🌟 Tip $5 if you like the beautiful natural lighting in these..

🌟 Tip $5 if you like the beautiful natural lighting in these photos 🌼 Tip $10 if you appreciate my artistic photos 🥰 Today I had a scare, woke up to my TikTok account being banned but luckily I appealed and got it back. Will have to make more to make backups because who knows what will happen. The new account is aspieasian. I constantly feel so demotivated; it’s a real problem but I’ll continue trying my best. Here’s my writing about depression and all that : My depression: If I were to name a quality about myself that I enjoy or what I feel makes me mildly distinctive would be my intellect. So much so to the point where my personhood is reduced wholly to it. My value as a human being is tied to being “intelligent”. Events that put that characteristic into question such as struggling in Latin class will devastate me. It’s similar to Hal’s breakdown in the end of 2001: A Space Odyssey where his err-less perfection as a computer completely defined him. Throughout the film, Hal emphasizes this fact about himself to the crew members in mostly condescending snide remarks here and there. However, He made an error that had serious repercussions; it seems to be the case that Hal is not the perfect super computer he parades himself out to be. His idea of himself as accurate on all accounts would be profoundly contradicted and that’s a hard pill to swallow. To admit this error would be to him, essentially, a loss of identity, a loss of self-hood. It brings us back to the question of the self and what it consists of, whether it be based on physical bearings or neurological. Is there a true core self, deeply rooted in our physical being or are we merely fragments of events, emotions, randomly accumulated experiences with no real coherence (or proximate objectivity), only to be constructed into a somewhat believable narrative in retrospect by said individual (to themselves, at least). What are we but patterns of behavior or routine mental states? What it feels to desire death: I’ve had happy experiences, moments that made me glad to be alive, but those are only moments, tiny slices of time that fade as time continues to reach forward. The immense suffering that is felt by me on a daily basis is unbearable. There are no moments of bliss that makes any of this worth-while. Upon reflecting on my own future, I don’t see anything — pitch blackness. The last couple of days I’ve stayed up late at night remembering (or technically not remembering but waking up with this lack of recollection) how there is no pain when your heart stops — you’re dead u n c o n s c I o u s, within minutes your brain will go along with it and it’s all over. A state of nothingness or lack of consciousness is much better than the feelings of misery and alienation that I am f o r c e d to trudge through. I sometimes feel like I’m trapped in a tall glass tower, seemingly extending into the heavens or whatever is purportedly up there. There’s no escape from this tower of glass. Once in a while someone will throw down a rope, but it’s either too short for me to reach or the rope appears to be long enough for me to finally anticipate escape, but upon my first grasp, it quickly unravels into vapor, as if there was no rope in the first place and it was simply a cruel mirage of the mind. In this glass tower — I can watch the world around me — people going forward in their lives with some feeling of purpose and fulfillment. Feelings that are much too foreign to me because my range of movement is restricted to this glass tower. I can only move within the confines of this space, I can’t go outside of it. All I can do is break out of this tower, with its sharp glass pieces splintering toward me, and I will no longer be trapped. Depression is a mental space, it’s a distorted mirror, it fogs your judgement and perception with smarting pangs of hopelessness. You begin to feel you were never meant to be happy, not even happy, you were simply never meant to be not miserable. I stopped striving for happiness as a goal once I realized how unattainable it was. I feel so much sadness for the implacable burden I am to everyone around me. People may view a suicidal person as selfish but in reality, they view themselves as relieving the world of a burden. The weight of depression progressively becomes heavier, I don’t want to ask for help because the depression is mine, no one else’s. It’s no one’s responsibility to help me.