An Open Letter

It’s three in the morning and I just got back from clubbing. The people I went with loved having me there, and even the people that we met and random strangers I danced with also felt the same. One guy even bought me a shot. One guy complimented my shoulders, saying that I must be hitting the shoulder press. I didn’t know what to say back, and I felt bad. I felt fucking bad. Not even in a guilty way, but again like it felt like someone’s lying to me, like the entire world had an inside joke where they all compliment me on the shit that I’m proud of that I don’t think is worth being proud of. This happens consistently enough that I know I’m fucking insane for feeling bad about it, this never happened before and now it’s happened twice in one week. Before I went to the club I even worked out shoulders, and I felt super proud, all the way until I actually looked at the photos I took. And then I felt like I had nothing to be happy about. And so I took solace in my take that I would enjoy the gym regardless of how it made me look. I should be happy. I should feel attractive and I should feel wanted and I should feel like the person that I’ve become is someone that I want to live as. But instead I wonder if I’m going to be here until the end of the year, in time for D to make her instagram post. I’ve weirdly fallen upwards, I’ve just decided to do the things that make me laugh, and other people like that. But then the problem is no matter how good things look, there will always be a moment where doubt can creep in and fully obscure all sun. N sat with her legs pressed against T, and I noticed that I didn’t even want to go sit with everyone else at the end of the night. My natural tendency is to push myself lower down. I set myself up to get more evidence that I just can’t be loved, and that I’m not worth it. And no one is going to go out of their way to include me like that, and so even though I probably am liked, I end up fabricating enough proof for me to want to go home and be like the way I am.

I thought if I was attractive things would change. I was right, things did change. People treat me better, and I get positive feedback constantly. But also I was wrong, because I refuse to be happy deep down. D said that someone had a similar personality to mine, and I immediately pushed back in my mind, because I wanted to validate the fact that she doesn’t know me past this one face. It’s just a photograph of this weird constantly changing shape that I am. All of the parts that are in the shade stay that way. Unseen, and hidden. Necessary for the shape, but ignored by design.

D on the ride back while drunk, kept talking about how amazing sisters are. She also didn’t believe that I was no contact with my sister. That hurt. I would love to have a sibling, one where I could know what’s fucking happening in their life. One that I could fucking talk to once a couple months. But instead I get to have this pseudo tragic backstory that people don’t buy. What a fun fucking party trick, I get to say how I’m no contact with my mom and my sister. And I get to say in the same joking tone I always use, because what am I supposed to do? Am I supposed to fucking break down in front of people, am I supposed to tell them that I don’t think I can be loved and that I don’t have a model for it because I didn’t have parents in my eyes, hell I didn’t fucking have a life. I fully planned to kill myself constantly, and while I’m happy that I didn’t, a large part of me wishes that I didn’t have to keep convincing myself of that fact. God, why could I not have been loved. I wish I could have a hug, but instead I’ve come up with all of these surrogate methods that can keep me from remembering how fucking nice it would be to not be so deeply alone all the time.

R asked me to yell at her to go to the gym, and the first thing I came to my head was that she should just remember how much she hates herself, because that’s what I do. There’s no one else that I can hate, because there’s no one else there. And these feelings have to go somewhere. I tell myself that hurting will make me pure. I can somehow only feel proud of myself when I’m by myself. I just refuse to believe that anyone else could see me and feel proud. Just a big bundle of shame.

I hope I die of natural causes.

2 am my brain is fried but me and TTV stayed up playing arena and I got 23k hp on alistar lmao. We ended with a first that was fire I’m happy.

I had my first date with J today, and While it was good, afterwards I felt kind of sad. I realized I learned a lot about her but she didn’t really learn much about me, because she didn’t ask any questions or try to follow up at all whenever I would say something. I ended up telling her over text, and she apologized a lot and asked me questions. I do appreciate that, but it did push on a nerve for me.

I thought about SVM and how each wrongly classified instance pushes the boundary towards the more correct solution, and I think dating is kind of like that. I think I’ve learned that I really want a partner that is interested in me and wants to know more, and wants to know what I’m thinking. I remember my relationship with A, and how I started to feel like she didn’t even know me. I want to feel like I don’t have to beg someone to see me. To be loved is to be seen.

One of the memories I remember is that when I was in middle school I told my mom on the drive home that I didn’t like being Indian. She stopped the car and yelled at me to get out and walk home, and I had to beg her to not do that and to take me home. That never helped my internal view of myself and my identity. It doesn’t help that I grew up completely detached from any form of culture that was not of my own, and so I was never able to really relate or interact for that matter with Indian people. The only interactions I have were with my immediate family, and the Indian boys at school that were very crass and immature and I did not hang around them. I don’t know exactly how or when, but without knowing a lot of racism became internalized to me. I became one of those people that betrays their own group to show that they are one of the good ones, and it was never a conscious thing. But to me I believed and I would say that Indian guys were weird, and I thought Indian women were unattractive. Being Indian was always like a stain, or it was a mark of shame. I think that still carries with me now, and it’s something that’s really difficult to put down when it’s been instilled in me consistently. I always try to avoid Indian content on the Internet, because until very recently I’ve always seen it in a very negative light, and the comments are just filled with racism and it just reinforces in my head. Recently I’ve started to get positive sentiment, and it shocks me to see people saying things nice about Indian people. It feels like pandering, or people lying in the interest of equality, and the difficulty I have accepting it is further proof of how much it’s been internalized in me. I don’t go by any nicknames which is kind of ironic because I don’t really like my name. I don’t wanna change it or anything, but at the same time I always feel like I’m asking people to accommodate me and to put up with me when they have to learn my name. I feel like if anyone tries to convince me otherwise, by saying something like “it’s an unique and cool name” it would only feel like pandering. I feel like in my eyes the way to be desired as an Indian person is to imitate being another race. Whenever I see attractive Indian people online, it always feels like it’s meant to mimic white people, or when I think about Indian people in media it feels like they aren’t like me. I guess no one necessarily is like me, in the sense that everyone is unique, but there are very little Indian people online that are popular, I’m really thankful for Squeex, because he is Indian and proud about it, and it doesn’t feel like a drawback for him. I am working on seeing myself in that same light. I look in the mirror and I see my face and I hear my voice and I think of my name and I see my skin color and I don’t see Indian. Until I do, and then I just feel sad. It feels pathetic that I’ve been beat down so much that I’m ashamed of who I am, and it’s not an intense thing, but that’s mostly just because I don’t consciously identify as Indian in my mind or in my view of myself. I believe that you grow from adversity, but I don’t really know how I feel about this. This hasn’t been a loud fight or a big battle, but rather just a slow bleed that feels like it adds friction to so many of the things that I care about in life. I want to be wanted, and it kind of hurts me that no one is ever going to have me as their type. I am not a traditional Indian man, but rather I’m an amalgamation of different cultures that I see and the environment that I was raised in, none of which have anything to do with being Indian. And so I’m just a discount white person.

Getting that off my chest and seeing what sticks isn’t how I feel about myself completely accurately. Even now there’s already things that I wrote that I disagree with, and there’s things that I know that I am objectively wrong in. But I think a soft version of that sentiment does hold, I would love if I could see being Indian as something other than a drawback.

I really enjoy interacting with people over text, especially with playful conversations like flirting. Pretty much my main goal is to make myself laugh and to clip farm To myself, and I think funnily enough the authenticity goes across pretty well. I’m still confused about what N thinks about me, but I matched with someone cool just now on Hinge and they were pretty funny and I enjoyed our conversation. I took so many screenshots from my own laughing sake.

I keep reminding myself that it doesn’t have to be a bad experience to move back and forth. I think I feel scared in some ways because it’s like a change in life or expectation, and I do like that structure. I think I honestly may be more autistic than I thought, and part of me wants to see if I’m diagnosed, but also I wonder how that changes my own perception of myself. I know that I identify myself with diagnoses and I almost try to fit myself into a mold to validate that, so I wonder how that would be for something that I don’t really think I identify with (autism).

I ended up going on a like two hour walk, Including a hike for like 45 min of it in the dark. At first I was beating myself up mentally by thinking about how I didn’t feel like I fit in, and thinking about a lot of bad memories. I realized however that I was doing that, I was thinking about bad memories. I thought about the good ones, and a big thing I realized was UCSB was like going to Boot Camp for me, I went from very little socialization and being completely sheltered to being in the heart of a party town. I think UCSB overall made me so much more social, and also helped me understand much more who I wanted to be, not from a lack of choice, but rather from experience. I’m really proud of the person I’ve become, and I’ve made a lot of good memories. I’ve also learned how the people I am great friends with are completely different than the people I think I would be comfortable with at first glance. Everything will be OK in life.

I just came back from Six Flags, and I stopped at a Taco Bell along the way to get some food. I spent a lot of money, fairly casually, like $10 for a frozen lemonade here, $20 for a refill cup there, and I’m not sweating it too much because I can afford it. While I was eating in the Taco Bell a homeless person came in with some scabs and a limp, and sat kind of near me but behind me. I felt anxious and worried, and so I kept looking out of the corner of my eye, and by the time I finished I saw that they were visibly very distraught. I have a somewhat irrational fear of being attacked or stabbed by a needle and so usually I try to keep my distance but I thought about it and it’s only like six dollars for a meal. That amount of money is completely trivial to me right now, but that person looked like they were struggling for meals and battling other things. If I had to choose between getting a bottle of soda at Six Flags, or this person getting lunch, that should never be a question. I ordered a meal and waited for it and they were about to leave, when I stopped and asked them if they were hungry, and they said yes. Thankfully right at that moment the meal was ready, and so I got it and gave it and left. Whenever I feel bad or frustrated it’s nice to do something nice for someone else, I feel like that helps me focus on good instead of bad. And also I think it’s incredibly important to recognize the incredible privilege that I have, the fact that six dollars means virtually nothing to me. But that could make such a difference to someone else. I think a lot about how when I was a kid some random person online bought me five dollars worth of in game currency on transformice, and because of that I was able to finally get the things I wasn’t able to before. The world is not kind therefore we must be kind in its place.

When I was getting in my car to leave work I had my headphones in, and I thought I heard a bird singing near me so I stopped to listen. I found that it was the tree rubbing against this wooden stake both shaking in the wind. I’m so happy that I stopped to look at the world a little bit more, it makes me happy. I want to focus more on things that make me happy, that will be my happiest path. I want to stop and smell the roses more often.

Today at my basketball game, I didn’t wear a shirt under our jerseys since I usually sweat a ton. When I walked in, one of the guys on my team complimented me on my muscles and asked where I got shoulders like that. I joked and tried to dismiss it, but it weirdly stuck in my head. Body dysmorphia is such a weird thing when it’s from the gym like this. I never really understood it until I experienced it. I’ve gotten so many compliments on being muscular and so many passing comments acknowledging it. I would have thought they would make me feel good, but instead, it feels like it’s an inside joke that everyone else is playing on me. I look in the mirror, and when I flex, I feel good about myself, but only in a way that is hidden from the world. I think I am below mediocre when comparing myself to random people online, and I know that this is incredibly biased, but it’s still in my head. But when I’m not posing in nice lighting and with a pump, I feel like I just barely look like a normal man. And so when I’m wearing regular clothing at work, or just out and about, and people say that I’m muscular, I feel like they’re lying to me. It feels like it’s done out of politeness or just empty compliments, the same way someone may just randomly compliment your shoes even if they don’t mean it. The logical part of my brain feels like this happens too consistently and also happens from non-compliments, meaning that this is not just some coincidence. But the emotional part of me is somewhat scared, for a lack of a better word. Why does this happen when I look at myself in the mirror and I see a small boy trying to pad themselves up to look like a normal man? I work out my arms and grow all to be smaller than some normal man. And I’m no longer a kid, I’m 23, so why do I feel so small and scrawny? It’s like nothing has changed from when I was a kid. And there I know lies my issue, this is just body dysmorphia, and I am not the person I see in the mirror. I just wish I could believe it, or feel it. I feel embarassed whenever someone compliments me for being muscular or strong, since I’m just waiting for the shoe to drop and for me to get my hopes up, all to be brought back to earth. Hard. And so it’s safer if I just lay on the ground safe, without letting people raise me up. Whenever someone compliments me, the best I do so far is just dismiss it or move past it as fast as possible. Before, I would disagree or deflect it. Someone told me today that they find me incredibly hot, but also that they find my personality and mind too good, and that they fear they will get attached to me. All I do in my mind is try to find ways to discredit them, so that I stay in this mental mold that I am not really wanted. It’s stupid that I do this to myself, but it’s like I want to believe that all of these consistent positive feedbacks are just one-off events that will not happen again. And then they happen consistently. And I keep saying this was a random once-in-a-lifetime event, for the 8th time that month.

I’d like to love myself all the time. I have stretches where I do, and then I have moments where I’m like this. I scored no points in basketball, and I got scored on by their big guys a couple times. I fully whiffed the two shots that I had, horribly because I panicked. Even during random warmups I couldn’t make the ball in with a layup or right next to the hoop. I laughed at myself jokingly in those moments, because I couldn’t just let shame consume me. That’s for the car ride home. Our team keeps winning, and I’m not the worst on the team, but it’s close. I feel horrible being useless. I don’t want people to look at me with pity, and I don’t think that I should be included if I don’t carry my own weight. And so I want to not go again, because I don’t want to drag them down.

N asked me to tell her about the Dunning-Kruger effect, and she was interested by it. She then asked where I think it applies to me. I didn’t want to be depressing so I wasn’t fully honest by omission — I realized I think it applies to almost nothing, since I think I’m not good at anything really. I know I have really hard standards for myself, and so no matter what — even the things that I know that I’m in the top 1% of easily, I feel like there’s not much point of pride there. There are so many people in the world, and people that I will meet that would leave me with nothing to say other than they are better. No excuses I can make, and so how am I supposed to have an ego? I remember thinking about this a few months ago, if I am honest and say that I am bad at something, that’s arguably worse than being overconfident to others. The reasoning was if I say I am bad at something, and then if the person beats me, they gain nothing. If they lose to me, then they feel worse than bad. If I say I’m good, then if they lose their ego is intact. If they win, they feel better than good. And so it’s best for their ego if I say I’m good. I don’t think it’s that simple though, so I don’t really do that. But I don’t like to say how I really feel about my own skills, for fear of putting other people down. This is kinda the reason why I don’t like working in with people at the gym on things that I’m strong at. For example, my current goal is to max out the leg extension machine for 8 reps with one leg, and I’m 260/300 right now. The other day I worked in with someone, and they were doing around 170 and when it was my turn to go they would stand and just stare while I was doing my set. I felt bad, since I didn’t want that person to think that I was showing off. I felt horribly guilty. I know how it feels to compare yourself and not be enough, that’s all I did growing up. I don’t want to do that to someone else.

Apparently, N didn’t save my number, and I found out through a screenshot. Both D and N said that she is weird and she doesn’t save people’s numbers, only family and close friends. It did kinda hurt. Partially because I don’t know if she’s telling the truth, or if I’m just some person unworthy of saving a number for. It doesn’t help that N doesn’t really respond to my messages frequently, and also because she has read receipts turned off. I think she still hasn’t opened my instagram messages from Monday. I am hoping that she just isn’t a good texter and isn’t really responsive, and there is evidence to at least back that up. But I’m worried that the doubt is seeping in, and I think that maybe I’m just a dancing monkey for them to laugh at. I can entertain them and then when my use is over, I can be left in a closet. I think I can be weird, and I am not everyone’s flavor. But I’d like to be loved. I keep thinking back to art, if only I could do something like write beautiful enough, or play something so pure that I could be seen in it. I find it hard to use my words often. It would be easier if I could paint something with such intention, in a way that someone doesn’t find it embarassing but rather just “real” for a lack of a better word. I’ve wallowed in so much self pity already I feel bad. Haha, that’s kinda ironic isn’t it? Feeling bad.

I think I’m objectively good at things because I never feel like I am. Since I always feel like I need to be more, I always strive for that. But then I’m never enough. I don’t think there will really ever be something I’m the best at, and so I have to figure out some way to cope with this feeling. I guess regardless this would be important, since self-worth has to come from something more sustainable. I guess I just want this feeling to pass. I guess, I guess, I guess. I don’t like reusing the same words to start sentences, but I guess I’m just not smart enough to avoid that. My feelings repeat in these patterns, I’m too afraid to feel decisively, and so I say “I guess”. I feel like I talk too much in therapy pretty often, and it’s something I’ve brought up to her and she says it’s not an issue. But I’d like to shut up sometimes. I think I just ramble until someone stops me sometimes, because I don’t know how to express my feelings in that way. I don’t often have places where I can just be heard, and so I just pour out there from every wound. Sometimes slowly, sometimes not.

I think maybe my Dunning-Kruger moment may be thinking I’m emotionally healthy or mature. I fear that I am so far behind in that progression that I don’t even know how fucked up I am. I don’t know if I’m behind or ahead of the curve with all of this journaling. I feel like some days I’m learning more about myself in a way that others don’t, and some days I feel like I’m playing catchup. Some days I feel like I’m just going in a fully different direction, and that I’m incredibly weird and unfortunately off-putting. I don’t have enough self-confidence right now to be fine with that fact, and so I just sit with it. It may be time to go to bed, I’ve been sitting here writing for about 30 minutes now. I hope I’m enough.