I think another reason is that the idea of following the doomed fate everybody told me to follow - to get a girlfriend, to find sexual pleasure, to ignore emotions and to work hard - and to continue to understand that following it will only lead me to become someone else. I feel brainwashed, but at least the worst part of ripping it up is over now.

Monogamy is alluring in the way that it paints a single person as the solution, and especially, the more rigid they are, the more it "stabilizes", the "stronger" the foundation is. Yeah, I understand not every part of it; changing yourself for that person, so called compromises, is part of it. But everything else. The more the basic expectations are questioned the shakier it gets. The more fantastic the dream the more it makes you an actor of a dream. And in the end you changed who you really are for someone who also changed who they really are just to uphold this, what feels like, illusion of safety from rigidity.

What is rewarding about this? Life changes, people change. I want to change. It wouldn't be ethical for me to just expect someone to be the same forever for me. I always felt locked in, or like I was cursed with having to remain one single person forever. There's a lot more going on, obviously, socially and what not; but I'd argue that if I need intimate relationships to feel comfortable to grow, then going down the path of monogamy was just sabotaging myself and the partners I had.

The illusion of masculine monogamous stability is why I could never truly have a say for my own body until now. That doesn't have to mean I'm non monogamous forever, but for now, yes please.

Also, I'm longing a lot. But it's okay, I have had patience. Just have to wait a bit longer.

I want to admit something shameful. I never wanted to believe real love, commitment, and trust actually existed; because if so, the truth, the fact that I had rejected it and that it went against what I had learned, made me feel humiliated. So I resorted to destroying relations to be the one that was right.

I repressed who I was in real life for a long time and semi-botched my transition. I looked down on other trans women and women for being open and vulnerable and thought they were stupid and made a mistake. I chose to not involve myself out of envy, but when I did involve myself, I didn't want to believe it was possible. I let a lot of genuine connections break down and hurt those who cared.

I took the easier path in life; which was to never put much effort in, and to never have any responsibility. I took the shortcut of painting myself as the victim in every situation and hiding behind layered explanations to shield from critique. I never gave myself to anyone in any real capacity until now. It did not feel like it was worth living with others due to how dangerous it felt.

I tried to put life on hold indefinitely, but it just ended up delaying my personal growth. A lot of my failures are of my own hand that I could've done something about. I didn't know who or what to say to get the help I need. I didn't know what my needs were most of the time. I felt lost.

I was too afraid to be myself as I honestly was. I'm simply not as strong or confident as I look. I'm actually very scared of life and my own feelings and would prefer to depend and ask for help. I am in fact small, vulnerable, and fragile. Thus, I want to leave all of these behaviors behind and never let them control me again. I want to move on with life.

Well, eventually I told how I've let my feelings grow for M, how I've allowed myself to do so. K listened closely with a moment's pause. "Well, I already knew that. You tend to jump to new people all the time". I nodded away, trying to shake the guilt off my shoulders. "Yeah..." I replied. It's the same old compulsion, now flat on the table. "Yeah, but this time I don't want to fuck it up", I lamented with a heavy sigh. "Have you considered that you're borderline?". "Yep. A while ago. You know this". Silence filled, an embarrassing one. But at least I was showing my flaws and not running away.

"Also, I talked with.. you know.", she mentioned off-handedly. My hands immediately began to sweat harder and the familiar feeling of a chokehold on to my heart. A compulsive need to interrogate spun up and out of my mouth - "When? How? Why?", with my eyes darting back and forth trying to make sense of what I just heard. She explained firmly, as a matter of fact. And surprisingly, it went fine, which was to be expected anyways since I had already been crying, been angry, been worried, and yet been relieved for the past three hours wandering around apartments and parks and working through issues.

She continues. "I'm just worried about you, I care about you, I really do love you, genuinely. I hope you see it!". She was crying, for me, for some reason, right in front of me. I couldn't avoid the sight and looked at the tears accumulating, before raising my hand to wipe off her tear. I was doubting. "To be honest......... I don't believe you", I replied, just the same as a matter of fact, and looked away. Although, I looked back over and over to try and understand what the tears meant, what they really wanted out of me. I know it's stupid that I can't just take it for what it is. I looked away again. "My brain is fighting me on this. I don't wanna believe it because I've never felt it".

"I think it's because you've been hurt so many times," she said, "haven't you?" I tried to think back on it, but obviously struggling and shrugging, with the familiar radio noise that my mind immediately puts on trying to think back on the past. She filled in, "... like the one in Tallinn?". I nodded. "Like the guy I dated back then, when I was your age" I replied. Both of us look at each other to make this half cringed face. K nodded as she understood the whole story. "So you've been hurt a lot...", she said, and I finished "... I just don't wanna remember it."

People kept staring at us from their cars passing by. We both noticed and remarked on it. Perhaps it was our queerness, our intimate emotional poses that you simply don't see around these parts. But these people don't matter, what matters is that it was just us talking in this spot. A windy, gray autumn day, as the leaves were just becoming yellow. I was actually pretty cold from just sitting for that a long time. All the time thinking intensely on what exactly this is about, what her words exactly mean, what it really means to love. "I don't believe you." I stubbornly muttered, as she kept quietly listening. "I think it doesn't exist, I don't want it to exist". She replied, "But it does!". "No it doesn't, it can't, and that's why things happened with her. That's all I've ever known". I replied.

She stood up to stare at me with a pained expression and then hugged me, unexpectedly. I was still habitually looking out for danger like I always do, such as any creeps or cars passing by, but for a moment, I sunk my head in to her belly and lost myself in the warmth and embrace, but also to listen to what she gently said: "Do you notice that I'm still here? This is love." Maybe. Maybe not. Doubtful. A car passed by, that instantly makes it more doubtful. But it made a left turn before it got there. So it got less doubtful. Okay, why the hell not then, let's see what happens if I really feel it.

I stood up as well and hugged her tight. She whispered, "This is real love. That I stick around. This sort of love really exists." Maybe it was a one off chance, maybe it was a randomly good calculation, maybe it was something beyond my prediction, but for a moment it felt like that pure love truly existed, given the strange sense of peace that washed on to me like the warm rays of the sun. But of course, it's not that strange given everything, it's just what happens when I choose to trust and love, right? Even if it's a conscious decision. Maybe? I can't tell. Wait, I can tell. It feels good for some reason. I feel like a child. "Real love..." I mumbled. "... okay.". The key turns, the chain falls to the ground. It probably exists, it likely is there, as I feel it now, of course! Of course, I mean, wasn't that what I wanted to have, what I wanted to hear all this time? What I kept living for? Now it's here, right in your arms. It's real! Is it?... Yeah, it is. Maybe it exists.

I ended the hug and looked at her eyes. "Okay, maybe I feel it.". But beneath the hesitation... of course I felt it, because I had a big smile on my face with quivering lips. And we walked home holding hands. Only a few steps later, though, I recalled how real it felt, and tears started rolling without my choice. "I love you", I mumbled, crying. I let go of my inhibitions and let my face contort to sadness, crying up towards the overhead trees moving by. The grief struck me sudden and fast.

I thought about L. All of those years of trouble never fails to poke at me for both its pain and meaning. Cry-gasping, I ask, "... what, what did I do to L?...". But just as fast as the sadness came, it disappeared, probably because as I was catching my breath, I saw the three rude boyz in the distance, and you know the rest of that story. We met them, they called us pederast, and I smiled silly in return. That was the first time I ever smirked back on an insult. At thirty one. Mmhm.

Oh, and some time later at home, I gave L a tight, warm hug and told them that I loved them. I do love them despite everything that happened.

I definitely feel like I've learned some skills to exist with others. The problem that's always been stuck with me, about trusting others, is the biggest one. I get scared frequently throughout the day, every day, from various sources of conflicts, mostly from trying to anticipate imagined dangers. You can always tell by my hands becoming sweaty and getting a cold, dissociated attitude. When it happens, I catch it, but working against it is tough. I've been able to do it, though, somewhat, and emotionally relied on K, asking to be held and let myself figure out what the source of the fear is. I try my best to tell myself, that it's genuinely okay to rely on someone, deeply, even the awkward parts.

I often feel crushed by real life issues, but instead of becoming bitter and angry, I seem to just cry. I feel really heavy and weak in those moments, kind of like as if immobilized by a weighted blanket, a blanket of emotions. Regretful, dependent, suffocated, frightened. It often feels like the end is near, genuinely, like that I'm fundamentally different from society which will certainly doom me to death. I let those feelings pass through me and usually I feel okay afterwards.

I feel less lonely, but somehow I still feel it. I think it's the feeling of missing what I could've had all this time. I want to hug and depend on my friends (to a healthy degree what they offer). I want to show weakness and dependency. I want to be the person I'm the most afraid of being.

It feels like it was all a choice to be scared now when I see things clearer. I could've accepted the many friends I had in my life and talked with, and gotten close instead of pushing everything away with fear. It's what happens when figuring yourself out, I guess. I don't want to fight anymore.

Oh, I am also getting tan. And freckles. And an awkward smile in the sun.
Also: Chaotic Principles.

A long, long time ago, someone did actually offer to marry me in exchange for living in the US for free to be a house wife. I rejected it because I was scared of the world, which, fair enough given my situation, but I do wonder what would've happened if I decided to take up on that offer. I get the feeling that at some point, just like with Sweden, I would've been really fed up with it and left it with all the same anger. There's something iffy, deeply suspicious with the way these vibrant things are shoved in to my eyes, something that tells me that the society isn't shaped for me that always caused me to second doubt it. It's just so much stronger here. Right in the face. I don't really understand how people can justify dealing with such a life and be stuck with concrete, asphalt, ad-plastered, sidewalk-less megamarts and parking lots and somehow defend it.

But of course, I understand it if you're born there, just like I was born in Sweden. One can't just up and go randomly leaving behind everything without a lot of pain. Both options are harsh on the soul. And maybe, who knows, the spirit of entrepreneurship and independency would've spoken to me once upon a time. I still get the feeling that it would've corrupted me, though. I don't know, it never stuck to me. It's a mixture of luck and a mindset of wanting something different, I guess. Sweden was similarly artificial but in a different way. Instead of a "fuck you, this is mine" it was a "fuck you, shut up and contribute".

Meh. If I'm going to be isolated anyways by will I'd rather live somewhere cheap and close to nature. Like when I trek through the concrete jungle to end up at the arboretum thirty minutes away by walk. I feel like I'm at home with the flowers. That's probably who I am.

I think this is the point of my life. I think being pure and innocent is what I should be doing in this life, I can't see any other way to it. I acknowledge that I'm lucky, practically speaking, in this regard in that I am able to get help from various people to live a life where I can develop myself this way, but at the same time, I know that the mental path of getting here was the most troublesome part. Trusting people, but also, kind of, trusting fate? Believing that 'giving up' isn't the final end, and standing up, over and over, as I've always done. Trying again and again, wasting time over it, giving up, learning and doing something else. I don't know. At some point when you're this age, you've done it so much that it cooks your brain. Thinking that the way you've survived so far is the only way to survive, and that any other way is a risk to the tight rope that's being walked.

But I did that, and it went nowhere, as I've written over and over again. So then what? Then what was the point of doing all of that? Operating on fear for one and a half decade, I'm left brittle and exhausted. It's the result of my own actions, I know, I know, I was trying to behave like a grown-up. But I don't think I feel like an adult at all. Honestly, trying to feel like an adult, to me, has always implied operating on fear as that's all what I've seen in my life. Scared people guiding themselves with strange ideas on how to fit in to a society. I don't think that's really living. Honestly, the more time passes and I reflect on my time handling life like an adult, I have begun to feel a strong disillusionment with that kind of life. I see it in a lot of subtle behaviors and people I meet. It's lurking there, and hard to describe.

If we put it this way: if I thrive, like, and desire to behave in a way that from society's view is divergent, so let's say: playful, accommodating, pleasing, maybe a bit weird and unique. What purpose does it serve to attempt to destroy and replace it with another adult behavior, to satisfy the condition of 'operating on fear' and fitting in? If I'm not affected by the same things as society/people generally are in society, if I think in a specific way that has its own strengths and weaknesses. It would be detrimental to replace it with something that isn't me and trying to fill a made up person's role.

An ideal life is when you aren't filling roles. You call it naive and immature, but I still see you do it. I see your kind using verbal/physical/financial means to get temporary crumbs of playfulness, childishness, innocence to maintain your adult life. I see you carefully constructing the concept of an ideal adult citizen that abuses, clearly or not, basic impulses to make you behave in a predictable, approachable, "this is how society should work, so deal with it" manner. But I think for me, I can't do that, and that's what you should accept if you tell me it's okay for me to be me. Comparing me to you, as in, "if I had to fit in so will you" is your failure of thinking for yourself. Being able to get neetbux isn't me being lazy and taking what you give, I'm making use of the support you claim to give me and fitting it for my own needs.

But okay, this is probably a worldview I was taught and learned. But that speaks to you how harshly it was enforced, or rather how difficult it was to change it, if I still believed it for so long, right? Or maybe that's just a regular thing in life. Youth is wasted on the young, as they say.

I don't want to spend any more time living with the fear I was taught, so that means, I am in fact the person I am. I don't want to work, I don't want to pretend. I want to have one on one relations with people whom I can care for and receive care back. I don't want to pretend I don't have emotions. I live on emotions. I want to deeply depend and grow with close contacts. I don't want to be used for my emotions and have my feelings towards you be steered with threats. I don't want to be an adult. I want to maintain purity and innocence, and I want to make use of personal contacts to maintain that. I want to be what you would call childish. I want to be a child. It is a virtue. I don't care.

Also, I'm sorry that our friendship didn't work out. I appreciate that you helped me at my lowest mental point in life, and that I could help you in return for a while, but in the end it did not work out. I don't want to hold any grudges or emotions as the ones that became, or shaky impulses guiding the friendship. I just wanted, and want you to be okay in the end; that's what I cried and fought for. Life moves on.

Usually I go out to wander around to keep myself sane. I cross overgrown parks, empty alleyways, I look at water and wind. I think a lot about people in my life, situations that comes and goes, relationships that gets tangled and duties I have to do and that I keep putting off. I think too much for my own good (well that much is obvious) and it's prone to overthinking to either a good or a bad direction. I tend to avoid people the best I can and sometimes I grab a camera to capture pictures or sounds or video. It's grown on me to abandon the computer and head for the outdoors, which is a surprising development that I had no idea when it would've happened.

I think at this point, I'm exhausted. I'm very tired of predicting future and anticipating dangers. I've run out of energy to do much else other than the basic essentials. Talking to people or interacting in public drains me, so I lay in bed a lot too. Bleh, that's where my life is going, I guess. Couldn't be the productive factory I hoped to be (well, I kinda did, but at a lot of cost), but at this point, do I still want to? Was it even worth it? Yeah, but no, maybe, sometimes, yeah kinda, but maybe not like that. You know?

Oh, and I updated my website, I hope you like it. I aim to eventually drop every public social media.

Well, now I know better. I can't live like that anymore, and you know how my life has already went so far. I attribute it mainly to being born to parents who, now when I know what it actually results in to live for others, very obviously were suffering themselves. I can draw parallel lines, I'm not fucking stupid like they thought I was. They were scared themselves of being dependent on other people, fuck, I don't know, society itself, and they probably thought that getting a child would be a guaranteed way to expand the safe circle in this foreign country. Or, something, some sort of positive impact by itself by just following society's script. As much as this makes me livid to make such a selfish choice, I can't help but imagine how brainwashed and intimidated they must've been themselves.

Not that I have to give compassion. The things I've gone through are the things I've gone through, and their life is their life. My purpose isn't, and shouldn't be, to live my life for them or for anyone else. Not even them, not even by blood bands. So the conclusion is simply that from my point of view, they did both good and wrong in my life journey. From my point of view, they had me when they weren't ready to parent, they couldn't help me properly with what I needed, and there's no point in arguing with them about this. To take care of myself, I must validate my own experience, and I conclude that it could've been better, and that to finally make it better, I must take action to make it better.

It's so strange, because I sit here, thirty-one years old, and even though I'm steered by emotions I can still conclude that the way I have handled my own emotions was having an unreasonable impact on my well-being. Or is it just a consequence of being born in a wealthier country that provides accommodation in order to afford to think like this? Again, while their actions could be excused from growing up poor and harsh, what matters is not their past, but what they do about themselves; did they realize that they were wrong, even? Did they look at their actions and think they could do it better? NO... it seems like they couldn't, for a lot of things! It's so strange, how can a human live their life and not once reflect on their actions? And to grow that kind of narcissistic shell? Is there no moment where you take an action and think about the impact of it? I clearly had it.

Doing as I was told and living for others led me down this path of pain, but luckily I had set up my life just enough to be able to cushion the fall. I had my living essentials in place, and even though I was in a financially fucked spot last year, this year is much, much better. Okay, so life is fucked, but I can un-fuck it. The path to resolving my mental issues is the same as with any other type of problem. First, understand that there is a problem. Second, describe and accept the problem. Third, challenge the problem and do something different. Four, if the problem is too big, break the problem down in to smaller problems or ask for help. Fifth, change takes time and repetition. I'm not fucking stupid, I'm just scared. As were they. Bla bla, empathy is always in my blood. I can't help it.

Anyways, I call my own problems a special word. They're called pillars, due to their strength and difficulty in bringing down by myself. They're actually a gigantic headache for me, because they themselves reinforce themselves to be truth, because I have been trained, somehow, by myself or by them, to follow them, through both theirs and my own social and emotional disillusions and beliefs. To change this, there will be pain. THERE WILL BE PAIN. It will hurt to change things I once believed in, and there will be moments where, when I try to actively tear down the pillars, that it will leave me a confused mess and fighting for them to still stand even though they fuck me over. I understand now that what I need to fight back against and to tear down the pillars is to talk to someone I trust and to admit that they have them. So, I guess one of the reasons why I'm shouting them here is just to admit them. I do have connections that I talk about them to, though, so uh. Anyways. One, two...

Do not be emotional. Do not have tastes or preferences. Do not show your physical body, or receive judgements. Be normal and predictable for others. Do not prioritize yourself. Be productive and contribute work. Accommodate your language to others' conversation levels. Blend in. Accept and be the person you were born as. Ignore desires for affection and love, you must survive without it. Use intelligence and logic to resolve issues. Do not trust anyone.

Ah, the familiar fuzzy feeling of being too tired to think about this stuff... go on...

Do not rely on anyone but yourself, because people will abuse you. Depend on pleasure to make life worth it. Do not try out new things. Do not believe that things can get better. There are no choices to make in life. You are and will be isolated, so expect it. Never show vulnerability or fragility. You were born as a man, so make use of women for that. You need to maintain control and power. You are not able to become better by choice. If you need to use force, use it.

It is strange to think that this is a normal behavior to be taught. That didn't get me anywhere useful in life as it promised me. In fact, that just made me become a shell of a person where all the humanity was stripped away. It turned my life in to a bitter path that I thought I had to walk on just because I was destined to. I don't have much else to add. Now I know what to change, so it's time to change it.

I feel thankful and patient
that problems exist
without problems
I wouldn't have found me
or know good moments too
It makes those feel as they should be
so seemingly real to me, like how it once felt,
our cornered bond, "I love you, as you are",
as I then clumsily fled and ripped it apart,
I can't undo it or fix how it went,
but I can choose to become someone better
so I guess I wanna type what feelings now matter

I loved you, as a character, a person, a human
how you were and are as you are,
I'm sorry it happened for all these reasons
turning it to a loss to move on from
I think you know well what I wanted to cause
peace and patience, trust and belief,
I tried to get there, with no solid steps
I wanted to gift you all that for relief
because I felt desperate to make things hurt less

from a life time of fuckery deluding my head,
I couldn't see the world's beauty and mess
I tried to fix it the way I thought I had
that's the reason why you met me
I wanted to see what hid near,
that's the reason I tried it,
to find what had left me,
to show what could be

the regrettable part, is all what it cost
but eventually all progress will need some loss
I just hope one day that you find your peace
and that you love your loves to let you live free

---
I love emotions, intensity, positivity, and healing
I love characters, unique people, and humans
I love nature, its weathers, seasons and times
I love belief, hope, love and progression
---

I tried to accommodate this by relying on others, on people and institutions, on my own skills, on bracing myself before every interaction. It always failed. I always failed and made me paranoid and worried. Whether someone or something was trustable enough, if their smile or politeness was a good indication whether I would be cared for, whether I micro-managed every step correctly as they expected. To me, life was always a calculation of expectations, a trade of competence and paying attention to not hurt others. Any other type of life or interaction was unimaginable.

And then I hurt others anyways. I feel hurt anyways from living and breathing. I can't fucking deal with this. I can't. As soon as the blinds go to the sides, I feel the fucking panic. I feel like I can't get a grip. Like the utter reason behind everything will always be "You need stability NOW" and it's overriding my long-term reason. And it's silly because I know that it's unreasonable. I lie in a warm, cozy home with electricity, water and protection against the elements. I live in the first world. I should be thankful. I can't complain.

And even so, even if I have this, I wake up alone one day while she's gone outside and gain an unshakeable feeling that there won't be a good ending to all of this. I pet some animals, I eat food, I lay in bed for just a bit longer. And it doesn't fucking go away. Whatever I've done in my life and desperately tried to play along with that transactional mode of communicating and playing along with other humans, regardless what I tried from start to end. It never made it better. Maybe with intense positive feelings, but of course, those are always temporary. Life feels temporary. And I accepted that too.

My emotions may be just temporary, my mistakes may be just a product of figuring things out. But is that really what my heart says too? Sorry for the cliche, but is life is really just about suffering like that? Maybe it's a stop-over, a weird in-between space in my life after I've spent time ripping out whatever the fuck constellations of "supposed to"s that I've had all of my life. Maybe it's the weird time before I finally let myself either blossom in to a purer, kinder, gentler person OR if I just quit it all. I'm too scared to do it. I don't. Life can be beautiful. People can be kind. Emotions can be wonderful. Right? Right???

What am I even saying. It's all a bunch of nonsense theories and stacked logical explanations to the life that I failed to figure out on my own. The situation is simply this: it's a case of not touching grass enough. I didn't care for myself out of fear for a decade. I did what I thought was right and fucked myself mentally in the process. I burned bridges and look like a pathetic, abusive, toxic and hypocritical person. I became a warning sign to others.

Whatever, self pitying is such a fun way to avoid responsibility, so the next question is, what the fuck do I do? I can't be with people. I broke up with them both. There, now they don't have to deal with my emotional problems anymore. I can't go outside. I'm fucking paranoid as fuck. I'm worried every single person is going to hurt me, mentally, emotionally. Making connections is impossible, and haha, I should "know better" for my fucking age. I can't fucking work. I tried working what I could and in the end, I got fucked by it anyways. I can't accomplish scheduled things reliably. I can't, and don't want to, participate in society, or its rules, or its things. I don't want to participate in these pointless fucking traditions, forced events and gatherings. I feel stateless without a home. I don't have "a home country" to feel at home in. At most, it's this apartment I live in.

On the flip side, I have passions and loves for certain ideals and actions. But how do I actually make it work in real life? There's a lot of fear speaking in place of me, I know, I know. A constant barrage of "what ifs". But if you asked me what I really wanted, without any of this fucking trouble I clung myself to, I would.... I would want to live alone. Let me exist and live in fucking peace. Let me experiment and learn things at my pace and how I want without a barrage of critique or mean words. Let me make games when and how I want. Let me draw uncomfortable and inappropriate things. I'm not fucking hurting anyone. I never wanted to. I said some ugly words and hurt people sometimes, mostly out of attachment issues, fear, and paranoia. Trust me, I punish myself over my past mistakes already. Every day, actually.

I want to be a good person, I'd rather be a good person than giving it all up. Not once in my life was I lazy in any regard, sure, maybe lazy in terms of participating in society and accomplishing all the typical achievements, but I never wasted time on fucking consumption like the rest of "functioning" humans. I built a fucking game. I BUILT A FUCKING GAME. FOR FREE. FROM SCRATCH. I RELEASED IT FOR FREE. I built many things over time that I could've monetized, but I never did, because I always had you, the user, the player, on my mind, how you'd feel, how you'd improve. I'm cursed with a nice ability to emphasize and I enact on those feelings even if they fuck me in the end. And yet I'm the bad one. sorry, should I exploit others instead?

I just want to crawl in to a hole and be by myself. I don't want to keep fucking trying to fulfill Mr/Ms Stranger's ideas of what it means to be a good person and attain what they think is a fulfilling life, I know the only way for me to be a good person is for me to be as unapologetic and straight forward person as I can be about myself. That's what I've been trying to fucking do since the last journal. Every day, I try to wake up and think to myself, what do >>i<< want? what do >>i<< need to make myself happy so I don't fuck it all up again? Because now I know what it means to lie to myself and be someone I'm not. It means that I hurt people I once loved.

The rest of the story is slightly more eventful. I moved countries and deluded myself in to thinking I could survive off my game. As we know, it didn't really work out the way I thought, as I've detailed in my previous journals. Well, to clarify, it did work out with the production... there's a really pretty game to play now that I am proud beyond anything that I have done. But the financials and the self-sustaining side... not really. But it's okay. After a few months of pushing harder than I was comfortable with, I got very, uhm, exhausted. Real life wasn't working out, there was stress upon stress for both of us to make a living.

I ended up emotionally and mentally giving up and depending on my partner to carry us forward, with the financials and the survival. But on the other hand, I supported her the best way I could by taking care of practical tasks and chores. I tried my best to continue the game development while I was getting increasingly dissociated with, well, everything, as I hoped, prayed, banked on the game to result in... something. Because, I didn't know what else to do and refused other ways out of sheer panic. I still have that panic within me. I can't speak with people, I can't work a normal job, I can't get myself to function like a normal person because I'm steered by fear. Anyways, I didn't know it at the time, and I just kind of paralyzed in to nothingness as I realized how useless I was.

Then I did what I always did when reality hit me, and looked for comfort from another person. And I did hook on to a person. Of course. And I used her for my advantage and comfort. Of course. I feel strongly that I hate myself for going this way, but I also felt like I did this just acting on impulses. Well, let's scroll back a bit. It was the person I met in Spain and felt such a strong feeling of comfort I never felt. Then when I got home, I got the slap of reality in my face reminding me of what could've been if I actually worked on myself. And I fell deep in to depression. I don't know. During the months after that, I lost myself as my new-found remote partner first tried to comfort me, and then told me exact steps to take to help improve myself, to which I refused because, well, I was deeply afraid, and it was uncomfortable. Every single fucking stupid day I was too afraid to do anything about myself or my problems and I started antagonizing everything and everyone thinking there is no way out of this. As if I was permanently broken. This shit hurts to write. Fuck.

It proceeded until spring this year when I started mentally checking out from all the internal emotional stress and external pressure to get myself somewhere, that I was too afraid to go towards and didn't know how to go there. I tried my best to keep my composure but it was more like holding the bubbling pot lid down with bare fingers than anything useful. And I fucking argued for nothing. I tore down my new connection for petty reasons. I don't even feel like I was conscious then, just "living", reacting emotionally without any fucking grip on reality. I called my dad for the first time in a few years begging for money because I just didn't want to spend the rest of my life renting and wasting money, so I just wanted help to get myself a shitty ass apartment in the middle of nowhere - away from noise, away from people, away from everything. I don't know. I don't know!

Then I went to Spain again, and my new remote partner there was also having so many issues on her own and it all came together in a huge mental clusterfuck, so much so that on the last day I exploded in a really awkward, uncontrollable emotional way, enough to ruin it for everyone. And she ended it, because I was too stupid to change, I guess, and I broke down. And then my home partner got so fucking affected that she took control herself of the situation and made promises to my remote partner. And then I went home, like a fucking child, scarred, and mumbling in frustration, hurt and not knowing why. I cried my eyes out because I couldn't understand what the fuck just happened. Why couldn't I think, why was I breaking someone's heart and mine too, what was I trying to accomplish, what was I even aiming towards?

And then it got worse... after spending several days just panic crying and sobbing over the destruction that had just happened in front of me, it hurt such an insufferable amount that I stopped crying out of pure shock. And I tried to write down, step by step, what I was feeling, but it was just complete chaos and a jumble of incoherent, emotional explanations for why the behavior I was doing was supposedly bad, even though I couldn't believe it myself. And I wrote down most of what was of my past, my youth, my young adulthood, just like the previous two Journal entries here on FA. And my remote partner was breaking down herself over all of this and I was sent really scary, really intense expressions of self harm and saying she will be going for my home partner instead of me. And I broke. I got torn apart for it too. So I shut down all emotions that had ever existed between us to take a moment to fucking breathe during the summer.

What follows is probably the most intensely negative and turbulent mental period I've had in my life. I was trying to recover from the botched relationship and emotional collapse that I ended up reconsidering so many stupid fucking things about myself and my behavior that I never knew about, and it fucking hurt, an indescribable amount. Day in and day out, I thought over why I act a certain way, why I assume this or that about people, why I go this far to botch a relationship just because I'm uncomfortable, thinking over the painful past over and over and ripping up old scars, just fucking exploding in grief and regret and hopelessness and painful, painful heartache as I realized that I cannot continue my life to push this stupid shit that's going on in my head on to other people, expecting them to fix it and getting nowhere. I wanted to die. Literally, now when I aimed the emotional cannon on to myself and told myself to sit through the consequences of my actions, I start feeling fucking suicidal on top of it, and it's the scary kind, the one that makes it feel like a genuine solution to the suffering.

Everything hurt so deeply, everything, how I failed, what I thought, how I behaved, the lack of control, insight, ability to understand. I felt so utterly stupid that I didn't want to live. I laid in bed sobbing my eyes out over and over for weeks just taking this stupid shit, telling myself that I must do something different to pull myself out of it. So I agreed to myself that I want to change. To change, I must feel pain like this. So I let myself feel that pain. What would the pain mean? I don't know, but I sure felt lonely. I don't seem to remember much from this time. I just existed. Whatever little things that triggered me kept happening and I kept crying my eyes out. And I felt so lonely, what I had tried all my life to remove, now eating me up inside. Lonely because I have to deal with my own problems by myself.

And then I started gaining a resemblance of sanity. I got pretty angry at myself, so I tried turning it in to a skill, at the very least - building up basic knowledge and pattern recognition of what is an emotion and what is a fact. I managed to convince myself, somehow, that pain is good or even enjoyable, because it means I'm not going to be stuck like I was in the past. And I started learning what it means to actually make myself comfortable when I'm uncomfortable, which includes spending time alone and feeling out the physical senses. I started accepting that in the end, I can't resolve problems by just thinking about them, I have to DO things to really believe in them. I got really angry that this is how reality works. I am still very angry about it, but at the very least, I feel less stupid.

Maybe on a lighter note, after a few months of that, I feel more sane, perhaps? I can change, I'm not a lost cause. But it hurts like fuck and I hurt other people by it, when the main point I want in life is to care for others. Why the fuck else am I continuing this stupid game? At the same time, my partner, well both of them really, they care enough to try and make it happen even if I failed them. I don't know. Maybe it was a big lesson to finally grow up in to a responsible adult. The answer I never wanted. But I finally understand now why people do destructive things to themselves. I guess I can let it become compassion. And instead of waiting for the fucking hug, I make that hug happen to others.

At 20, I did something I will always regret. As I wished and gave up my desires for a better life, I thought I would give it to someone else. It was an online relationship where I didn't hold back. All of my mental baggage, desires, insecurities and inner conflicts - I let it out on one singular person to handle it for me. And equally so, I gave a lot of exaggerated love to compensate for my flaws. It was something I thought was right from the perspective I had after my childhood of trauma. It felt correct. Not like I had knowledge of what a proper relationship was supposed to be. It was also the start of many years of complete social isolation, as I let the fear of people and society get to my head. I couldn't even make, or take phone calls. I didn't go outside, at all, not even for groceries. Painful anxiety accompanied me in every part of life, and I knew it was bad, it was so bad that I tried to pass it off as a "cute" thing. I also used Tumblr back then, which was about as destructive as you could think of. I felt caged. Every day, I avoided my mother's look as I could barely take care of myself or my body, and she did the same by watching the tv. Every day, I just went online to distract myself from the outside, the pain, the suffering. Anything to keep it quiet.

At 21, I received diagnoses for F64.0 and F84.9. It didn't change much in practical life, at least the transgender one, as I had already been self medicating estrogen. As for the other one, it did give me rights for certain type of healthcare, although shallow. What can I say? It was just diagnoses, it didn't change anything, I didn't know how bad it was inside of me even if it ruled my daily life. I still felt afraid of visiting my psychologists (they all sucked), I still felt afraid of being seen and perceived in the world, and I still felt like it was a problem I fundamentally couldn't solve. Again, I felt caged, restrained. Forced. Only now it started suffocating me, slowly, badly. Panicking without a support network, and not knowing how to build one myself. Loosely drifting around, aimlessly.

During these years it felt like I tried my best to slow time down. Stuffing myself in to a corner and pretending I was a ghost in society, looking out the window every day and wondering when the day of comfort would come. Maybe one would come, probably, right? Even if I did have my partner back then, uploaded art and had a following, and even participated in various art groups, I felt so, utterly, terribly alone. I kept wondering when it would end. When I would be told all life's mysterious secrets and answers to my questions so I could 'grow up' and stop the pain. It was still so much suffering under the comfy blanket of escapism. Truth be told, it was very comfortable. And I did do a lot of interesting things! I learned programming, drawing, animation, and other creative pursuits, things people have complimented on over and over in life, telling me I should be proud of it. It felt ideal if I looked away from the ugly parts. But I still waited for the fix, hoping it would look like a person. The perfect person who would fix everything for me. My future savior of emotional torment that could read my mind. It wasn't my partner, and I sure let them, and many other side partners and friends know about it. Many bridges burned.

So then, year by year, each one was ticking by, and the pressure was building too. Each year I got older and more desperate. When was it going to start? How do I know when to start? I certainly didn't feel ready. Do I have to do something now? I felt misguided, I felt lost, in my heart, in my mind. So I remembered the last thing my dad told me, and it was to go to school. So I did so without any agency within me. I applied to an animation school, which I was accepted to, but cancelled the last minute. Later, I applied to college, which I was also accepted for. And so the next era began where I was studying something I didn't really feel passionate for, in a new place I didn't feel comfortable at, from following my dad's advice, even if he no longer was here. It got much worse.

At age 24, I went to college. I moved out from my mother's apartment, sat in a small 10m² hostel bedroom and did what I thought was expected from me, but with the exact same paranoia of people, anxiety about myself, and terrible social skills I had. The first half year was fairly "fun", if fun meant playing along with people, if fun meant cutting parts off myself little bit little, week by week... well, there were some moments I had fun playing the Switch with a friend I had, I guess, and playing online. But I did my school work, I did give it a try. Perhaps I was wrong all of these years and maybe if I did try socializing again, properly, it would be okay. Maybe I was wrong about the hormones, maybe I was just shy, like my mother had told me many times as a child. Maybe I hadn't tried hard enough. Maybe I haven't trusted enough.

I dropped hormones. I dropped my expectations and natural self. I dropped every aspect of my personality. I also broke up with that online partner I had. I tried my outmost best, in every way that I can think of, to fit in and to do what everyone else wanted me to do, as I could see in their faces. I went to music clubs, I went to creative events, I even tried the dating scene, I sat in school and studied. And it didn't lead me anywhere I wanted. I tried harder. Taking initiatives, suggesting activities, ignoring my comfort. Over time, it was molding in to someone who wasn't me. Then moving in to a new student apartment to give a proper try. Going further and further, detransitioning, socializing, just one more try, just one more go. Ignoring the awkwardness, ignoring the failures, trying to learn, trying to move on. Something horrible slowly built up within me, a twisted sense of disappointment coming right at my face, even as I has tried everything I could think of.

Then I snapped, and I cried. I sobbed. For myself. Sitting on my bed, face in my hands, heartbroken over what life was supposed to be. I had tried everything, even things I didn't want, just to have a crumb of what I wanted. I had pushed myself to understand everything, everyone, all the fine details of life, like reaching some sort of omniscient status so I could predict every move in life without getting hurt. It didn't work out, of course. So there I was, a pathetic, lonely pretend-male that felt stupid, incompetent and unworthy of life. What now?

I had erased myself, my memories, my past for the second time in my life. I became numb. I felt broken and had given up, becoming a desensitized shell of myself who had lost hope. So I put my heart and mind elsewhere where it belonged better, and it just so happened that I was working on a furry game at the time, that I then spent the next five years devoting myself to. It felt like the only world that would accept me for who I was, my purity, my essence, without breaking me. I called it Kemoverse.

At 25, I met my partner. We met over one of the few furry themed artbooks I threw together with other internet artists. It was mutually self-pressuring from both sides, but at least it was a relief to finally meet someone who I could gain even a crumb of comfort or familiarity with. Well, that was until COVID hit and it fucked it over for a year. A full year of agonizing waiting, knowing there was someone who would finally give me the physical comfort I've always looked for. It eventually happened. We moved in, and I continued the studies in school. It got a bit better, even though I struggled to handle my automatic responses and bad habits that had grown upon me all these years, that had grown from the past. All of my past memories, feelings and experiences felt more distant each year, fading away slowly like a bad dream.

And with school too, of course, I started hating them, deeply. Whereas in the past it was just confusion and fear, now it was disgust and hatred for what it, and society stood for. But I continued up until my final thesis in bachelors. And I remember how pointless everything felt through the years, how I felt too bitter to take advantage of the social networks, how desperate I was for this education to be over so I could crawl back in to isolation again. I remember asking the teacher over Zoom if this is how life is supposed to be - to just write these thesises, to do a good job for a superior, thinking to myself... to erase every part of my personality just to survive. I remember his little smirk and giggle. It was enough. It prompted me to make the only choice I ever felt like I had during all this time in college. I cancelled my bachelors and unlisted myself from the school. I gave up despite being told how fucking stupid I was. I gave up and made my only choice in this entire journey.

At 28, that's when it happened. I also tried applying for a job interview this time, and if school was a mistake, this was a disaster. I don't even want to recount it. A clusterfuck of pain and discomfort that messed me up. I couldn't really find help or feel comfortable looking for help around me. I gave my psychiatrist one of my personal books as the meetings drew to a close. The rental agreement of the apartment was also running out. Pressure was building again. What the fuck do I do? What do I do? I have my partner, but she's dependent on me. I had forgotten all my natural behavior, I had turned myself against society. How could I have asked for help here? And what now? I felt time running out quick, and it was becoming scary. I went to the psychiatric emergency, and that was the final slap to my face that I needed. They didn't even bother pretending to know what to do with me, asking me what I want from them, as I sit there, wide eyed, with fear for my life in my eyes. And I just said, sorry I came here, and left the unit.

It broke me, my hope, my desire to live there, my desire to fit in there. No more of that pain. I gave up on everything I ever knew, all the culture and language I knew, all the manners, behaviors, familiarity and comfort I had gotten to know over my lifetime, and moved away. All of my memories, my family stories, my childhood locations, left behind for something better. I remember how much I struggled to think how this is how people wanted to live like. That they don't want a more meaningful, pure, and honest life like I wanted. That they were happy exchanging a vibrant, exciting, different life to safety, comfort and mundanity, on top of all the surface level promises. And most of all, how I let myself get there. Sure, I can't blame myself for the past events (not that I remember them anymore), but I did allow it to get to me this deep. What could I have done? I don't know. I remember the ferry ride to Estonia. I felt so utterly empty and violated inside of me. At the same time, I treated it as a stoic restart of my life. One that maybe is going a bit better. I'll write about it in a third post.

When I was a young child, a family member died from hanging himself. He was 24 and I was 10. Thankfully, I didn't know him too well, and he lived in another country... Spain, you know. I only heard stories about who he was, that my mother missed him, that he was taken too young. I didn't really feel anything. I didn't know really what to feel. I didn't feel so conscious back then of my life, it's all just snippets of interactions that I remember. But I did experience certain moments like these.

I experienced waking up that night, stepping down the stairs in my sleep clothes in the middle of the night, seeing my mother cry on the sofa with my dad looking somber and holding a hand on her shoulder. I didn't know what to think. What would I do, the same as my mother, grieve? I didn't know the guy. I didn't know how to answer or react or handle it. I thought it was... well, not normal, but something I was expected to handle. At least that's what it felt like when my dad looked at me. I do remember a before and after, the time before being an idyllic life, carefree, doing things although with some social awkwardness, but most of all, my family going out to do activities. After this, not so much.

I experienced later, when I was 12 and 13, blazing through puberty and feeling all kind of weird feelings pop up, and the predictable happened with unrestricted access to the internet. Not sure why I was allowed that, but the online world was unlike real life, it was... better, it was peaceful, quiet, I wasn't pressured to speak before thinking, I was allowed to figure things out on my own. Because that's what reality was. My dad had been working on the house, but never really invited me to help him, and if I did, it was just menial, boring things. In fact, I wasn't really invited to anything. My mother just went through the motions. Breakfast, lunch, dinner. Wake up, chores, watch tv. I don't remember much from this time. I remember the many websites I went to. I was nervous as hell. I was afraid if people could see how awkward I was behind the screen. In fact, I think I was afraid of a lot of things. My mother seemed distant and cold, my dad seemed opinionated and short tempered. Eh. I guess that was life, so I just enjoyed the things I could on the computer and forgot about real life.

I experienced my first partner at 15, and of course, it happened. What's there to say? I was also very needy, clingy, controlling, and worried. I was worried she would be gone, 'misbehaving' and I would be hurt and I would lose her. I chalked it up to just being, well, I don't know... not good with people? Clearly, school wasn't doing too well, I felt more like a cog, actually, I felt like a robot. I didn't really get along with anyone in those years, I couldn't agree how people tended to act, or what expectations they put on me. Everybody is bullied, right, but people look at me and say I have to take it, learn to take it. I was also, very, frantically nervous on top of the constant social awkwardness. Fearing people and their decisions and possible inner thoughts. Dad and mom had started to sleep in different rooms, and dad had drunk a beer or two after every day. Mom called it alcoholism. I felt pressured to take sides. I did mention once that my dad was kinder when he drunk. I guess I can understand why he gave me that torn look now. But yeah. Fear of what he would say. Fear of not understanding people. Fear of becoming alone. I didn't know how to take it. How should I interpret it? I don't know. Nobody told me. Nobody really looked towards me. It was just me, and the computer.

I experienced them divorcing at age 15-16. I didn't really understand what was going on, but I nodded with stoicism, just like my dad, and kept my tears back. By that time the relationship had ended, I was moved to a single gender school, and I was feeling the pressure to fit in. My dad was making me do little jobs with new people and I guess it was obvious how uncomfortable it made me. I did take anti anxiety meds, but they didn't do much. Terrible handsweat, terrible school experiences, terrible body experiences, terrible expectations to do things right. It came from everyone around me, all the time. It was clear that my dad would always react negatively, beratingly, cluelessly at my attempts at my independence and exploration of my personality, and it was also clear that my mom would keep a safe distance, look the other way, and react emotionally if I said the wrong thing. My mother would get hurt, and my dad would tell me off. But who knows. Maybe I was wrong, I probably did say the wrong thing. Being too clueless, fragile, anxious. I started understanding that if I was myself, I didn't fit in. And then the divorce. I don't remember much from this time. Except that I became a furry then. I thought it was cute. Animals dont judge.

I experienced my dad leaving at age 19. By this time, whatever attempts I had made to fit in, in my family, in school, in real life - none of it worked. I was known as the geek who just hung out at their home room. They didn't know much of what I was doing online. I learned how I could get attention that I couldn't get before, attention and care I sorely needed but never got. It was gross, when I look back on it. But I didn't know any better. I had finished high school and I didn't know what to do with myself or who I was. I didn't have space for it. The divorce and death seemed far away in my mind, as I just concentrated on my feelings. Even as the recession happened and my dad lost his job, I focused more and more on my feelings. Something must be off, something must be wrong with my stoicism. One day, I found LGBTQ positive artwork online that said that it was okay to be yourself. Of course I clutched it to my heart when real life seemed to reject me. Especially after I told my parents I didn't really want to be the gender I had pretended to be - they didn't really understand in the slightest. They must've been afraid, deeply afraid of who I was. Mentally ill. Isolated. Not like other people. And yet I was supposed to be an adult now. I was supposed to have my shit together, as they said through their faces. And then, my dad left. He said he had to go to make money from the family. What could I do? I just focused on myself, getting lost in the online world and starting digital arts. Maybe there was a home for me on the internet, where I could be myself, after all.

From then on, it was me and the internet and I didn't want to think of real life. It was too messy, too unpredictable, too emotionally confusing, and I couldn't be myself. Transitioning felt like the only option at the time to be myself, facing the unexplainable behavior of my parents and classmates... no, not even just then, but from society, school, adults. They had told me I was worth, but I felt no worth. They had told me it was a stable country to give me a stable life, but I had none of that. I had pressure and escapism, fully prepped, fully wanted, just in time for adulthood. I'll keep writing that half in another post, since this one is becoming long.

Suffice to say, I didn't really trust anyone. I didn't want to think about it. It hurt for reasons I couldn't understand and I could sense my judgement becoming flawed and the head clouding in emotions. I felt a hollow hole emerging in the center of me, and I couldn't explain it. As if everyone around me was unreachable despite being able to see them exist besides me. As if I had enough fear over that time that it carved that hole in me. But enough about me. Dad was gone. Mom was dulled. Nothing happened anymore. The shared dreams, shared comfort, shared experience was gone, had been gone for many years. I didn't know what to make of it. I suppose I thought this is how it is. And I shrugged my shoulders and rolled along, because if I did open my mouth, there would be resistance. I didn't want that anymore. I just wanted a hug and told that I was loved.

First, my current life situation is much better now. I'm more financially stable and I've grown my social circle, hopefully enough to help me gather more life stability over the next five years. I'm talking about potential roommates and mental/financial/social support. I'm much more calmer in my mind and I don't feel the need to rush game development anymore, although I did a lot of work on it and added a crazy amount of features, it's no longer "the" one single shot I have left in my life. Good thing the online part of the game is "done", for the most part, and the remaining part of it is story/worldbuilding, which I know I can take at my own pace.

Right now I'm taking a long, well-deserved break from this entire thing. I'm so fucking tired of the stress, holy shit, contemplating every day whether I did the right or the wrong thing by continuing my little project and believing in it. Suppressing my emotions up until I couldn't anymore, breaking down, holding on to my partner for dear life, and then finally coming to terms with and understanding what I really want out of life. I don't know. The game was all I had when I left my home country, it's what I felt passionate about, and I didn't know who or where else to go. But I got over that part. I am a person, I have my physical needs, I have my desires for comfort. I know what I want out of people to feel at ease. I get it. The rational part of my brain gets it.

But emotionally is where things are turning up and down. Okay. So if you've known me, spoken to me or gotten to know me, over any period over the past ten years, you know that I can be an emotional type of person. I can be fairly chill in conversations until there's something that doesn't apparently sit right to me, and one day out of the blue I just fucking explode. Trust me, I don't even understand why myself, and all the burned bridges remind me with guilt anyways. But whatever. I just thought it was part of my personality that this is just how I function. And to be honest, I thought I had it under control over the past few years having relied on the game. I mean, I worked on the game, day and night, and I didn't have space to freak out about inconsequential imaginary problem #12315553. RIGHT?

Okay, well, things have changed from an event. So about that roommate. It is a player from my game that I got to know since a year ago. I met them a week ago in their country, Spain. And we were very comfortable with each others, with consent and all. But more than that, I relied on them in real life. It was really strange. It was a feeling of natural comfort that I didn't have to think twice about. Instead of constantly being worried and in a state of panic, this time, I had no reason at all to feel anything but comfort. I can't overstate what a foreign state of mind that was. I could just ask for help, ask for attention, ask for guidance, and it was there. Blissful.

The problems came when I returned home. What a fucking disaster. Suddenly I was jerked back in to the cold harsh climate, back to an even more foreign land (I know Spanish, not Estonian), back to 'the slums' (as a passenger next to me called it). I thought it was supposed to be home where I felt safe, that I had my partner, that things were figured out. And my rational part of the brain thought so. And as the night fell and I was ready to sleep, I got the gift of a fucking psychosis panic attack. What the fuck?

This never happened to me. I never lost control like that, hearing hallucinations and questioning the fabric of reality and whether I was going insane or not. That was a completely awful experience. But thankfully, my partner held me until I was okay, and then I was okay. But that shit shook me to the core. I struggled to understand why this happened. Why. I had tried to practice my mindset to put aside my emotions and being in control. And then it failed me out of nowhere. I thought about it. A lot. I had sleepless nights again. A lot. I whine about insomnia on Twitter. That's when my brain is active, I just can't get myself to rest and I just think of the worst anxieties imaginable.

But anyways. I figured it was something about the lost sense of comfort. I missed it to a painful degree. And it made sense. If I had never felt comfort to this degree in real life up until now, so of course my brain is going to react in a new manner as it's quite literally under-stimulated neurons firing for the first time, perhaps ever. And of course, if these neurons gets pulled back to default mode, it'll stab me in a way I never would've predicted. It's a life-long social stress that just had the equivalent of a blinding flashbang. Ugh. Okay. And this evoked even more questions - what now? I thought my life was getting in order, but apparently not. I thought I had my rational mind to rely on at all times, but no. So I'll have to restart and tackle the actual problem in my life. Which is the dreaded social part: Fear. Social anxiety. Fear of people. Fear of eyes. Over-sensitivity. Delusional thinking of others. Fear of abandonment. Outbursts of emotions.

Sure sounds like BPD, doesn't it?

My sister has that. My future roommate told me it's obvious I have it. I guess I'll go get it checked out at a doctor. I thought it was just part of me. I mean it is part of me. But maybe it doesn't have to be this destructive to me. I thought it was just a flaw. But it makes sense to think this way. I never wanted it, I never wanted to yell at people, I never wanted to feel hurt and abandoned. I never, ever wanted to feel fearful of being alone. And yet it felt like reality for so many years. Fuck, I almost can't believe this thing has a name. Whatever. I don't want ten years more of this, so I'll have to figure this out now, picking all the pieces up. That, or I won't ever have a peaceful life.

It's been a year in the new country... it's been such a journey to get here. I've done so much stuff I never did back in Sweden. Going outside with friends and meeting new ones. Exploring old used stuff and refining my possessions and values to my exact taste. Driving in the big city and solving problems as they come. Dealing with shitty people and shitty situations. Trying and failing to self sustain and being "independent" and the emotional rollercoaster of it all.

Well, guess what, in Estonia I've been treated more as a person than I ever was back in Sweden, even if I was left on my own with no one to support me aside from my partner. Not faceless government people, not my parents, and not any elders I had to look up to that gave me nothing with empty lies. Living here just made it a simple, straightforward reality where people took me at face values. And guess what? It is humane! Not even the fact that I get financial help supporting myself, but that they believe me.

I don't have to jump through ten thousand hoops to even begin to justify getting help. I don't have to beg for mercy and be shuffled around tens of people, each who say they care for me soooo much but forget who I was the next meeting. I don't have to prove or justify through bitter waiting times and insane queues, I just tell what my situation is, what help I need. and I am believed.

Okay, well, truth be told, maybe it's my psychology too. Maybe all it took was for me to admit defeat and say I can't really work. Maybe the mistake was that I took that question literally, because I am capable of working, physically speaking. I just felt like trash. I didn't realize that mattered because nobody asked me how I felt. Meanwhile, here it's just natural to not ask these things because it's irrelevant. They just believe me when I state it as a matter of fact. But maybe that's just me being more direct with what I want or need.

I mean, really... I have admitted defeat and given up on the thought that I could ever do a normal job at a normal capacity. And I relied on my partner, financially, emotionally, and practical day to day life. I've been so fucking dependent that it hurt and bruised my ego. I've felt terrified of everything, of moving somewhere new where I don't know the language, where I don't know anyone, where i don't know where things are, where I hated and felt sick from speaking with people. And all the time the torturous anxiety about money and work. Having an income and paying rent. Fucking hell.

I remember those days when it got to my head, where I worked so endlessly hard on my game and felt the clock ticking down like a bomb before time would run out and I would be thrown on the street. While living in an uninsulated shitty house apartment and having neighbors stomp and moan every day and not having my partner close by. I don't know how I managed that. But eventually we both kind of failed the typical working experience.

Well, what mattered is that we held hands and went through this hardship together. As a result, we both have enough social welfare to get by, and now at a new place, with enough living space, with enough heating, and with enough love, safety and comfort that I feel actually hopeful about my life and like I will actually go somewhere without struggling so much. It's just crazy how I had to give up my former life for this. It made me a better person.

I am a creative workaholic, an emotional creature, and a highly ambitious and motivated person. I love creating and explaining things close to my heart, such as complex emotions or unexplainable moods or ideas. I am often lost in my thought wondering about the purpose of my actions and its consequences, which means I'm often anxious about people, structures, or my place in the world. On the flip side, I adore whenever I find my own kin and make people that matter to me feel like they're not alone.

Social topics are of my main interest, because I struggle a lot with it. I'm diagnosed with autism and have had unending trouble interacting normally with others. In fact, I was socially isolated for about seven years, which caused a lot of trouble connecting with others. Anyways, it's better now and always improving. Thus, I feel like my personal goal is to understand how people work; for my own sake, but also because I really love bringing genuinety to this world. I think it's really necessary because normal society fucking sucks to accomodate 'different' people.

Aside from that, I love sharpening my creative skills and explain my emotions through the use of multi-disciplinary artworks (such as games) to make others feel how me or my world feels like. Thus, I love to use and command the computer. I am whole-heartedly led by emotions. Sometimes if I talk to people, I enjoy long, drawn-out conversations about life and existence and reflecting upon mine or other lives. I don't really consume so much media, I think most of it sucks.

I'm also diagnosed as transgender. Don't let that fool you, I care very little about gender stuff. When I meet with people, all I care is about that they have enough intelligence and open-mindedness to accept me as a person with intellectual depth rather a charicature. So, if you want to summarize my behavior and character as simple words, feel free, but I won't feel completely comfortable with you, sorry. In that sense, I will always, without compromise, treat you with patience and acknowledging your perspective on things. Being empathetic is in my blood.

The most straight forward way of experiencing this world is to enter the game. Download and try it out!

I am rather average height and weight, with a more-or-less androgynous look to attract the least attention, with long lush black hair, green eyes, and often wearing black clothes to blend in with the background. My accessories are often red-themed, so you would typically see me hiding behind a red scarf, carrying a smaller red bag, and wearing a red collar. I speak and type very monotone, as I'm sure you have noticed.

In safer places/at home/with trusted people, I feel more comfortable and tend to be very expressive and emotive with my descriptions and storytelling. It can be difficult to get me there, though I try my best, most of the time. I often sacrifice personal confort to try and become a better person.

I've been dreaming about this project every single night in some capacity for the past two weeks, and I have realized that I've reached an extremely strong connection to it. I don't feel sick or anything: I eat, sleep, move and walk, I interact with others and generally feel much healthier than I ever felt in my life. But I realized the other day that my sense of care and devotion to this project has grown so much that I felt a profound sense of connection to it, that I would almost describe as spiritual.

I don't know how to convey these feelings without sounding too weird, so I'll try my best to describe it with just emotions.

It is a project, an idea that I planted and let grow, and through the best of my abilities, tried to depict as accurately as possible through technology. It is a fictional reality that has slowly been carving out in my mind, perfecting it with the slow, brutal process of game development to create a way to immerse in the world. I've borrowed assets and made my own. I've convinced people to help me with it or to play in it with me. I've uploaded it and let people try it out.

It has occupied my life, and I completely love it, not the least because I love the process of game development - but I love its premise, reality, and its believability - and it has slowly grown in to a world that feels like it has outgrown me as a creator and blossomed in to its own thing. I no longer have complete control over it, but that's okay, because it has its own goal, rules, and point to make. Let me explain.

It is a world of furries, of course, but behind this cute surface lies an incredibly profound cause and reason for it being this way. Something that really resonates with how I understand the world and what breathes life and reason in to the characters and stories. And around it is a framework that makes the world feel believable and predictable and not just a vessel so that I can quickly shove my opinion in your face. It has reasons, rules, and structure. It feels believable.

And now, all of a sudden, I'm the one with the duty to tell you the story of this world from start to end. It's an incredibly strange feeling that I have a hard time to explain. It feels like the world has etched itself in to virtual existence, and the roles have suddenly switched and I now owe to tell its premise with the detail it deserves to everyone. It's the only way I can do justice to its intention. I feel like it completely deserves it.

And even if it's difficult, if I sometimes stress about money or worry if I'm doing the right thing or if I'm being stupid dreamer, I look at the game and feel such a strong connection to it that my worries all go away. I feel all kinds of emotions. I feel happy, hopeful, a bit somber, bittersweet, longing for it to develop more. And strangely, I feel at peace. I feel like I'm completely okay if my entire purpose was to just tell this world and story. I wonder to myself if it's really healthy to think like this, but then I think that I'd rather do this than live the rest of my life regretting that I never did it.

That must be the strongest emotion I feel from this project. Belief and hope. Belief that I eventually can tell you the story exactly how I want it to be and that you will feel something as strong as I feel. And I feel like I can do it, I have to do it, and I actually can do it. I have the motivation, skills, and inspiration to undertake a project of this magnitude.

When I think about it, I feel so damn satisfied, like it's my calling that I finally answer to. Like I've been waiting all my life for this kind of challenge so that I can finally prove to myself I can do it. And it makes me feel satisfied to overcome all the mistakes, frustrations, inner conflicts, doubts... with the help of my belief in the project.

And that's it. It's a project I've invested a massive amount of work and dedication to, and that I'm confident I will never sell out or discard like a used doll. My heart is in this project and I will continue to work on it, and nothing can tell me to stop.

Quick update. Life is going very good. Moving out of this country this summer. Starting fresh. Taking my game even more seriously. Doing something different with my life.

It's very stimulating, and I will not miss this place. The people here, culture, norms, and lazy comfortable lifestyle all can go fuck themselves.

I'm here to grow, and to create. To impact people. To contribute something different. Regardless of where my life goes. I'm very confident I can do it.

One day, you'll see people speaking about my game. I'm certain about it.

Thank you.

I tried being an honest individual and take responsibility for myself. But in return, i get FUCKED. I just get UTTERLY FUCKED. I end up punished for doing the correct thing. I never lied, deceive or make myself look better than I am. I tried going the morally right way. I tried to get help for my mental health. And I get F U C K E D.

And the worst part is. I believed in this place. I believed that there would be support for those in need. I believed that I could just speak up whenever, and I would get help. We have healthcare. We are one of the happiest countries. We have a high standard of living. But I cannot deal with it anymore.

Everywhere I turn around. I see a bureaucratic, rule-fetishizing faceless entities. I meet employees who say they care, but when push comes to shove, they don't. I see posters saying mental health is valued and to avoid isolation, so I try to get help for it. And I get told off. There is absolutely no reason for me to stay anymore, because I never managed to befriend people, and I never managed to reconnect with my family. And no one wants to help.

I honestly feel like a stranger in my motherland. This place where I grew up in. The people I got to know. The language I got to learn. The culture and in-jokes. It doesn't matter anymore. I don't belong here. I'm too normal to be considered in need of help, and too damaged to be able to work like normal.

In the end, Sweden was a nice fairytale story of happiness and support. But there is none to truly be found. I'm forced to participate in society but get NOTHING useful in return. No hints of compassion or genuine care, just cold hearted rejections and vague directions. So, in the end, there is no reason for me to stay here.
Fuck this place.

And for the past year (despite everything bad people said happened) I've had an overwhelming positivity towards the future, in such a stark contrast to the past; despite corona limiting my interactions with my friends and girlfriend. As time ticks on, i have rejected society with more and more contempt but also gained heck of a lot of self confidence, and in general, a strong desire to work hard to get somewhere. As it turns out, I still have some fears/anxiety associated with producing comics and other kinds of literature, but lately I've been consuming a lot more media and in turn, gained inspiration for what my game could become. Somehow that little project has been stuck with me ever since it's inception even when i've taken long breaks. Maybe that is my calling?

I was thinking... next year, the last year of college, I'll hopefully let my girlfriend move in with me and we will attempt to spin up a game development company to develop this game. It's somewhat of a shaky bet, especially if it just doesn't become profitable within a year when my welfare support ends... but I'm thinking hard on how to avoid that. I'll be honest, I absolutely thrive being placed in this kind of challenge, much more than any school institution could give me -- so, in effect, this will become the largest real-life test: create a profitable gamedev company for a furry game. COOL!

I keep thinking of the future, thinking about advertising it through furry conventions, thinking about people's reactions to it... I feel happy when I can make people feel happy through my work. It makes me want to create a substantial, high-quality furry game where you, and your experience is a focus of it, where you finally can fit in to an alternative world -- it's like a gift to the different ones. An experience that will tell you the value of independent thought, empathy and understanding of how things are. And so, I want the tagline for my company to "Be different". Yes, I'm inspired by their ad campaign.

The most difficult thing would be to figure out how to become consistent with my work and actually showing it to others. Most of it is purely psychological, you know, feeling too shy to show off and put things in to the public spotlight. But I've got some plans -- like publishing update videos to Youtube or streaming now and then. The hard part is just starting the habit and "getting out there"... I tried doing it this year, but school took a lot of my attention (stupid teammates...) so hopefully when I live together with my girlfriend a lot of real life dread will be alleviated.

Anyways, these are big things, huh! It sounds awesome, but also like a lot of hard work. But is it really hard work if i enjoy it?

Listen to me.
Some day, far off in to the future, I'm going to release something grand. Whether it is a manga or a game,
the Kemoverse or something else, by myself or with a team... it doesn't matter, as long as I live on this earth,
I will make it.

Maybe you'll remember who I was, the shy and reserved artist from Sweden, the one who spazzed out for
the slightest of misunderstandings ... the emotionally fragile one, yet the one who dared to talk of it.
The world may become colder, as we grow in to the technosphere, a beautiful step to the next level of humanity.
But before it is too late, I want to show my perspective of the world.

I'm eating frosted flakes without milk, because I ran out of milk.
I'm living on the bare minimum, which i'm fine with, but many people would start whining.
I'm just happy to work on what I want. School from 9-16, then work at home from 17-23.
Seriously, how often do you meet these kind of people in real life?

I'm just talking to myself. Pinkie promise I'm not insane. I just like myself for who I am.
Even as oddly complex, cryptic, unstable and emotional as I might be... I try to do right... for others.
This is my legacy.

I believe in telling you a story, with the cute looking furries, about life and the meaning of it -- seen from my eyes. Questions about true will, co-existance, belief, consciousness, cause and creation, and, existence itself. Such heavy topics cannot be easily told, but that's exactly the reason for setting up a universe for so many years, since 2016. I have the desire to ultimate make this in to a tangible project (manga?) but it requires a lot of planning (done a lot of it), dedication and motivation. I've already suffered through numerous attempts at telling this story through rewrites, redraws and each time striving to make it better. I think ... a manga type book would be the way to go. We'll see how it goes.

Other than that, I want to work on developing more complex artworks, with focus on painting, composition and cleverly interacting with the viewer. I want to dig deeper in to how to play around with the eyes of the beholder and give the details way more substance. I want to push myself to make more distinct characters and personalities, and let them express things in a tangible looking world. I want it to be more believable.
Why all of this, why take it so seriously?... because I want to. I want to be serious with this.

I'm too different. But it's okay.
I just have to find other people who aren't different.