[KaleidoskopicVision]

In this post, I would like to bare my soul to you all. I've been dissatisfied with the condition of my life for a long time and keeping its contents a secret, pulling back the curtain and revealing the man behind it, is as much as I see it the best way to cause my despicable current self to shrivel and die once light is shined upon it.

I've been one of those 'depressed' people for a very long time. At every moment where I've been about to leap into the spiraling negativity and apathy, I've had a choice. A choice to accept my current struggle and meet it with courage. Memories that this self have been built upon offered me so many opportunities to wallow in self pity, to curl up in a ball and try my very hardest to ignore life and I took them. Not always at first, but as I developed a taste for apathy my life soon revolved around doing things that offered no real fulfillment, just empty amusement. Overeating, video games, porn, sleep and drugs became the things that consumed my time. I wanted nothing else, despised anything that took time away from these things and found myself thinking constantly about these thing.

But my greatest of all guilty pleasures became lying. I am an expert liar. A proficient storyteller. Telling the truth was always made painful for me as a child. I learned that lying was an excellent way to both avoid that and if you elaborated, a whole world of manipulation and empty egoic gratification opened up for me. Getting on an instant messaging programs, to pretend I was someone else to a host of people was my favorite hobby. I enjoyed it excessively, perhaps only spending more time with video games. I would feign sickness to get out of school so I could spend time with the computer. I was a master at acting with incredulity and offense when someone would accuse me of something I had not wanted to be discovered. Most of my friends never knew who I really am. I still wonder what they thought of me with all the lying. I've tested this a few times (not too many, I'm careful and methodical) by telling a friend I've been lying about something to their face. They've always reacted with disbelief. As if my confession of truth were the lie.

And so many people trust me. I wonder why sometimes but mostly I get a sick sense of pleasure, knowing that I can allay nearly anyones doubts and get them to reveal deep secrets. It's not as though they're in any danger, they're just revealing themselves to a facade. An illusion. This is not the only reason I lie. Rather than actually changing my life and making real achievements, I invent fake merit. I am a storyteller and all the autobiographies I write are fiction. I get that same sick sense of pleasure, that I know something the listener doesn't know, when I tell them my story. It gets even better when they praise my fake self. Sometimes I even feel a real sense of appreciation, which fades as I realize how empty my real life is.

It may not be so bad, if I were the one paying for all the things I overindulge to fill the emptiness inside me. But I live with my single mother, whom I convinced to divorce my father (for reasons that are somewhat legitimate and thus will not be discussed. Long story short my mom was cowardly). I've relied on my parents for mostly everything. I'm 19 and have used my relatively young age to justify living like a leech. My mother has a neurological disability which has twisted her neck at an odd angle. She's in pain quite often. Yet she works as much as the government allows her while still living on disability and I greedily lap up as much cash as she can possibly give. She loves me very much. It's obvious. Anyone else would have either killed me or abandoned me. And rather than respecting that love, I abuse it. I spend long hours on the internet doing absolutely nothing of use. Porn is a daily routine. Video gaming as well. I don't eat as much anymore, but I still eat quite a bit. I don't work for any of it.

My friends, the ones who care about me, give me advice and caring words. I listen to it, only loving how much they care and not really listening to those words.

I've grown accustomed to using people through manipulation. I'm so good at it, sometimes even I temporarily believe my sincerity. But my behavior always reveals my true sentiments. Behavior I conceal as much as possible when living on borrowed time.

I have no money. I have no source of money to use. They're out there, but this leech I've turned into wants nothing to do with honest effort. I have no motivation. No passion. I've read and re-read as much Personal Development material as I could fit in between my long lapses of indolence, but it's just another form of masturbation. Sometimes I'm so disgusted by myself I consider suicide. But that would just be the cherry on top of an already pitiful life.

Disclaimer: This post may be slightly one sided, perhaps told with tunnel vision. I've pointedly avoided any positivity I thought of while writing it. I do not want to see anything positive about the way I live, as it will just turn into an excuse to perpetuate this lifestyle.