Sorry it’s been awhile. Today has been a weird day.

Due to my fathers death, I have been allowed three free counselling sessions from the government. It’s all they can do for me really. I’ve talked with the same counsellor that has also counselled other members of my family. It’s funny, all of the different ways we have described my dad.

When I was young, 10-11 years old, I suffered my first existential breakdown over realising the reality of death for the first time. I had my first glimpse of feeling what it was like not to exist. No one had died, I just realised what actually happened after death. There was no god, just a void of unknowingly being dead. It terrified me. I ran to my mother, sobbing and crying but she could not understand what I was talking about. She could not realise my fear, she could not comprehend my existential thoughts. My dad however, took me outside gently, and made me watch the stars and comforted me, saying that when I get old enough to die, they may have found a way to preserve our lives digitally or something along those lines. But he also told me that by the time we’re that old, we sort of want to die anyway.

That was probably the best memory I have of my dad.

We both realised that night, that we could understand each other. He’d faced his own terror and existentialism the same way, but no one understood him. But now I, without any prompting, had said his thoughts out loud. He pitied me, he was deeply saddened I had inherited this mental illness.

Next month will be one year since my fathers passing. It’s also exams.

My father killed himself.

Now I can’t watch the stars anymore.

“I’ll kms if you don’t do XXX!”

Oh buddy. Search my family history, you’ve got competition.

I’m so tired. I hate my dad so much. He’s fucking dead and despite everyone saying that it’s not my fault, it is. I know in some way it is. In his fucking suicide letter he put “the only reason I’ve stayed alive for so long is because of you” therefore, I have caused him to stop being alive. He laments that I’ll be okay without him. This makes me want to scream. No I won’t. If I do get better, if I get healthier and I get over it, does that mean he’s right?? That I will be okay without him, therefore it’s okay he took his life? I’m so tired. I want to analyse every one of those letters but I’ve only gotten the summarised version because they’re so dark and angry. I’m so tired. I just want to die. I know I won’t, I know I can’t. Because firsthand I’ve learnt the pain of losing close family who took their own life. I wouldn’t wish this pain upon my worst enemy, let alone my friends and family whom I love. I’m so alone. I’m so alone in how I feel because I don’t want to tell anyone my true feelings, I don’t want to be a burden. I just want to be held.

The most homophobic households raise the gayest children.

Would you give up your arms for wings?

Hands.

God I fucking hate having hands. At the moment, the skin on the top is all rough and red because I wash them too much. I wash them too much because I have a fear of vomit. (There’s a certain story behind this.) So by washing my hands obsessively, there’s less chance of me getting sick, and well, you can figure it out from there.

My hands are always warm, much to the pleasure of my friends in winter, who hold onto them like frostbite is setting in. However it means they’re always sweaty. My nickname in my friend group was ‘baby hands’ for awhile. It’s because I have really tiny hands, smaller then literally everyone else I know, and I’m really clumsy and drop things a lot.

Nails are awful to have. I’m always picking at the skin around them, and they have all these angry red welts. I never grow my nails long, as it feels awful, because if my nails ever scrape against anything, I want to recoil and choke. It’s probably an autism thing. When I was younger, I used to just peel my nails off, by making a small break in them and then gripping the side and peeling like a sticker. I don’t do it as often anymore, I use nail clippers, but nail clippers give me a whole new set of problems.

I used to swing a lot, every night, like it was therapy or prayer. It would give me huge yellow callouses on my palms. I miss them.

Sooo nervous. I’m going on a little mini vacation to see relatives and see snow for the first time. I’m autistic so any changes to the norm freak me the fuck out. My mother once took me on a holiday for the weekend back in 2019, and because we went to a city, I had severe panic attacks and nearly almost pissed myself lmao. Instead of going to a literature festival, or visiting cool places, we sat in the hotel room while I tried to make my head stop spinning and the ground to stop giving way.

It stunk of greasy takeout, that’s what I remember as we had some the first night.

The whole experience was awful and I really hope it doesn’t happen in this week long vacation. (Right before exams as well augh). Super nervous.

Tbh, thinking of hiring a sex worker but not for sex, just cuddles. I need to be held for a little.

At the moment, I’m going through a weird stage of grief where I realise that I really wasn’t a fully happy kid. Everyone says I was happy, I was gifted in the sense that school was super easy for me and I was put in special top classes, and I was generally told I was ‘mature for my age’.

Red flags lmao.

Now I’m seen as immature, I’m failing school, and I have no self preservation skills. I was only diagnosed with autism a few years ago, when I started my teenagehood. Far too late. They should’ve really realised I was having problems when I would only sleep in my mothers bed, and I would ask every single night: “Have you turned the stove/oven off?” As I was terrified that the house would burn down. I would sit quietly, and go: “Why don’t I like myself? Why don’t feel right?” It was a constant, alienating feeling. I was terrified that I didn’t know what I was going to do for a career at only age 8, and by age 10, my life felt like it was going so fast it was a blur. By age 11, I was sobbing and crying because I was thinking extisential thoughts about death and how giant the universe is, yadda yadda.

I hate that I’m so angry with the people in my life for not recognising something was wrong.

Hello! I’m Olm.

Not too long ago, my dad took his life.

It still feels weird to say tbh, however it’s not a secret. Most people know, and I honestly want them to know.

I’ve been badly depressed for a few years now, (maybe since I was a kid?? Hard to remember since I don’t remember much about my childhood) and since my dad died, I thought: “Finally! I have a reason to be depressed! I can point to something awful that has happened, and due to it not being invisible, people will sympathise. I have a reason to be depressed.”

Well this has happened, I’ve realised people will stop, say: “Oh gosh, sorry that this happened man.” And then move on with their lives. The next day they’ll ask me how I am, and I’ll have to awkwardly reply that I’m fine. This doesn’t mean people are selfish. Far from it, everyone is just a bit too wrapped up in our ever quickening world to take that time to ‘stop and smell the roses’ kinda thing. I feel a little attention seeking by saying these things anyway, but I’ve always been mentally unwell and now I can point to something. I think it’s a feeling of finally being able to hold a valid excuse, and needing to show people that I may not function right due to it.

Or maybe it just gives me an excuse to ask someone for a hug.

Hello! I’m Olm.

This is a personal blog where I’d like to jot down my thoughts. They may be a bit cringe, depressing, or edgy at times, but I want something to look back upon, I feel need to, even if it is weird. I don’t care if anyone sees this, although it would be nice to share some experiences. Feel free to block me if I say anything triggering! This is my first time using tumblr so I will try and tw my posts as much as possible, but I may mess up.

Thank you for listening in.