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Saturday, 29 April 2017

Writer's block

I haven't been able to write properly for a good few months now. Like i can sort of manage short distraction fics but even those are getting harder and harder to write. My great muses keep escaping me like wild horses bucking me from the saddle. The ideas are there but i just can't see them through. The uncertainty and lack of confidence and energy crashes down upon me before i can finish. This is why the Tele watching and reading has become so much more important. A man needs a purpose, a reason to be. Mine was writing. Now i live out of fear of missing out, morbid curiosity and not wanting to upset my family. I'm getting old and my life is still so uncertain and unstable. I don't where I'm going, where I'll be living, how I'll be living. How can I write long form if I don't know that I'll be around to finish it.

How do I explain to my family of neurotypicals that this isn't some great unnatural emotional imbalance but just a logical reaction to certain facts of my life? Should I even bother? Ethically is it right to let them know? I know they can't do anything. I've had two years to look for an answer and weighed every possibility, even getting a lay of the land from different political perspectives. Unless your head is thoroughly in the sand and you are sufficiently wealthy and privileged it is impossible to ignore that there are several factors right now and in the decades to come that look to drastically upset and alter society in major ways. Even if I get lucky and I find a way to survive the next few years and decades financially, I have an embarrassing and quality of life affecting condition, shite social skills, not enough money for an interesting life and so can look forward to several decades as a kind of high tech battery farmed animal in tiny accommodation, rarely going out with a meagre social life. Objectively speaking, even if I live I'm still fucked.

All that is driving me forward at the moment is my morbid interest in politics and my lust for women. These are not things to build a life around, especially when you are a fat autistic left wing guy in the 21st century. I have no doubt that being a politically active lesbian on the left can be very rewarding but as a man who is a fan of well regulated capitalism and beautiful submissive women I just sort of despise myself and get upset at how so few people share my views on politics. It really does feel like you're either a Marxist or a neoliberal these days, or a fascist. No room for the lovers of old capitalism, especially as technological unemployment takes hold. And like yeah sex positive feminists are a thing but so often you end up running into people who seem to agree with you about the need for men's rights, the problems with radical feminism and how glorious beautiful submissive women are, then they turn out to be complete misogynistic nobheads. Not exactly great for one's ego and faith you're not a misogynistic nobhead yourself.

I mean I'm not going anywhere, momentum is carrying me forward, life is enjoyable enough and there are no drastic cliffs of shit yet. I just can't fucking write so I wonder what's the point? Why bother? What's it all for? If I am living for the hedonistic imperitive is one meal a day plus sandwiches enough? Is a life of letsplay, podcasts and binge watching enough? I was raised to be exploited as a drone in the capitalistic economy and i can't even do that. I'm​ nearly twenty five and my greatest accomplishments are some fiction that made good people hate me, a neckbeard that looks like pubic hair and a YouTube channel stalked by Nazis who hate my guts. I mean masturbation, diet coke and mint imperials are amazing but they can only do so much.

My family wants me to try anti depressants and for more than a month but last time I tried them my brain felt like it was on fire and I honestly don't see how it will change the logical conclusion of all these factors. Even if it did help a bit, that's a hell of a rabbit hole to go down for so little discernable reward. Maybe it's something to do with neurotypicals? Like maybe because they've never had to clearly separate and wall off their emotions they find their emotions drive them a whole lot more? Like they keep telling me how bad my death would make them feel but how is that a factor in the calculus here? As if the fact other people might feel bad will let me magic money out of my arse or a better quality of life if it came to it. I have spent two years living with the prospect of my probable suicide due to external factors, three if you include my final year of university, when I was terrified i wouldn't make it past the first winter after university finished. This is not some great fiery thing anymore. It is not generally characterised by a great sadness or pain, just a cold acceptance of the seemingly inevitable. I struggle to see how antidepressants will affect the calculus of my demise significantly. These are environmental and economic factors, not psychological.

Anyway my ideas are just shit at the moment. The ones that appeal to me to want to write also tend to be ones I am too critical of for being pathetically wish fulfillment. What do I do if I cannot write? My computer is too shit to play games and a man cannot binge watch and read alone. I don't know the answer. The one vague idea i have is to somehow get the money to upgrade my PC but poor people aren't allowed to have nice things. And to the morons screaming to get a job, it's not that easy.