This picture was taken in Slovenia, in july 2007.
I don’t care what you think about it, but it’s me. This is who I am.
This is a picture of me, taken in 2016.
I don’t care what you think about it, it’s not me.
Though inwardly I have to get a very clear idea of who I am, my physique has stopped matching how I feel inside.
Today I look like Stalin, whereas I used to look like a Native American Indian or a hippie.
A hippie is much closer to who I am.
In the 2016 picture I look pudgy, I look sickly, I look tired, I look like someone who’s got stomach flu and is trying to smile.
So what happened?
I found out that the university degree I got in 2007 and invested a lot of time in was worthless on the job market and wasn’t a good reflection of what I actually like doing and what I’m good at.
My father killed himself, the only guy I really looked up to. The only guy who could make me laugh.
I found out that people don’t appreciate and don’t really reciprocate kindness. They even look down on people that are kind to them.
I started compensating with lots of food to fill the hole that my father left, but also to make up for the lack of deep connections you can establish with people.
I re-retrained as a therapists, which filled me with more empathy for people, even though sometimes I think they do everything they can to not deserve empathy.
I got little sleep.
I was deeply stressed over money, A LOT.
I had a lot of doors slammed into my face.
I lost the motivation to really exercise, in part, because my father was sort of my trainer, even though he didn’t realize it. His mere presence in my life motivated me to be the best possible version of me, also physically. (You can’t see it in the picture, but in 2007 I had a sixpack).
I had lost one my best friends 5 months prior to being in Slovenia, and I didn’t realize it at the time, but it really affected me deeply. I started spending money like there was no tomorrow.
I spent three weeks in Palestine in 2009 and the experience taught me that there really is evil in this world and that the west was only pretending to be the good guys.
I worked for a communist party that taught me there are hypocrites everywhere, and there are shady dealings going on everywhere, even fanatical communists do the things they accuse others of doing.
I invested a lot of time in writing that gave a minimal return on investment.
I found out that creative people are usually fucked.
I found out that I have a big problem asking a fair price for my work.
I stopped seeing colors.
I stopped feeling free.
I stopped being enthusiastic about EVERYTHING.
I didn’t stop wanting to know everything, but I lost the idea that knowing a lot could take me some place nice.
In 2006 I lost a truly wonderful girl, because I had to go around and fuck everything that moves, not realizing that there would never be better sex than with this girl I’ll refer to as S.
I lost the ability to value the good things in life. Like, although I’m not Christian myself, I’ve had the very good fortune of having the best possible, most wonderful family in law I could possibly wish for, here in Slovakia, Christians like Christians ought to be, but somehow anything good that happens I don’t see, I just expect more bad things to happen. So much shit has happened the last ten years that I’ve come to expect phone calls with horrifying news, every minute.
I obsessed about psychology, and now – and this is the only time you’ll hear me say anything flattering about myself- that I have really mastered psychology, I can’t walk into a room without almost immediately spotting the hidden motivations of people, and it usually isn’t flattering.
I saw that the economic system is rigged.
I saw that the political system is rigged, and that we do live in ‘inverted totalitarianism’, our democracies are hollow, fake, especially the system in the United States offers only the illusion of choice, and it’s my deep frustration that not more people see this.
I’ve come to see that this website is hurting my career in our conservative, politically correct world, but if I were to stop writing, I’d be betraying myself.
My best friend and I have become somewhat estranged, because of envy and silly competition, though we are working on this and it looks like we’ll figure it out somehow, it has made me think that perhaps real friendship doesn’t exist.
I have given up on using the techniques used by pick-up artists, ofte succesfully, as fraudulent, manipulative and fake, but the result is that the number of one-night-stands I get during the course of one year has fallen sharply.
I’ve lost my native language, a doomed dialect, when my father died, and have switched to only ever think in English. This has certainly increased my alienation. I have no native language anymore, although English comes quite close to it, since I grew up hearing more English than Dutch.
Most art dissapoints.
I live in a culture that espouses values that are not really my own.
I want to say too much when I write a story, which makes for very poor story-telling indeed.
I often hate myself, but I don’t have the bonus of monetizing this self-hatred on a massive scale like Kurt Cobain did.
I have this incredible energy in me, but it’s eating me alive, because I simply don’t know how to channel it, and nothing I do is enough.