Heat Intolerance, Life Intolerance

I’ve been pretty extreme lately with my weight loss. I don’t really need to lose a bunch of weight really fast, but I just felt like doing it for “fun”. I’ve been doing everything extreme. I’ve been eating very little, doing up to 10 hours of sweaty exercise a day, and taking super cold and super hot baths.

I won’t list the exact things I did, but the last couple days were extra hardcore. The main reason it wasn’t as hardcore in the first few days is because I hardly did any exercises in recent years and my muscles were getting shitty. After pushing through the first days, my body is now capable of doing even more exercises, so I proceeded to do more. The last few days were extra bad because I had difficulty sleeping. All the conditions aligned for something almost bad to happen today.

Given the title, it’s shouldn’t be a surprise that one of my extremely hot baths almost went awry. What I do is boil several pots of water and mix it in the tub with the hottest tap water to get water that’s really hot. I’ve done this at least 3 other times before and things went pretty normal for all those times. After all those times, I’ve learned how to get into even hotter water. Last time I did a hot bath a couple days ago, I discovered that even though I dip my foot in and it’s too hot to keep the foot in there, if I sink my entire body in the water, it’s actually more tolerable. I put that to the test today and repeatedly attempt to keep my whole body in the water. I had to get out a few times because it was really too hot, but then I was finally able to stay in there.

I had thought that once I can keep my body in the water, it’s smooth sailing. Turns out, it was too hot for my body and I was suffering from heat intolerance or multiple sclerosis or something. I don’t really know what that is, but that’s what came up when I did a google search on it. My hands and feet started getting numb and at first I thought it was cute. But then it kept getting more numb, along with my chest too. Soon, it felt like my body was vibrating uncontrollably. I’ve never felt this level of numbness before. Because I was fully aware that I was doing something extreme, I was smart enough to push my limits only a little bit at a time. I could’ve kept enduring the numbness, but I figured I’d cool off a bit first and make sure I’m really okay. If I’m fine, then I can push harder next time.

When I got out of the tub to spray myself down with cold water in the shower, I found that I was a bit weak and sleepy. I thought it might be because I over-exercised and didn’t get enough sleep. Turns out those were symptoms of heat intolerance. I don’t know if I would go as far as to say I was losing my consciousness, but it was definitely foggy. But then maybe it was just because of all the steam. I basically just felt sleepy but I tested and made sure that I can use my mind to wake myself up. It sounds weird, but basically, I’m only sleepy if I let my body be sleepy. I can always focus and give myself a burst of wakefulness. I was still able to do that. I guess that means I wasn’t too close to death’s door yet.

After cooling down and getting less numb, I got back in the tub and my body got numb again so I got back into the shower. That repeated four more times until finally, the water cooled down enough that it was no longer giving me extreme numbness. When I googled “hot bath numb” after the bath(s), it turns out that people have died this way. I could have died this way. I wonder if maybe I should’ve. It would’ve been a pretty painless way to go. The actual dying part is painless, but it hurt like hell getting into the hot water.

After I finished the whole bath business, I had dinner with my dad. My mom was still sleeping. She slept through the whole day. She always does that when she’s depressed, which is always. My dad tried to talk to me a bit. For this dialogue, bear in mind that my dad is often times an angry asshole. He lightheartedly and disappointingly questioned why I didn’t go to the doctor with my mom yesterday when she asked. I told him that she never asked. She only asked me to do some other dumb shit for her and I did it for her. Then my dad continued to give a speech about why I should’ve gone to the doctor with my mom if she asked me to. It wasn’t even a speech. It was just repeating misinformation. So I told him again that my mom never asked. Then he called me an angry cunt or some other stupid name for raising my voice. I didn’t raise my voice. After that, he kept making fun of me for being an angry person who will never meet any girls. That’s what he defaults to when he has nothing else to say. He also complained that I never go out and simultaneously disapproved of me biking to places because one time he saw a cyclist scratch a car and the driver came out and threw the bike down the street, bending the tires in the process. The lesson of the story, according to my dad, is that white Canadian people are crazy and will irrationally attack you if you provoke them even a tiny bit.

That’s a typical Saturday for you. It makes me wonder if I would’ve been better off dying in the tub. I know talks of suicide are depressing and I don’t really mean it. I want to want to live. (yes, want to want to) Um… wow, I don’t know how to end this less depressingly. I guess the moral of my story is that you can die in a tub if you’re stupid and try to cook yourself in almost boiling water. I guess I’ll also point out that I’m aware that the title is a little weird. It kind of makes sense, but kind of doesn’t. My titles are often like that. Get used to it.

SFT Podcast Episode 39 – Honesty And Death

I was originally going to talk about my big fat hooker experience but I ended up talking about honesty and death instead. The next episode will be about the fat hooker, I promise.

Dropbox: https://www.dropbox.com/s/usbu41qud7vd7ge/SFT-0039-Honesty_And_Death.mp3

Youtube: http://youtu.be/I39kcXbWj7g

If the above link doesn’t work, you should always check here (https://tedgaming.wordpress.com/2013/10/15/where-to-download-sad-funny-truthful-podcast/) for the updated links to download the podcast. I will also provide the link to download all the episodes there and it might even have newer and better links.



Web hosting starting at $5 a month. You might get more discount if you mention this podcast. I don’t know. I don’t really care anymore lol.

Positive to Negative …to Death…

For once I was actually going to write a happy blog post. I’ve been doing a lot of shit lately from writing code, to taking care of a sickly person, to cooking a bunch of awesome shits, to putting out a persistent stove fire (unrelated to my cooking – I didn’t start that fire!). I was going to call this blog post The Incredible Ted of All Trades. It was almost obnoxiously positive. But what do you know, before I got a chance to write that, my mood turned to shit (from identifiable reasons) and I’m back to writing the same old gloomy shit.

The death part just got added to the title. It seems almost inappropriate for me to still write about the positive parts and tack on the death in the end, but I’m going to do that because whatever, fuck it. The past few days actually started pretty good. Let me just reiterate the same old story: my uncle’s very sickly with cancer so I’ve been living with him and my aunt lately to help out. Two days ago, in the afternoon, I heard my cousin and my aunt fighting a stove fire. My cousin was panicky but my aunt was cool-headed so I just watched from afar and let them take care of it. After many seconds, almost a minute, the fire seems to be persisting so I walked over to help. They had an electric stove and they surrounded it with aluminum foil so that it’s easier to clean. The fire seemed to be burning the foil, under the coil, where you can’t reach. My aunt tried to cover the flame with a wet towel to cut off the oxygen, but that didn’t work – the fire could breath through the towel. After trying it three times or so, it was evident that we needed to do more as the fire was getting a little stronger, but not spreading, so we weren’t in any emergency state. My cousin wanted to turn off the stove but the fire was just barely covering the switch and she was too scared to reach in. I reached in and turned it off, all cool and shit.

We needed to find something else to fight the fire with. My aunt just cleaned the stove the day before for Chinese New Year so if it was possible, she didn’t want to do anything drastic that would take forever to clean up again. I suggested that she should try to find more towels to use because the one she was using clearly wasn’t enough. I noticed that the flame was able to breath through the other stovetop coil holes. I opened the oven just to check if the flame has spread below and whether it could breath from there too. I found oven pans and used them to cover all the coil holes. That ought to cut of the air. Because it was covered, I couldn’t see whether the fire was put out. I wouldn’t open it to check because that’ll feed it oxygen again. I felt that the pans got very warm so I had to assume the fire was still alive. I thought of using sand to kill the fire but I knew we don’t have sand lying around so I thought of what would be a feasible substitute for that – maybe flour or other powders. I walked over to my computer to do a quick google search and people have suggested using baking soda. So I started preparing the next step. I asked my aunt for baking soda or flour or other powders and she suggested flour because that was cheaper and more readily available. I didn’t know if flour was flammable so I would’ve started off by sprinkling a bit on the fire to test it. Being logical excuses me from being knowledgeable in problem solving. If flour was flammable, pouring a bunch in right away would cause an explosion. That would’ve been way worse. I was smart enough not to do that. It is probable that flour is flammable too because pastries can burn when they’re overcooked.

I prepared to use flour to attack the fire. I lifted the pan and saw that the fire had died. Problem solved. I still don’t know if flour would’ve stimulated the fire. I can easily google it but I won’t. I already thought of better alternatives. Later that night, I thought about where I might find sand and remembered that it’s winter and there’s snow everywhere. Then I realized that snow might be useful. I could also grab some soil from plant pots inside the house. Now that I have my plans, I’m even less afraid of fire. I’m not deluded into thinking that I saved the house from burning down or anything. In all likelihood, my aunt would’ve been able to successfully beat the fire on her own but I definitely helped end it quicker.

That covers the fire story. I could probably just have this as a post on its own but I’m going to keep going and write about all recent events. … Later that night, my uncle reported that he could no longer see out of the bottom half of his right eye. He had fallen earlier that day, in the morning – when everyone was asleep, so he might have hit his head. I mentioned that he had become kind of retarded already so it’s hard to know what happened but he hadn’t reported any new pains or hitting his head so we just left him alone all day. With the new eye problem, we needed to take him to the emergency room. I drove around and helped carry him a lot. I’ve been doing that a lot lately already. They did CAT scans and x rays and he doesn’t appear to have any new problems. My uncle had to go back to the hospital the next day for dialysis and chemotherapy so we had him stay in the emergency room overnight. I stayed overnight with my aunt. My cousin went home because she had work the next day. I went back to the house to cook some warm food for my aunt and myself to eat at the hospital. The next day, I went back to the house again to cook more food. I cooked quite a lot of pretty good shit. I rarely cook so I give myself even more pats on the back for the quality I was able to dish out. Not only that, but I also cooked a wide variety of things and did it all very quickly and efficiently. I hesitate to list the foods I made because it’s mainly Chinese and won’t sound good to most people. The first night I made ramen, chicken with sticky rice, and potato wedges. These were all frozen shit so no special cooking skills were used there. The second day I fried up some carrot cake, taro cake, and rice cake. I also wrapped up some tortillas with chicken and lettuce. The carrot and taro cakes I basically only needed to make sure I don’t burn but I still did a kickass job frying it to a perfect golden brown. The rice cake took more actual cooking skills, especially when I didn’t have all necessary ingredients in the house. I made some substitutes and cooked it all up awesomely. I actually felt pretty good about myself for once but everything goes downhill from there.

That was the positive section. I think I’m going to skip the negative section because the death section will cover some of the same topics. That last meal I cooked was for yesterday’s dinner. This morning, we were planning to eat out for Chinese New Year, just a little breakfast, and then we would be back in the hospital for the foreseeable future. After we sat down and placed our orders, we got a call from the hospital informing us that my uncle was having difficulty breathing and that we should go see him. When we got to the hospital, I offered to park the car so his wife and daughters can go in quicker. By the time I went into the room, my cousins and my aunt were all crying. He had already died. He died before they got there. (I’m not a fan of euphemisms like saying “passed away”…) He died much sooner than we expected. I don’t have many unique thoughts about the way he died so I’ll skip that. I may dedicate an entire post for that another day, but I won’t get into it now. The way I see it, my uncle has been dead for a while now. I lived at his house with him for about 4 weeks, right after he discharged from palliative care. He was in there because he wanted to die already. The first week I was with him, he was pretty much still alive. He seemed extremely depressed and bored with life, but he still tried to talk and watch tv every so often. He got bored of those very quickly, but at least he tried. For the last three weeks, he just sat and lied around with absolutely no joy. Nobody bothered talking to him anymore. They “talked” to ask him whether he needs water or food or to move and stuff, but no real conversations. His daughters in particular tried to talk to him every so often, but he didn’t seem to care and even his daughters didn’t bother trying to talk to him anymore in the past week. I’m not saying my cousins did anything wrong, because their dad would often look annoyed at their feeble attempts to converse with their dumb stories from work. Basically, his life was over already and his body just carried on for another few weeks.

I wrote all that because I was a bit bothered at all the crying. I wasn’t bothered because I think crying is weak or some shit like that, but I was bothered because it seemed almost fake to me. The reason I say that is because he was already dead to them, socially. He couldn’t talk, he couldn’t write. He didn’t want to talk even if he could. The night before, my cousins were just chatting away at his bedside with their normal chatter. At one point, I think I heard my uncle shoo them away because they were annoying. Sure, their dad was sick for years and they can’t go on feeling down about it forever, but that’s the thing, they’re already over it. The actual death itself shouldn’t be that big a deal. I’m not doubting that they genuinely felt sad and wanted to cry, but it just frustrates me that I don’t understand how most people feel. Is it only because I don’t have anyone I currently love and care for? That’s part of it, but I don’t think it’s that simple. Some people might say I would feel different if it were my own parents. I highly doubt that. While everyone was crying, I didn’t cry at all. I don’t know if that looked bad, as if I was being too cold. I think the coolest look would be to maintain complete composure (no red eyes or nose) but with a few tears sliding down my face. (Prior to this, the night before, while I was bored overnight in the emergency room, I remembered an earlier blog post where I mentioned I was so depressed, I’m probably constantly less than a minute away from crying if I just don’t hold it back. I tested that out and I was able to shed a few tears without needing to try too hard.) I brought up that parenthetical story because I didn’t try to do that just to “look cool” based on the image I described earlier. This whole death thing is not about me.

They cried next to the body for about an hour. During that time I yawned a few times and some tears came out. I don’t think those tears count but I thought it was related enough to mention. Now that I’m on tangents, I also thought it might be funny to tickle a severely depressed or emo person to see them laugh involuntarily. I don’t know… I guess that’s pretty much all I’ve got to say about this. I thought I might have more to say about the death-sadness thing but I guess I don’t. Hey, maybe I am affected by death after all.

Going Full Retard…

I’m not sure where to start… I guess first off, if you’re going to get offended at my liberal use of the word retard, you should stop reading now. This post is not about me going full retard, but I’ve wondered about that before. During one the earlier days of depression, when I was still exploring the extent it can affect me, I had spent some time making retard noises. It all started when I was taking a shit. (A lot of my stories seem to start off with me taking a shit.) I try to make as little noise as possible in all aspects of life so it goes without saying that I don’t make constipated noises either. However, I was home alone and didn’t give a shit and wanted to make some constipated noises for “fun”. From there, I noticed that it sounded similar to retard noises so I started making retard noises instead. There are things you can do in life that marks a new high or low point. Taking a shit while making retard noises definitely marked a new low point.

After I finished taking that shit, I went to lie in bed. It wasn’t because I was exhausted from taking a shit; going to bed is just the default thing to do when a person’s depressed and doesn’t want to do anything. In bed, I made some more retard noises. I noticed that it was kind of similar to bawling noises. Now, I only made these retard noises because I knew there was no one around to hear them so it wouldn’t negatively affect anyone. Even still, why the fuck am I making those noises? Am I becoming a retard? Prior to this incident, I wouldn’t make retard noises even if no one was around, because I’m not a retard. What if I started making retard noises when people are around. Would I be a retard then?

I said this post wasn’t about me turning retarded. It isn’t. That’s as far as I’ve explored in my retard transformation. This story will get really depressing from here on out. My uncle’s been dying from cancer and my aunt has been taking care of him. I’ve been living with them for a couple weeks now to help out. Today, my uncle seems to have gone full retard. It wasn’t an instant change. It was fairly gradual. For a long time now, he’s hasn’t had much energy. He seems to lose more energy with each passing day. Walking had be difficult for him for a while now, but he was still able to walk. He lost his ability to walk yesterday. It’s not completely gone, but he needs a lot of support to barely walk now. Last week, he was pretty much able to walk on his own and it was just safer to have supervision.

Let me backtrack a little more. My uncle’s currently living with his wife who’s taking care of him full time and his 30 year old daughter who’s a teacher during a day, and loving daughter by night. I wrote an entry about that “love” here so I won’t repeat that again. For the past 2 weeks, my uncle has pretty much been completely ignoring his wife and daughter, chalking it up to lack of energy. I get it though. They constantly ask him if he wants anything, if he wants more water, more food, more whatever. Everything except actual love… He obviously has no appetite and no motivation to do anything, so all those questions are just annoying. His wife actually gets pretty pissed that he doesn’t respond to her to his own detriment which causes her more trouble because she has to take care of him. The part she’s really pissed about is that he actually responds to his brothers when they visit. This makes my uncle out to be not in as bad a shape as he is actually in and it makes my aunt look like a bitch for not being able to handle it. Again, I kind of get it. The constant nagging of the same questions can get very annoying, especially for someone who’s depressed and going through a lot of physical pain from the cancer too.

The combination of his increasing difficulty to move and his lack of response has turned my uncle into a full retard in all practical sense. His daughter tries to tell him funny stories from work but he doesn’t laugh, doesn’t even react. I kind of get it. I’m depressed as well, probably not as much as him, and I don’t react to the stories either. I would politely laugh if she were telling me that story in a one-on-one conversation, but in a group setting, I don’t bother laughing. He’s unamused. He tried talking to the personal support worker but she was a dumb bitch who could barely speak English so that didn’t go well either. With no stimulation for so many days, it’s not surprising at all that it’s taking a toll on his mental health. Now I’m not taking sides here. I’m not saying my uncle is justified or not justified to behave the way he’s behaving. I’m just saying that I can kind of see how it got to be this way. I’m not saying my aunt is doing a good or bad job either. I don’t know what things were like a month ago, 6 months ago, a year ago. I can say that my aunt’s trying her best and doing a LOT for him. Maybe her best just isn’t enough. Maybe she’s not giving him what he wants. As far as I can tell, she hasn’t been giving him any stimulating conversation and hasn’t given him any sex. I’m not even sure if he’s even capable of having sex at this point or if he wants it. I don’t know if he wants stimulating conversations either. I’m just listing things that he’s not getting.

The problem I have with this whole situation is that I could’ve made a difference- I could’ve made things better. I also wrote about this before, but about 10 days ago, my uncle tried to talk to me. He asked if I wanted to hear what he has to say about my life and I said “Sure, if you want”. He was a bit unhappy with my response because he was trying to talk to me for my sake, not his. At least back then, he had the energy to respond that way. He went on and said generic crap about how life isn’t fair and I should get a diploma, blah blah blah, typical mainstream advice. Nothing profound about it at all. I just nodded along and said “uh huh” until finally he said he’d leave me to my work. He also advised me to wear more clothes because it’s cold and the flu is going around. I responded but did not wear more clothes because I knew I didn’t need it. One by one, everyone got sick, including my uncle, but I’m still fine. I don’t get sick. Even if I catch a bug and I get a fever, I am not sickly. I can still function at over 90% which is far more than most people’s 100%. The part I feel a little guilty about is that unlike the women in his family, he seems to respond to me the few times I’ve spoken to him over the past couple weeks. I’m not annoying (yet). If I were a better conversationalist, I could’ve helped make his last days a lot less miserable. But unfortunately, I didn’t do shit about it. I feel bad, but not THAT bad because it’s not my responsibility. For instance, he would probably feel better if I listened to his “wise words”. Then what? You want me to go to school and not be able to drive him to the hospital? That doesn’t exactly help him. Plus, my life is not for him to guide. Am I supposed to go to school and get a “good” job just so other people are happy? If I’m supposed to just do everything to make others happy, why don’t I blow him too. I’m sure life would be awesome if everyone tells you that your dick is delicious and they can’t get enough of it. But it’s not my job to do that. Neither is it my job to live my life to their old fashioned standards. If they would stop demoralizing me, maybe it wouldn’t take me so long to make games and be depressed as fuck while I do it. I’m choosing to do what I do regardless of what they say. They can either support me or get in my way. And everyone in my life just wants to fucking get in my way. They just want to relieve themselves of blame. Because of the generic advice they’re giving me, when I fail at life, I can’t justly blame them. Yet they don’t care that I’m presently blaming them for my misery. People are stupid.

Pain and Death

In the last entry, I mentioned that my uncle has cancer and is in a lot of pain, to the point where he wants to die. I drove him to dialysis today and apparently it was one of the worst days he’s ever had. I watched him squirm and moan in pain for a long time. The doctor today estimates that my uncle probably only has 2 weeks left, 3 weeks if he continues dialysis. With the constant intense pain, my uncle just wanted to end it. He wanted to stop the dialysis to end it quicker. But that doesn’t help with his current pains.

It took them a while to increase his pain medication doses. It seems stupid to me that they took so long. Why isn’t the pain addressed right away? Even in all his pain, my uncle didn’t urge for more pain medicine. My aunt only increased the dosage by 1 unit. From 150 to 175 of whatever it is. He was still in a lot of pain. Sure, the medicine didn’t kick in yet, but it was almost certain that it wasn’t going to be enough. I told her to increase it by another unit, to 200, and she did it after resisting the idea for a bit. Throughout the night, my uncle still seemed to experience quite a bit of pain but at least it became a lot more bearable.

Earlier today, my aunt had told me how hard it is for my uncle to die. She says that there a lot of suffering that goes on before finally reaching death. Well fuck, take more painkillers then. I told her that she should ask the doctor tomorrow for way more painkillers. Take as much as he’ll prescribe and increase the dosage every time the pain gets worse. Why the fuck not? When I first suggested it, she said she didn’t want to give him too much because too much isn’t good. I didn’t argue with her but I argued the fuck out of it in my head. Wtf. He’s already dying either way, why not go with less pain? What’s the worst that can happen? He overdoses and dies? Isn’t that the end goal at this point?

I’m sparing you a lot of boring details and simplified the situation a little. My point is, I can hardly fathom why people don’t see such simple solutions to their silly problems. Now I’m not an expert in medicine so maybe mild overdose of painkillers would backfire and cause extreme pain. I don’t know, but I doubt that’s true. The other thing to consider is the cost of medicine but I’m pretty sure money is not the problem here. If my aunt is just overwhelmed by information and all the things she needs to keep track of and forgets about simple things like the simple solution to pain, that’s understandable. But even when I bring it up, she fights it, so it’s not a matter of neglect.

The other thing I noticed tonight was my reaction to other people’s pain. It was definitely uncomfortable to watch, but I’m pretty sure I can watch it for a long time (practically forever) if I had to. I wonder if that’s a sign of my mental strength or a sign of me being a sociopathic cold fucker. I definitely felt uncomfortable so I don’t think it’s a sociopath thing. I wonder how much harder it would be to watch someone I deeply loved and cared for to suffer like that. I wonder if I’ll ever find anyone to love and care for deeply. I also wondered if I would make a good torture supervisor and whether I would be able to hold my breath until I die so don’t take my wonders too seriously.

Life, Responsibilities, Blah Blah Blah…

I don’t really know what to title this entry. I have an idea of what I want to write about but I don’t know if I’ve thought it out yet. Writing blogs is a way of thinking through things so I’m going to be posting this whether it’s shittily thought out or not.

I felt pretty shitty yesterday. It’s not often that I can identify the cause of my bad days but yesterday’s was obvious. It wasn’t a big deal. I shouldn’t have felt as shitty as I did, but it’s not necessarily an over-reaction. I already constantly have a huge pile of shitty feelings so when someone tosses a new piece of shit on top of that, I’m not feeling shitty because of the tiny new piece, I feel shitty for the sum total huge pile of shit feelings. …I’ll stop using shit as a metaphor for feeling shitty now cause the imagery would only get worse from here.

So I’ve been living at my aunt’s lately and yesterday, my aunt had a talk with me about my living situation. I hate how people are basically incapable to talk about things honestly. I don’t talk much, but when I ask a question, I want an honest answer. If you just keep feeding me with nice sounding sugar coated polite bullshit, there no point for me to talk to you. Right now, I’m living at my aunt’s house under the guise of helping out around the house cause of my cancerous sickly uncle. That’s the excuse that goes to my parents but in actuality, my aunt believes my parents are very toxic to happiness so she’s trying to save me from them. I keep asking if she wants me around to help out with the little things cause I know I’m not helping her THAT much. She keeps saying I should stay but I don’t know if that’s true or if she’s just trying to “save” me. I don’t need “saving” unless it’s a concerted effort where my opinion actually matters.

My aunt tried to talk to me and get me to think about my future, specifically, how I plan to make a living for myself in the future because I haven’t been doing that yet. I tell her the truth without making a big deal out of it and I don’t think she understands how I feel at all. I’m utterly depressed. I’ve been this way for a while and will continue to be this way in the foreseeable future. Just because I talk about depression with a smile on my face and joking around with it instead of sobbing like a little bitch, it doesn’t mean I’m not actually depressed or that I’m using it as an ultimate excuse to not do shit. Do you want to see me cry? I don’t do it cause nobody wants to see a grown man cry. I’m not a cryer but I’m pretty sure I could cry at will if I just stop holding it back for a minute. That’s an award-winning acting ability and I’m definitely no actor.

Although I’m not working very much these days, I could be doing a lot less. In many ways, I’m quite a superb human being. I am by far the smartest, strongest, and healthiest person I know. That’s mostly because I don’t know anyone. Ranking 1 out of 1 isn’t exactly a feat. I’m not trying to brag here because I’m clearly a failure at life at this moment, being as depressed as I am. Also, I wear glasses so my body is clearly flawed. My point is, I know I’m clearly capable of taking care of myself. I don’t do it because I have no reason to. That’s how grim life has gotten for me. I’m only alive right now because I’m being financially supported. I have no emotional attachment to these people who are supporting me. There’s a part of me that’s hopeful and believes there’s a speck of possibility that I might enjoy life someday. So if living requires very little effort, I’ll live on. I’m not suicidal right now but I’m not afraid to die because there’s nothing I’ll miss.

When I told some of that to my aunt, she likened my situation to her husband’s. There are many days where my uncle suffers so much, he’d much rather die to end the suffering. His siblings insists he lives on. Sure, I understand that my uncle must’ve genuinely wanted to die at some point, many times, but I’m not him. Our minds work completely differently. I don’t give a shit about what people think. I don’t care if other people want me to live. If they’re not actively making my life better, then they’re just in my way. If anything, their nagging for me to live would push me towards death. There’s only two reasons that my uncle hasn’t killed himself yet. Either he’s too much of a pussy to do it, or he wants to live. It’s okay to want to live. (Who’d have thought that sentence would ever need to be written, lol.)

I’m not like my uncle. I’ve got a much stronger will. If I really want to do something, I’ll do it. If I really wanted to kill myself, I’ll do it. It won’t be easy, but I can handle the task. Do I need to prove it? I’m not a cutter and I get no enjoyment out of it. I’ve got a healthy fear of not wanting to wound myself. But I give so little shits right now, I can stab myself in the arm as proof that I genuinely don’t care about my life right now. I would definitely hesitate, but I can do it. It’s like sucking a dick. I know I don’t want to do it, but if I had to, I would need a moment to take a breath and mentally prepare myself before I do it. It’s not physically hard to suck dicks, it’s all mental. Don’t worry, I’m not about to retardedly stab myself in the arm or suck dicks because I’m smart enough to know that it doesn’t matter even if I prove my depression to people.

Speaking of sucking dicks, I wanted to use that as an example for something else. One of the things my aunt talked to me about was to eventually get me to pay the internet bill and develop a sense of responsibility in me. I understand the perceived logic behind that, but that won’t work for me at this point. I’ve got enough money saved up along with the batch of money that’s about to come in with Tek Tactical, a game I’ll be releasing today, that I won’t need to work for a while to pay those bills. There still won’t be any urgency for me to work. By the time it does feel urgent, it’ll close off opportunities for me to attempt entrepreneurial projects like making games. So I would wound up stuck with a shitty job or sucking dicks to pay the bills. Would my aunt really want me to suck dicks to pay her $50 a month? No? Oh, so she’ll let a month slide? What about the next month? Does she want me to suck dicks then? If she doesn’t ever want me to have to suck dicks, then the whole responsibility shit doesn’t work. Ideally, she would want me to get a job to pay the bills and then discover that if I HAD to work, I might as well get a better job and then get a good job that way. But that’s not how my brain works at this point in life. I’d rather suck dicks than get stuck in a shitty job and I’d probably rather die than suck dicks.

Okay… let me see if it’s possible to bring this back to a positive note. Let me assure you that I’m probably not in any danger of suicide or sucking dicks anytime soon. Once Tek Tactical is released, my life will change quite drastically. Not necessarily a positive change, but it’ll change. The projected earnings seem pretty good and I’ll be kept busy responding to user comments. I recognize that there’s a very real possibility that it doesn’t turn out so well. It’s definitely possible that I earn far less than I expect and maybe no one will give enough of a shit about the game to comment on it. If that happens, I will need to seriously consider abandoning game making and reapply my programming skills to more serious jobs. Either way, my life’s about to change pretty soon.

Hmm… That wasn’t positive at all, is it? Let me try again… When I told my aunt that paying bills won’t give me urgency because Tek Tactical will probably cover that for a year, she said that she could just increase the bills for me. If that’s the case, I’ve got no reason to continue living with her. It’s not like I enjoy living here. I’m not complaining. It’s just I don’t enjoy anything. She thinks that less yelling in her house compared to my parents’ along with her daughters’ conversations might do me good. I’ve seen enough of it to know that it won’t do me any good. Again, I’m not complaining, but my welfare is definitely not going to go according to her plan. If that’s the case, I might as well go back to my parents’. My aunt and uncle are retired so they’re home all the time. At least at my parents’ house, they go to work so I get the house to myself all day where I can freely record podcasts and masturbate.

Eventually, if I move out on my own, I’ll probably move to another country. Fuck free health care. I never get sick anyway. Okay… I totally suck at ending this positively. Umm… let me just clarify that I’m not just glooming around my aunt’s house and that I’m currently being a very pleasant houseguest. I’m just looking into the future through my dark depressing lens.

SFT Podcast Episode 14 – Bigger Nigger, Family Deaths, Girls

That’s a wide range of topics I talked about there. I won’t explain the bigger nigger story here. You’ll have to listen to the podcast to see what that’s all about. Then I tried to talk about video games but I ended up talking shit about my family and extended family instead. There isn’t much shit to talk about and I wound up talking about family deaths. Finally, I tried to talk about video games but it quickly turned to a tangent about girls. I talk about practically every interaction I’ve had with girls and it’s sad that I can fit all that, in full detail, within about 20 minutes. I don’t interact with girls much is what this means.


SFT Podcast Episode 14 – Bigger Nigger, Family Deaths, Girls



If the above link doesn’t work, you should always check here (https://tedgaming.wordpress.com/2013/10/15/where-to-download-sad-funny-truthful-podcast/) for the updated links to download the podcast. I will also provide the link to download all the episodes there and it might even have newer and better links.



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