Hi, to whoever is reading this. This book is a collection of ideas, discussions, and emotions. I don’t know how my readers will perceive this book – a journal, a vent, or a suicide note. Either way, I’m probably dead by now. Or I’m alive, but you’ll just never see me, because I don’t want you to see me.

I half-jokingly intended this to be my suicide note. I wanted it to be like a summary of my mind, whatever that means. Now I don’t know what it is anymore, so I published it, and I’ll see how it goes.

I have OCD. And I’m bipolar. And I’m trans. And I’m queer. You get the point.

The only word to describe it is “tiring”.

I constantly pinch my nose and my neck, because otherwise I get uncomfortable. I close the bathroom door with a lock because I absolutely hate bathrooms. I check the time constantly. I spend time every morning making sure my socks are the exact same height. I wipe my glasses so much my hand hurts. I have gotten alcohol poisoning from Dettol seven times because I use it too frequently. Ties are a pain in the ass because the dip has to be perfect. There has to be the same amount of weight in each jacket pocket. When I look right, I look left to “balance it out”. Books and papers must be in the exact middle of the table when I put them down. The tip of pens cannot face me. There are so many tics and compulsive actions that I have, I've lost count - I use to have a list, but I stopped writing things down when it got to over two pages.

I also hate being around humans. Every time I walk into a room full of people, all I can think about is the sweat, saliva, mucus, and the churning organs in their body, and the smell of bad breath, and all the wax, and bacteria, and waste. I can't even hug someone without feeling nauseous and yet I desire to touch people so much. I hate it. I am repulsed by myself; I am repulsed by others; I am repulsed by everything. There was this one time where I was in Singapore with my family, it was supposed to be a fun trip, but the entire time I just thought about how I wanted to cut my brother's ears off so his head would be smooth, and how satisfying that would be. And I don’t regret it because it was enjoyable. But I want to. I want to regret it so much.

The tale has been taken without authorization; if you see it on Amazon, report the incident.

And my compulsions go beyond the physical. I want to be purely logical and always just think about science and math. I have this deep belief carved into my mind, that anything other than logic is irrational, sensitive, weak, degenerate and unimportant. I just keep trying to be an ideal. A perfect entity. A fucking machine. Even though I want to stop, even though I know it's not healthy, even though I know it's not true, I still can't get it out of my head. There's just this constant voice that's always reminding me how irrational I am, and stop, fix it, now. Logic and rationality are the only things that matter because emotions are bad, they are useless and a waste, it is a biological burden, a primal instinct, and we should use our best efforts to completely get rid of it. How obsessed do people have to be with material flesh that they constantly worry about humans instead of bigger things, right?

Not to even mention the whole transgender and sexuality part.

So I want to kill myself. Sometimes (a lot of times) I think that I don’t have a “good enough reason” to be depressed. I always tell it off in my brain as a chemical imbalance – but is that true? I haven’t even done an MRI before. What if the feeling isn’t innate?

Enough about that. There are so many things I could say about my feelings – doesn’t mean you, as the reader, wants to know about it.

I refer to a person called Neil a lot in this book, and the conversations with them I wrote about are real, but Neil is not their real name.

Not everything in this book is real. Just so you know.

So.

Everything in here is really political and idealistic. I wrote a lot about “my system”, which you will read about later. This entire book can be interpreted as a criticism to the status quo, or a fantasy about a better but unachievable life. I am hopelessly pessimistic, stubborn, and libertarian. The friends around me have either described me as altruistic or masochistic for my complete disregard and nonchalance towards the wellbeing of myself and humanity, and my almost worship like belief towards transhumanism and technology; others have described me as selfish or cynical for my criticism of social norms, morals and just in general, other people’s feelings. My personality and opinions fluctuate with my emotions, so you will be reading a lot of contradicting and different radical passages in this book. My entire mind is just a messy debate, I am nothing but an angsty furball of opposing viewpoints. Welcome to hell.

I have nothing else to say. I hope you enjoy (you probably won’t enjoy) the book. Just as a warning though, it will be messy, weird, and overwhelming to read – so be ready.

Best Regards,

Subatomic