Life Update: Who’s Laughin’ Now?

Not in the sense of Jessie J’s song โ€œWho’s Laughin’ Nowโ€, which is a great song mind you and I love Jessie J, but more in the sense of Todd Howard’s little lobotomised gremlin tone.
โ€œWho’s laughing now? โ€ฆ. Yes, I was in the chess club.โ€

Throughout the whole time, there have been big steps, small steps, back-steps and completely falling off; I am still struggling with mental health, we were all aware this was going to be the case. However, am I worse off? No.
I’m out here, on my own, struggling like everyone else, and leaving my nest was the best thing for me. I purchased my flat in 2022 (I believe, I forgot already) and slowly moved into it via sneaking huge shopping bags filled to the brim with my โ€œstuffโ€ to my flat over the course of about 5 months. Leaving my parents a note with full intent to completely cut them out of my life, and this book, with every single thing highlighted in there which I felt pertains to their behaviour. To this point, I have no idea if they even read it, nor do I want to ask, nor would they like to remember just how aggressively I tore away from the family.

Have I managed to achieve my goal of completely isolating myself from my family after 3 years? No.
I’ve got too much of a guilty conscience and always reply to them (eventually) when they text me. I spend days and nights just wishing for them to leave me alone, but all I can do is continue replying. Even with my grandmother, who’s recently had a lump taken out of her breast, had her whole breast removed then went through radiotherapy; I just wish they’d leave me alone. I love them; otherwise I genuinely wouldn’t reply, but even talking or thinking about them brings me back to a dark place I’d rather not return to.
Thinking back to what my counsellor said years before I purchased my flat, I do love them, but my love for them doesn’t matter when they won’t inspire the change they need to love me back the way I need it.
They’re not ready to change or don’t want to, and that’s not an environment I can survive in.

I was told by who, I thought, was a good friend of mine that if I moved out, I’d only become more miserable and wish that I hadn’t. I’d end up moving back in with my parents, and that in itself would be an awkward shambles which could’ve been avoided by me just not moving out. Am I still miserable? Technically, no.
I’m not miserable in the way I was before: I’m no longer suppressed by the life my parents had me lead. Stuck in a single room, with little space, even โ€œlittlerโ€ privacy, and even โ€œlittlerโ€ respect from both my parents and my little sister. I’m no longer feeling trapped and controlled, no longer comfortably idling through being emotionally neglected and mentally abused.

I am, however, more lonely in a way that I predict that I would’ve found out at some point if I would’ve stayed. Being alone has heightened all of my experiences and put it on the fast track. I’ve not had to experience debt, but the feeling of only having 1k in the bank is still enough to make my butt clench. I’ve had to deal with remortgaging, and god was that horrible. Likewise, I’ve witnessed my electricity bill go up and felt the sting of having to replenish my electricity more often through the winter.
Through this, it also opened up everything emotional about me. I feel terminally numb to emotion, yet at other times feel it so deeply. Regardless of whether I surround myself with friends, or I’m at a stage in life where I’m completely alone, I feel the same; empty and lonely. The issue is that I have no idea how to fix this as I’ve done what โ€œnormalโ€ people do when lonely and gather friends, but it doesn’t seem to work for me, and it’s not like these are not meaningful friendships. These friendships fill me to the brim and I completely forget about everything- until they’re gone, out of sight or out of the voice call, the curtains drop and the loneliness drops in again.

My self-loathing is also getting the better of me again, hurting others as I put myself down when they genuinely care for me, and I’m still not able to take any compliments. I don’t know what the best approach to that is either; I have people who say that I’m โ€œgenuinely one of the nicest people they’ve ever metโ€, people who say โ€œyou are loved by us not because of what you can provide us but because you exist.โ€ and my brain will immediately hear that and cast counter spell with โ€œNo.โ€. Something in my very being just can’t accept it, and the thing is that it doesn’t hurt me at all to say โ€œnoโ€; I just laugh, smile, shake my head like these people are ridiculous and get on with whatever I’m doing.
Also correlating with a lack of self-worth is my inability to get doctor’s appointments. I could make a lovely collage from friends currently and friends of the past telling me I need to see a doctor, and honestly, I’ve only just started going. Just for migraines at the moment, but it’s a step in the correct direction. I still need to get an official autism diagnosis, ADHD diagnosis, find out what’s irritating my ears, see if they’ll give me depression medication after being told I’d get medication for it in 2018, see if I need anxiety meds, figure out what’s wrong with my stomachโ€ฆ There’s a big list, and for some reason, the ones I’m most hesitant about are the ones that benefit me the most.
I promise I’ll get there.

If I’m just doing what I’m supposed to be doing, I’m not doing anything special, I’m just doing what needs to be done. There needn’t be praise for being less than exceptional. I’m being a standard, good-mannered person who treats people with respect, that shouldn’t be some achievement people are proud of, that should be just the baseline and what’s expected from everyone.

Oh, and for that one friend who told me that I’d be miserable if I moved out, I notice you’re not streaming any more, or creating your mental health podcasts, or writing anything on your website. I hope things are going well in your new flat after I forked out a lot of money to help you move, and that shit hasn’t hit the fan. I’ve started streaming again, and I’m sure you know this, as I raided someone who has ties back to you. I’ve not exactly got my motivation back, but I’ve certainly got the means to return to form; charity streams, constant streams… It’s still all just an idea, but I’ve got people worth streaming for and a community of people that don’t slander me behind my back.
I’m still creating Keymailer content, uploading more regularly to Youtube, editing content for another streamer and taking a sliver more pride in my work.
And I gotta ask one thing, are you miserable too?

Also, I'm helping this little baby. -> https://www.twitch.tv/lannpaige

Happy Birthday to meโ€ฆ

For those of you that know me, most of you will not know when my birthday is. You may have an inkling, but asides from that, you won’t know the date or probably even the rough week that it is.
Those of you will this lack of knowledge will, however, have knowledge of why there’s this tiny, tiny, insignificant space in your brain’s spreadsheet of birthdays. I severely dislike birthdays.

Birthdays are a celebration of your age, up until a certain point in your life you’re edging that โ€œone year older, I need to be olderโ€ until you hit that limit, but you keep getting older regardless.

Mum says I won’t know these things ’til I’m older, I need to get older.

I can’t get on this super fun looking ride at the fair, when I get older I get taller, I need to get older.

I don’t have enough money, and my parents won’t buy me this. I need to get older, so I can get a job.

I need to get older, so I’m legally allowed to have sex, learn to drive, get married or buy my own pet.

I need to be older, so I can buy my own alcohol, own my own property and leave home without parental consent, vote, get tattoosโ€ฆ

Everything that we want out of life is goal orientated towards getting older, it gamifies the system. That integral part of ageing is akin to levelling up and the only thing you need to do is sit back, keep your hands inside the boat and just stay afloat.
But after that, there’s nothing else.
Levelling up in a game that boasts no benefits to the player for doing so. Some players have friendships and clan members who recognise this occasion and give what they can out of their already limited inventory to โ€œcelebrateโ€, moreso this is just more things that you don’t need or things that will be consumed quickly. Even worse if it’s an event consumable that is useless until after the event is finished, specifically celebratory greetings cards. These either clog inventory, or get thrown out or destroyed, serving no purpose other than to be thrown away.

Maybe it’s just me, but it’s useless.
Most I know treat it this same way, and once they realise the futility of it, the celebratory nature evolves into one of them drowning their sorrows in alcohol, pretending that it’s the night of their lives.
โ€œIt wasn’t a fun night, unless you don’t remember what happened. That’s how you know it was fun.โ€

Playing a game that you’re already tired of, which has no benefit as you’ve already reaped the best awards, those awards now meaningless as most only further your degradation into debt or emotional debt. Like any other Online MMO, essentially.


This is also where the other side of things slow down too. If you’re using your birthday to celebrate your life and accomplishments, what have you even done within the past year to celebrate? To some, living is enough, and they would be right, honestly. The trivial pursuit of life itself is worth the celebration, but do they dignify themselves with those same standards?

This sort of line of thinking that reminds me of that ADHDinos comic. Or at least I’m sure it’s that comic.

Are you celebrating your birthday? No, I did fuck all this year and thus have nothing to celebrate.
My birthday is coming up soon, and I did fuck all too, so I shouldn’t celebrate mine either? NO! You did lots this year! Even if you think it was shit or not a lot, you kept yourself alive blah blah blahโ€ฆ Double standards everywhere.

It even comes down to the point that I’ve literally bought a house and, despite cutting it super fucking close, I’m going to have moved in before my birthday. I have about 3 weeks to do so, but y’know, almost there. I still want nothing to do will celebrating my life, my brain makes every excuse under the sun to deny my own celebrations, and when it can’t find a โ€œgood reasonโ€, yuck, celebrating my birthday? How self-centred.

Celebrating someone else’s birthday, on the other hand? LET’S FUCKING GO.
What do you like? What do you like to eat? Where do you like to go? What do you like to play? What do you play it on? Do you use Amazon? Would you use a gift card if I gave you one? I sent a box of chocolates to your address. I bought a redeemable code for Hogwarts University for you, and you can’t just tell me to use it because I don’t have a PlayStation/ I already have the game. And I can’t refund it. I know you wanted these things because despite what I say about forgetting everything that anyone ever says, when it comes to someone wanting something, I somehow can materialise an extensive library of what everyone I love wants that not even I knew of until this precise moment, then will systematically forget about it until someone else’s birthday. I made a reservation at your favourite restaurant, and don’t worry, I know you’ll probably be busy on the day, that’s why I’m ready to change the reservation date at a moment’s notice.

Honestly, once again, double standards start to show, but this time I have an ace up my sleeve.


Is it because I’m unhappy? Is it because I have ADHD? Is it because I’ve had a mentally and emotionally traumatising childhood? Or is it because I’m just a miserable bastard?

I like to believe that it’s all of the above.

I genuinely hate it when anyone decides to celebrate my birthday.
โ€” The focus is on me, ew.
โ€” Someone is trying to take my wants/needs into account when I’m not used to that, ew.
โ€” Someone who is usually never taking my wants/needs into account when they should is feigning responsibility and pretending they care for a day, so they can keep an emotional hold on me using guilt, ew.
โ€” People I don’t know that well know my birthday, ew.
โ€” People that I don’t want to inconvenience in any way, fret and pressure themselves to get me something for my birthday, mega ew.

Yeah, there’s just so much and I want none of it. So many people hate being reminded of their birthday because after a certain point age becomes insulting in a way. โ€œHappy 30 Birthday!โ€ It is one that makes people lose their shit.

Birthdays are for me, what Christmas is for kids who’ve just been told Santa isn’t real.

Do I require money? Yes, I do. Do I like โ€œthingsโ€? Yes I do. But it gives me nothing when it’s from someone else. The best form of gifts are the ones you give, not the ones that are received. Awkward concept if everyone is like me, but they’re not. There are people who love gifts and people who like gifts, you figure out who those people are, and you give gifts to them. The people who do not like receiving gifts? Don’t give them gifts.
Actually, idea. Wait a month or two, and invite them out to lunch and pay for it. They’ll still dislike that, but they’ll dislike it a lot less than being given a gift.
Or, if you really, REALLY, want to give them a gift, there are two options. Give them either the gift of advice/help or the gift of food. Ask them if there’s anything they need help with; laundry, decorating, finding a specific brand of snacks that are out of stock in their local store, helping them understand what the heck solicitors are saying when they’re moving house, sign up to that stupid phone game they play and use the referral code. That helps our small, simple minds out a lot.
And in regard to food, go with them on their grocery trip, pay for a few things, or ask them what they usually buy and when they buy it. Things that last a long time go well, tinned goods, microwave rice. Nothing that is expensive or that they’ll know is expensive.

Basically, treat them like your little end-of-the-world, doom-hoarder buddy, stocking the pantry of their bomb shelter.


By the time this posts I’ll be days away or days past being 25, and honestly, I consider this โ€œhalfwayโ€ through my life.
Currently listening to Pokรฉmon Diamond, Pearl & Platinum – Champion Cynthia Battle Music, is this the appropriate time to consolidate on how far I’ve come?

I honestly don’t intend on living past 50, so shouldn’t this space of my life be where I take off? Or should that have been the previous 25 years?

It matters now, it won’t matter in a few hours once I’ve forgotten. I’ll continue to live life playing frogger on the many trains of thought running through my mind at once.

Everything has really picked up within the last 2 years.
I’ve gone from living comfortably with emotional and mental abuse at home, with a LDR girlfriend who would not only empower me to fight against it (building me up), to gaslight me over her substance abuse and my mental illness (to tear me down). I’ve been through a lot for me, if anyone else was in my position, I don’t doubt they would’ve handled it a lot better than me.
So many people with โ€œjust do thisโ€ and โ€œI would personallyโ€ฆโ€. I honestly don’t doubt that everything everyone says is as easy as they say it is but, my green on button to make my brain do things requires a virgin sacrifice, and it’s hard to find those these days.

From the breakup I started branching out, dating and breaking, dating and breaking kinda turned me into something else. I’m very broken, but in this weird broken state I’m able to do a lot more than what I could before. 1 break up and I could date someone else, 2 break-ups, and I was okay travelling hours by myself to meet people. 3 and I gained a lot more confidence with people and discovered peculiar personality traits about myself.

I started looking for a flat, then I stopped, then I started again, viewed one, didn’t get it, stopped. Started looking again, viewed a bunch and managed to purchase one.

My habits concerning doing and experiencing new things all have a pattern. I’m extremely malleable, but to stretch I need to be put to my current limit then left to rest, I return to resting form. The next time I’m put to my limit, the limit is further than previous, kinda like fitness.


Regardless of me, I can’t help but think that other people’s help and other people’s moral support helps me a lot more than I help myself. (Because peer pressure only affects me when it’s guilt induced, therefore I only get stuff done that way because I don’t want people to be disappointed in me.)

I’ve helped a lot of people in the past, financially, emotionally, physically, but I brush it off and forget about it because it doesn’t matter. It’s my time and I, personally, am a waste of time, so it works out at a net gain if I actually help.
But when others help me it means so much to me, because you’re wasting your time, helping A waste of time, basically doubling your time wasted. And as much as you’re fucking stupid for helping me, I love you lots and will never forget it.

To those who’ve helped emotionally.

To those who’re there for me.

To those who’re just there and they don’t even really know they’re helping because it’s honestly just their company that keeps me sane.

Thank you.

If you’ve read this far, this post was not done with a clear intention or goal, it was just a rant post. Legacy posts are still happening every Sunday (I almost fell behind, oops.) and new posts will come soon. Thanks again.

~ Jinx

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