My Life’s Paradoxes Part II

My previous entry on paradoxes of my life was one of the most liked entries so it makes me happy that I thought of more paradoxes to write about. Hopefully I can live up to the high standard I set for myself. My last few posts haven’t generated as much likes and followers as my earlier ones so my writing quality might be decreasing or it could just be random factors coming into play that people aren’t seeing the blog. I’m thinking it’s the latter because there’s no way I’m not awesome. By the way, I have an irrational desire to be completely original. I hate feeling that there’s a chance I copied someone or even simply inspired by them. Even when I retell the same story, I have the need to change the words up, usually for the worse because I already perfected the story the first time. That said, this first paragraph irked me because I’m playing Final Fantasy XIII-2 right now and there’s a retardedly named character, Hope, and a poorly named phenomenon they call paradoxes. Just the fact that I used both these words irks me… Yeah I know, I’m a fuckin’ mess.

Speaking of games, the first paradox is my love-hate relationship with video games. I grew up enjoying video games but as I became smarter and wiser and funnier and awesomer, games became less appealing. I want to like them but the games give me a hard time loving them like what happened with Atelier Ayesha that I wrote about here: Recently, I’ve grown to hate games a lot more than I love them, causing me to have loads of shit to complain about in every game I play. The paradox is that I can somehow still manage to play upwards of 15 hours a day, 100 hours a week. The simple explanation is that I have absolutely no life with absolutely nothing better to do so I do something I don’t even like. I only resumed playing games around 2 weeks ago so I wonder how long it’ll take before I burn out from doing so much of something I hate and become depressed and suicidal again.

Speaking of voluntarily doing a lot of what I hate, the next paradox is that I’m a narcissist that hates myself. It kinda makes sense because why else would a narcissist be suicidal? Why would a person want to kill someone he loves? It appears I’ve adopted a writing style where I constantly comment on what I’m writing whilst showing clear signs of narcissism and self-hate. So I will describe my relationship with myself also of the love-hate nature. …And I hate myself for repetitively writing “love-hate”. Once again, there’s more hate than love. I don’t know if there’s any love actually. I might just hate myself a lot less than everyone else, but it’s all just a heap of shitty hatefulness and I happen to be the one standing at the top. Would being on top mean I hate myself more? Fuck it. This was just a shitty metaphor about a heap of shit so it doesn’t need to make sense. This self-hate might explain why I’m doing 100 hours a week of something I hate, why I continue to live instead of carrying out a suicide, and why I’m still fuckin’ living with my parents. …Maybe I’m just too nice of a guy that I don’t want to kill anyone, not even myself.

Speaking of being nice, the last paradox is that I’m a nice person but I’m not friendly at all. I hate smiling at people, I hate small talk, and I hate greeting people. I simply hate people… But I’m nice. It might be hard for you to see how I’m nice when I say things like “it’s okay to make fun of gay and retarded people” in entries like here:

or here:

or here:

The last one is about fat people but fat, retarded, or gay people are all in the nether regions of society so I might as well lump them all together. Lol I have no idea how I can prove I’m nice after saying shit like this. Well, I’m smart enough not to say this stuff in real life so that doesn’t interfere with my niceness. The main reason I consider myself nice is that I do any and all favors that people ask of me. Often times I’ll bend over backwards to help people I hardly fuckin’ even know. I don’t get a sense of pride or joy out of helping people either so that’s why I consider myself fuckin’ nice. Now, why would you ask a favor of me when I won’t even say “hi” to you? Good question. My unfriendliness might be an effective deterrent because I don’t want to be helping people anyway, but I do everything I’m asked. A better question would be why I bother being nice to people if I hate them so much. Maybe it’s my self-hate in the works again by making me do things that I hate, for people that I hate… Watch out guys, you might be witnessing the origin of a super villain here, the lamest origin story of all time: “He was lonely and friendless and blogged until he realized he actually hated people.”