Everyday robots and sheer disgust

I fake things to pretend I’m like the rest. It’s evident to most that I am not if you get to know me. You have to do these things to feel like you don’t stand out, even if you do. I am in my late 40s now, but many men, even younger, think I’m still in my 20s, so I can get along with anyone. I have an extremely expressive face and a fun personality, despite not being fond of societal norms. I don’t follow trends and hate the digital age. It’s out of control.

There was a Beach Boys song that was decent, but the title resonated with me more than anything. “I just wasn’t made for these times,” which is very true for me. All women do is text, and now many guys do it too. With guys who care, but the ones that matter in women, it’s lazy, unemotional, and means Jack.

At my age, all they care about is social status and money anyway, so having sex with the ones worth it is all there is, and I’m sick of that too. Things change. It all makes me severely depressed and feel like a robot that most in society have already become. I refuse, so I’d rather attempt death.

I did in August and failed again, but was close. I amazingly kept it secret, as I am good at that, unless I dumbed it down for people to see who care or are fake and need to learn. Out and about, I am as friendly as I’ve always been, except when I was shy as a kid and teen. I often say I’m weird when talking, and the other person will say, “We’re all weird.”

At least by body language and facial expressions, you can tell who is being sincere and who is merely attempting to make you feel better; neither does anything for me, and I always know. Because of some health conditions, I have to isolate myself, so people naturally assume I’m a lazy bum.

It’s always been something I’m very sensitive about, as nobody would choose to be like this. I never was this bad but always had major anxiety and depression issues, which is putting it mild. Lord knows the mental health field is a disaster, and I know the score well. I have been dealing with it since I was young. 

Doctors, and in particular often narcissistic, snobby, albeit delusional, nurse practitioners, are a nightmare because they don’t deal with reality, which is amusing given some of their patients. Meds this, meds that. It’s the lather’s job, but in the field, medicines aren’t the answer.

They take their toll. Particularly when overprescribed, as they did for years, and the cocktail isle mix is always key. How rare, especially these days, but don’t kid yourself; it’s always been horrible. Let’s get to the truly dangerous ones, SSRIs. 

Those lovely excuses for medications ruined my brain six years ago after I came off of them the right way with the doctor’s directions. I had discontinuation withdrawal, and I’m now on year 6.

I tried everything to balance it out with more lovely SSRI hell, which gave me a nervous breakdown. so done with them thankfully but damage done and they weren’t even working when on  them. Few do.

Now, several mixed and manic episodes later, along with the breakdowns, all the trauma from my childhood that has always been there, albeit just mostly sporadic for flashbacks and episodes, is back 24/7. 
I’m going nuts inside yet put on the masks people of my age are known to do; we have no choice, and I never lie, so it sucks, yet it’s commonplace to make others feel uneasy.

They do anyway if you’re different, even if you’re not a threat to anyone but yourself. 
People are dumb, often uneducated on things that matter, delusional, and naive. It’s maddening, but I attempt to avoid them. In many ways,

I miss people, but the more I talk to these emotionless robots, the more I’d prefer to live alone on a mountain and freeze in the cold. Sadly, I cannot because of the one medication that still works after 26 years on it. It’s the one that makes me, me, and helps me breathe, and they want to take me off it because they’re fake, contradicting hypocrites.

They’ve always known what it can do to you, but it’s mild, and they exaggerate as much as this country does with everything. I say no, no. I’d rather fly to Switzerland, where they take death and people seriously. Why? Because they’re not fake, and amazingly, they care about people without constant posturing.

There’s none of that here, but more posturing in a failing health system at every turn. I hate it and feel detached, like most people who hide and text and slowly become the robots they already are. 

I will die soon, but only when in the detached, disassociated zone. One has to be in that state to be able to fully pull it off and not panic. I’ve been close a couple times, and I know that with proper preparation and being in that zone, I’ll finally be rid of this hellhole. Honestly, can you blame me? Just let me go.