Jack

 A year ago today, my Dad died.

Never found out the exact cause. Step-father found him unresponsive in his bed. It sucks. It sucks and I hate it and I wish he was still here.

He played a lot of guitar. Sometimes I'd hear him playing all the way down in the basement. It occurs to me that I'll never hear that sound again. Never get to show him something stupid on the internet again. Never get to sit and eat dinner and tell each other about Stuff.

I'm afraid of dying. I know it'll happen to me. It happens to everyone, no one gets to escape it. I would do anything to prevent it. Or barring that, ensure that there is some form of existence after death. Some people are okay with oblivion. I take no comfort in non-existence.

I honestly thought he'd outlive me. Next year I'll be half as old as he ever was.

Really put into perspective how much of my youth I wasted. Not just on hobbies that went nowhere, but also just not sharing enough of my time or my dumb nerd hobbies with him. I was always too scared to "bother" him. Even though he wouldn't have been upset or anything. But I respected him so much, and I thought I'd have more time later.

Death is closer to me today than it was 10 years ago, or 20 years ago. I wish I had that time back.

I've been writing fan-fiction of the video game "Monster Prom" for about half a year now. It's kept me busy during quarantine. It's been an outlet. But like everything I've ever done, it will be regarded by a handful and forgotten. Whatever legacy I leave behind will also die. Even if I somehow gain fame posthumously, I'll never know it or see it.

There was so much I wanted to do and to be, and to show him. But death is the end of everything. And if I ever do amount to anything, he'll never know it. I robbed him of that.

And also, I think he loved me a lot, and didn't care if I became Space President or whatever. But when I think of what an annoying brat I was growing up, I wish I'd done more to repay the childhood he helped give me. I wish I could visit his old apartment in Toronto back then, with the ratty but comfy couch, the box fan on top of a milk crate, the X-Men and music memorabilia. I didn't need to have long, philosophical discussions with him. I just liked HIM. He didn't need to be a [BIG SHOT].

...Maybe I don't need to be too dang Important either.

If nothing else, it made me make sure to spend more quality time with other family members.

Life sucks, but it's the only one we've got.

END OF LINE

~A.H.

Best Before Date

I read an old thing I wrote on this blog a while ago, and it was not pleasant. It was weirdly mean, to no real benefit. It wasn't clever, even though I agreed with the basic gist of what it was saying. I was also gave myself too much leeway towards using words that make me physically cringe at this point.

I don't want to be the person who wrote THAT anymore.

I put off doing anything creative because of this. I end up hating what I've written or drawn so quickly, I don't see a point in doing any of it at all. What's the point of creating anything if it just turns into a pile of rot in a week? The internet has enough garbage on it, why make more?

why am i even typing this

WHY AM I POSTING THIS

It's Okay If It's Not Okay

I said some of this stuff on twitter, and I'll say it here too:


The death of a friendship is emotionally and psychologically-devastating. It almost makes me glad that I'm incapable of making/maintaining those kinds of bonds with people. Making real human connections is so terrifying, precisely because of how easy it is to sever them.

I thought I would never get to talk to or see my favourite person again. I got a chance to reconnect. I'm grateful for that, and I take it seriously to sustain that connection. But until then, I lived in a hell of unknowing. For 12 years, I was stuck in the pit I dug for myself. Because I did some stupid shit in high school and I never forgave myself.

And that's platonic! I don't think I could survive losing something even more important than that! I am emotionally unequipped to deal with the fallout from a failed romantic or sexual relationship.


A lot of people in entertainment are being held accountable for their sins. A lot of them have done more for this world than I have. If they could fall so low, what chance do I have?


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Conductor Of The Pity Parade

I grew up thinking I could be famous or important. A celebrity. A scientist. A great thinker or provider. A father or husband.


Time went on, and I realized I don't have what it takes. So I decided to aim lower:


Maybe I could be a writer? Or a critic. Maybe I could be a boyfriend on the side. Or maybe that would take priority, and the writing and stuff would be the hobby. At times I wanted to be a comic author, or an artist, or both. I spent years doing those things, and it turns out I wasn't cut out for those either.


I'm 30 now, and I'm not anything really. I barely qualify as an adult. I'm not employed, I'm not in school, I have no friends, no ambitions and no dreams. I'll always be a virgin. I'll never get to have a relationship or start a family. I don't think I have the stamina to hold down a blue-collar job either.

I'll never be somebody.


I thought I was funny. I thought I was smart and helpful and good, and the last 30 years have demonstrated how completely false all of that is.


I don't get to be any of the things I wanted to be. I don't get to be useful. I'm just another nameless cog in a machine that will keep running long after I'm dead.


I have nothing of value to offer the world, and that's why I'm alone. I'm not even interesting enough to have addictions. I'm just another boring, mediocre white guy.

May 23, 2017

It’s my friend’s birfday today, but I haven’t been able to get into contact with them to figure out what to get ‘em. Then money kind of ran out this month after several family emergencies, so I figured I’d draw ‘em something. Maybe their pet. But I forget what their pet’s breed is. Then I forgot their address. Then I remembered that they might be on a camping trip this month anyway. Figures the one time I remember someone’s birthday, I forget every other fact about their existence…

 I don’t know if any of you know this, but I am the best at friending. I’ve got that shit locked down.


END OF LINE

~A.H.

May 17, 2017

I just got back from the hospital. My dad fell down the stairs and hit the back of his head. Luckily he's doing alright now, but we gotta keep an eye on him, and make sure he doesn't have a concussion or something else. Four staples. I'd heard of staples in a surgical sense before, but it didn't occur to me just how... inelegant it looks to have done. Stitches bring to mind a needle and thread, and a soft dexterity. Stapling a dude's head is about as direct as it sounds.

Also, my mom's favourite cat ever died on Mother's Day, so basically it's been a laugh-and-a-half.


END OF LINE

~A.H.

Grand Jury Prize 2014

In December, I went to see The Hobbit: BotFA with my best friend, her husband and my mom. After it was over, I caught up with my sister from a different mister and gave her a letter. A sentiment I'd been holding onto for 12 years. An apology.

I did some stupid, insensitive things when I was younger... well, more stupid and insensitive than is par for the course.

I wanna show you folks something important to me below the break:


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What Have I Done

I have The Hobbit on the brain. Listening to the soundtrack right now while I draw. Even played some Skyrim just to get a watered-down medieval epic kind of feeling. Maybe not the most conventional mindset to be in when making a black and white comic about black and white toons, but eh.


I first heard the Misty Mountains Cold song linked by someone's Tumblr. When I first heard that song, she was a treasured ally. It's weird to think that I'll never hear that song and be her friend again. Hell, this month I had to cut someone out of my life IRL. Someone I'd known since the 10th grade.


I wonder who changed. I doubt I got better, because I feel worse than ever. But every time I talked to him, without even trying, all he did was make me feel like the biggest piece of shit. Like all of the world's problems were my fault. Because I cared about stuff. I really don't even think he consciously noticed. My personal and mental health has to come first, but it's still hard to believe that he won't be a part of my life anymore. It's not a decision I made lightly, and I'm sure as hell going to miss him. I just don't think he's the same person as the man I befriended.


What an awful thing, for people to stop caring for each other. When someone's mere presence is too sharp to hold onto, and when they can't soften those edges. Even if they want to. I had to have been that person to a lot of people.


On December 1st, I'm going to get back into contact with someone of immeasurable importance to me. I don't know if it will be face-to-face or through writing. Some things need to be said. I don't know what I'm going to say. It might be the last thing I ever say to her. Too many people have unceremoniously left my life. I couldn't be there for her when it counted, but the least I can do to honour our friendship is give it a proper end. We both deserve "Goodbye".

Fresh Air & Vapor Trails

I forgot why I wanted to be an artist.


I haven't been able to even think of calling myself an artist over the last year. I've lost count of the people who I pushed away, and the people who just straight-up abandoned me. I lost almost all of the people I wanted to write and draw for. I lost the only audience I ever wanted. To try and start over now would feel like an empty gesture. I thought to gain success and personal achievement without them would be a hollow victory.


Why bother? Why bother getting all of those stories in my head down on paper? Why bother trying to learn anatomy, or research trans issues to better portray the characters in a comic book project? Why bother finishing NaNoWriMo this year, when I failed every other year I tried it, and no one will read it? Why learn to code, so I can design a game for vile, stupid underachievers who feel video games are their to masturbate them? Why should I learn to write a screenplay, for a fascist film industry that has brainwashed a generation into eating its' own regurgitated shit?


Why did art and entertainment matter to me to begin with? 


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I Belong

Four hours ago, I ran into my best friend at a grocery store near my house.


I haven’t seen her in 8 years. I never thought I would see her again.


I’ve spent the last 8 years hating my guts for how I treated this person in high school, wondering if she was still alive even. Or if she’d ever forgive me. Thousands of sleepless nights staring into the dark, killing myself for how I could treat someone who did so much right by me like garbage.


She remembered me. And she was happy to see me after all these years. She wasn’t mad or uncomfortable. My face was red the whole time.


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I'm still here

Last night was one of the worst nights I can remember. I mean, most nights are pretty bad, regarding my depression. Mental illness is kind of an asshole like that.

But this was beyond what I'm used to. Last night was excruciating. I don't think I've ever hated being alive that much. I don't know if I've ever hated everything and everyone in the world with as much absolution as yesterday. I've always struggled under a sense of purposelessness, but this was worse than the last four years of self-loathing combined.

Today was nowhere near as awful. Yesterday was a fucking emergency, and I'm not going so far as to say I'm "better". I don't want to worry anyone, but I also don't want to give anyone the wrong impression. I'm not okay, I'm not out of the woods. But I've got a better sense of where I am now than yesterday.

Being in a constant state of tremendous emotional pain is normal for me. I don't know if there's any way to get better, but I'm not giving up yet. I'm still here. I'll survive.

Lost Amongst Our Winnings

Last week, over the course of four days I watched all eight of the Harry Potter movies. 1-2 on Tuesday, 3-4 on Wednesday, 5-6-7 on Thursday and 8 on Friday. I’m not sure what compelled me to watch them. I guess I’d have to eventually.


I can’t remember a time where I’ve been this unhappy with my life. The last four years have been excruciating, and it’s somehow inexplicably gotten worse every day. I am long past the point where I don’t see it getting better, or manageable. I know it’s only going to get worse. Lately I’m starting to think it wouldn’t be so bad if it all just… stopped. While I don’t have any plans to kill myself, I’ve thought about it a lot more in 2013 than I ever have.



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May 23

Today is the birthday of someone very important to me. It's an important date for me, and every year I try to do something special for it. Maybe by writing an article, or drawing something:




This year... I don't know. I'm not feeling really productive today. And I can't really think of something significant to do this time. (And for the record, this person doesn't know it matters to me, and I'm not really a part of her life anymore. But I do it just to entertain the ritual. Maybe it's my weird way of honouring that friendship.)

There's still time left in the day. Maybe I'll find some inspiration and whip something up. Or maybe I'll just dick around in Skyrim a bit more.


*shrugs*


END OF LINE

~A.H.