compared against all that, being a housebound hermit honestly seems like the best decision one could make, frankly. Be just another indentured slave to some scum fuck parasitic capitalists who, themselves, do fucking nothing for society, while siphoning out all of the existing wealth for themselves and draining our collective life force/well being like a fucking bloodsucking vampire, and are the ultimate welfare queens? Yeah, no thanks. I'll just continue to opt out of that fucking insanity if you don't mind.
Anyway, aside from very occasionally going on late night drives with my mother, I simply don't leave the house. Ever. Going out in broad daylight without one of my parents around is especially inconceivable and something I haven't done in over a decade. I went outside in daylight once last year with my mother to pick up an office chair that I desperately needed because she didn't want to go on her own, and once this year not that long ago with both my parents to see if I were a candidate for Lasik/PRK treatment (I wasn't, unfortunately). That's what I'd call an unusually busy spans of activity for me. Going outside in daylight twice in two years. Frankly, I'd prefer it if I could just stay holed up in my room, let alone just the house. If I had a bathroom in here, along with a slit under the door for food/water to be passed to me as if I were in solitary, then I honestly wouldn't have much reason to literally ever leave.