An Open Letter

So it turns out it is not as easy as I thought. I made a Hinge yesterday, and I matched with someone that matched my energy and seemed really cool, and we even planned a date for Saturday. Today they ghosted me for like eight hours, and then mid finalizing the plan sent a ton of texts saying that they are deleting their account and apologizing for ghosting me along with a ton of other not great stuff. The other match that I had sent one half assed message, and then stopped responding, and it’s weird because I would am out of their league. I know that online dating apps are not great for men, and I hoped that I would be an exception now. I have an incredibly good job, I’m pretty successful, I’m physically attractive (from what others tell me), and I feel like I have a lot of qualities and values that are important to me for a partner. It’s only been one day so I don’t want to jump to any conclusions, but I already feel my self-esteem dropping. On one hand I know that dating apps and things like that are not at all accurate, but at the same time facing this much rejection back to back, especially from people that aren’t in my league, hurts. I don’t know, I feel like venting about this because it can be misinterpreted as some incel behavior, but it just hurts to feel this disconnect between all of the good feedback that I get from my friends, and the stark contrast of dating apps. I wish I could ask future me how I ended up meeting my wife. I hope it was worth it. I guess what seems the smartest would be to prioritize being happy regardless of dating, that way it doesn’t really matter how long it takes.

Hey dude, it could BE THAT EASY HOLY FUCK ITS THAT EASY ITS LEGIT THAT OBTAINABLE ITS NOT FARFETCHED AT ALL ITS FULLY POSSIBLE OH MY GOD ITS THAT EASY

I was super proud of the choreo I learned yesterday, and so I decided to post it on my tiktok so I could watch it again later. It ended up getting a LOT more traction than I expected, and I ended up getting like 100 comments, and it was like 80% women. I didn’t mean to post something like that, but I can’t lie the validation felt really nice. Having people tell me how I’m handsome and a good dancer, and also making relatively unwanted sexual comments about me was surprisngly nice, like I felt really desired.

I’ve been really struggling with depression the last few days, but today after therapy I felt better. I fucked up my beginner dance class today, and when I went home I decided might as well try to learn a choreo for the first time. I’ve wanted to try that for a long time, but never actually did — and so might as well just do it. I was dancing for an hour already for the class, and then danced at home for another 3.5 hrs learning the choreo, all during the heat advisory. I was sweating out of my fucking MIND, and also beyond exhausted, but I ended up learning the first half and was so fucking proud of myself. I keep watching the best video take of me, and I like can’t believe that’s me. I’m so proud of myself.

I talked a little bit with R today, since she asked me how I was doing. I was able to kinda solidify my thoughts on something. When people tell me that I’m happy, or that I’m extroverted, it sometimes feels like it’s in an almost longing way — like they wish that they were like what they see of me. That makes me feel bitter, since it feels like they just think I’m like this naturally, and they don’t see how much concious effort and work I’ve had to do to prop that up. It feels like someone seeing a musician playing something beautifully, and just wishing they could do that, without acknowleding how much work the artist much have done to get there. And the fact that they could also do that same work to get the same result. But no one actually does that work. I work so hard to make my life one that I’m happy to live, and it’s not really something I can show to someone. How can I explain to someone how much I have to regulate my thoughts consciously, or how I have to be incredibly strict on myself to avoid slipping into a depressive episode, which feels like it’s always looming, waiting for me to mess up once. It’s exhausting, and I can’t always do it, and when I fail I get horribly depressed and suicidal for weeks at a time. I wish someone told me good job for keeping myself alive once in a while.

I heard the line as the beginning of a song, and it immediately hurt me. Hash was sleeping between my legs as I sat on the couch, kinda just rotting at almost 2 AM. And so I kept thinking about it, and I kinda hope that I don’t know the last day I have with him. I worry that if I know the day, it will likely be because I kill myself. Or maybe that’s my weird romanticization of it again. It’s weird that I consider life to be this exquisite gift, but at the same time I’m so ready to throw it away. It feels like it just lies somewhere dormant in the folds of my brain, the desire to just call it short. Why doesn’t everyone feel that? What was the reason for me feeling that way consistently, like it’s just under the baseline state for me? Two haircuts ago, the lady told me that I seem like a happy person and she can tell. J said that also, and that was why she wanted to be friends with me. I write on this stupid blog because where else can I let this out, I don’t want it inside of me. I should have had a good day today. I made new friends, and went ice skating and then got dinner afterwards with a new group of friends. And everything went pretty much well. Yet while driving home I kept gunning it on the drive home, because somehow I have an ego so fragile that nothing at all makes me this ugly and mad. I’m tired, and I want to lash out. I want to say that this isn’t me, but I don’t know what I constitute of anymore. I don’t know why I want to say that I’m some bad person or something like that, and I’m afraid to say that I think that I’m kind, since positive self-confidence is tied with hubris in my eyes. I’m not an extrovert, I’m not always happy, I’m not kind, I’m not strong, I’m not any of these other things that I am told or think that I am. I’m this weird jumble of neurons and cells and muscles and experiences that somehow make up something that’s both never before seen, and also the universal experience shared by everyone that’s ever lived. I don’t know what I have to say, if I even have anything at all. I guess I just want to be seen, I feel like I beg for that on here in some form or another every week. I’d love for someone to hold me up to the light, and not stray away. I say to be loved is to be seen, and I don’t know if I’m falsely conflating those two things together. J today said that he doesn’t like things that he’s good at, and I told him I like things I’m bad at. I said it was because there’s no pressure on you, and then was more honest and also said that you never have to worry about making anyone feel bad. But I guess that comes at the cost of me. I wasn’t good enough for the intermediate dance class I went to with V, and on my drive home I wanted to go and practice and get better just to keep this idea that I am someone that’s good at everything. I’m not really sure why I’m like this, probably because I was raised in a way where I learned that love is earned from value given, and from being exceptional. And so I studied and studied and practiced and practiced, and I was good at things until I wasn’t. And then I stopped them. I carry around the 1510 SAT score around me like a permanent badge of shame. I wasn’t valedictorian at UCSB for my undergrad because I tried to kill myself the first quarter I was there, ruining what would have been a 4.0. I was never good at writing, and I still am not, the only things I’ve ever written have been on this journal pretty much. I’m afraid to try something seriously, because to care is to admit inadequacy. I think I’m terrified of that. If I do things I’m bad at, and purposefully let people do better than me, then I can keep my ego intact and believe that I’m good enough to be loved, and that I’m just chooisng to be kind. I keep solidifying the thought in my brain about how the desire to have these hidden talents that get revealed comes down to the desire for the belief that I am still worthy of love, even if someone sees a face of me and decides I’m not worth it. They don’t know about my physical strength. Or they don’t know about my financial success, or my academic prowess. Maybe they don’t know about the ways I’ve been hurting, and that would have been context that would have made them like me. Maybe if I have this layer of defense up then I’m ok, because I can still be loved. They just didn’t see me. I guess I’m afraid of being fully seen then also, because what if they do, and then I’m not loved? That would mean that I gave everything that I had to offer, and it wasn’t enough to be loved. That’s a horrifying thought. Maybe I have tendencies to hide these things instead of being proud. I don’t know if it’s even true, but maybe I keep trying to be better and align more and more with my values because deep down I think that I’m not worth loving yet. I wish my mom got therapy, but instead she didn’t come to my graduation and even though I’m 5 minutes away we haven’t even looked at each other yet. It’s been about 6 months like this. She was the first phone number I’ve properly blocked. I fucking hate the question of if I live with my family, or if they’re still here. As far as I’m concerned, only Dada is alive. I know the needle has swung past what is probably responsible, but there’s too much hurt and pain there that lets me justify letting it out in this way. And so to myself I think that my sister and mom don’t exist. They’re dead. If my mom died I don’t know what the last thing I spoke to her was. And the thought of that doesn’t hurt me. I’m so mentally detached from it that seeing things about siblings don’t even connect at all, it’s like I didn’t have one. I have to really concentrate to think about what Nani’s face looks like. It’s disgusting to even say her nickname. I joke and say that I’m refurbished — something damaged but fixed up to good as new, and at a discounted price. I think I’d be a good partner, and a good friend. But therapy can’t change the dance I have to do when asked about my family. I always have the stain on me and I have to eventually explain that I don’t have a relationship with 2/3rds of them. Anger is just grief in a trenchcoat, and I feel angry when I think about how so many people have a relationship with their family. Funnily enough the only thing my dad instilled in me really was that no one else in the world cares about me, and how they are all after their own best interest, and that the only people truly on my side are my family. So much for that. Guess I have him and Hash. Speaking of which, sometime through writing this he climbed up into my lap and is now sleeping. Sometimes I wish I was better at music so that I could play something so beautiful and pure that it would cut through the way that my words can’t. Each shaky note would be a different red underline in a post I couldn’t write, imperfection born from something so desperate to come out. I don’t know if we can ever really see another person, but it would be a good step towards it.

I’m going to max out the leg extension machine with a single leg, and until then, I’m not going to think about killing myself.

Today I went to the first intermediate class for dance, and beyond any recognition, slaughtered the choreography. Not in a good way. I saved the video with me half-way through getting lost and standing on the corner of the video for like 10 seconds doing like nothing LMFAOOO. The worst (best) part is I went with another friend who hasn’t danced much (but is good), and we said we would bomb it together. Before the class even starts, a conventionally attractive girl comes up to me and asks if I’m Anshuman, and says that she also works at Apple (where me and my friend work/met), and that she saw me mentioning the class but didn’t send a message or anything because she wasn’t sure if she was going. So then I had to figure out what the fuck I’m supposed to say to that, especially since she was very quiet and not very talkative. Turns out she danced in college, and so there goes my safety net of not worrying about being potentially judged by anyone I know lol. The class was beyond terrifying, but it was a great experience overall, and I’m happy I went! Afterwards, V asked if I’m still down to get food after, which I didn’t know was happening, but I said yes, and we all went together to a sushi place I used to go to here. Honestly, I feel pretty awkward in conversations, especially when I’m not like comfortable around people — like when I don’t necessarily think that it’s appropriate to make jokes and be stupid, like when people aren’t really laughing or lighthearted in that way. And these two people weren’t, and the problem is then I just continue to make the jokes since that’s both my coping mechanism, but also the awkward situations are hilarious to me so I somewhat don’t stray from them. I just start tweaking and laughing to myself like crazy when I make jokes, and no one laughs. But we ended up getting food and I think the ice started to break more and more, as we talked about so many different topics and stayed talking for 2 hours!

The reason I titled this entry this was because one of the things that we talked about was making friends while moving to a new environment, and somehow I mentioned that I wasn’t an extrovert and both of them visibly stopped in shock. They didn’t believe me, which is something I’ve taken as a huge point of pride! I even had the same conversation with someone earlier – T, with whom I got along incredibly well! I’m very proud of the work that I’ve done and the sheer number of hours of practice along with that. I did not have any of this come naturally to me, I was raised virtually isolated (pun intended), and so I had to learn socialization on my own, and also practice it with so much trial and error. This has led me to become a confident person in this, specifically in the belief that almost everyone is more awkward than anyone who practices socializing. And a good indicator of being charismatic is being more awkward than the other person in a sense. Doing things like taking the initiative in conversations to avoid lulls and steer the direction is somewhat risky, as you have to be vulnerable and push past safe small talk to get to substance, but in doing this the other person gets to feel safe in sharing and opening up likewise. Someone always has to go first, and I’m strong enough to be that person consistently. I don’t even feel the burden of it anymore, it’s too light. I’m proud of the man I’ve raised myself to be.

Today was the first day of my basketball co-ed league, and I got 0 points, 0 assists, 2 turn overs, but also I think 1 rebound. I did however have a fire idea for a stupid tiktok, and so on my way back I was just planning it out and getting excited about it – and then I spent almost 2 hours making it. I made myself laugh and honestly I’m completely content with that. I was also doing that today at work while making friends, by mostly just clipfarming for myself with stupid fucking answers to questions that I can then screenshot. I’m just happy man, I love whatever’s wrong with me.

I’ve been kinda warding off depression as well as I can recently, and getting injured was a huge problem for that. A lot of my stability and happiness come from the gym/exercise, and so when I have to rest and recover, it’s a huge struggle. Today I was taking it pretty easy, I did just a few deadlifts relatively light, and I even used straps so my forearms weren’t being used much. I had to stop early however because I felt the sharp pain in my abdominal wall which scared me a lot. I then went and did some bayesian curls with the cable machine, and at a weight on the lighter side once I let go of the handle my left thumb hurt so fucking bad I almost cried immediately there from the pain. When I moved my thumb or bent it, the pain was so sharp and intense that I audibly gasped. It felt like a nerve was torn or fully pinched, and it was horrible, so I just immediately left the gym, which was terrifying because that meant I was risking falling into an episode again. Coming home, when I tried to pick up my Gatorade bottle I dropped it immediately from the pain and almost screamed. I wanted to cry since being injured like this meant that I would have to stop exercising for months, potentially. Thankfully after showering the pain went away, so I’m hoping it was just a temporary thing like a nerve being folded wrong somehow or something. I just pray it doesn’t come back.

I don’t know, I just felt better. I was a little bit worried because I’ve been kind of slipping down into depression consistently, and bailing myself out at what feels like the last second. But I did some tasks that I had been putting off and went and worked out gently because I’m still injured. I was looking for more photos to potentially used for my hinge, and I ended up finding a couple that I thought were great candidates. But I also went down memory lane, and that made me feel happy. I’m happy I’m alive, and I’m happy that my life is a good one that I have worked hard for.