I play a lot of Fallout 76. Like, a lot, a lot.
It’s late now, and I can’t check, but at least 4300 hours so far.
There’s a reason for that.
It’s pretty simple. I’m crazy. It’s as simple as that.
I had something happen when I was very young.
That thing darkened things, and led to other things.
My whole life has been a struggle with clinical depression. I was diagnosed at age 14. The thing messed me up, you see. It doesn’t seem so bad, all in all. But it was too early, and it changed everything.
I don’t like to talk about my life.
I ran away. I did drugs. I drank. I did all of those things to escape things. I did most of those things very young. I never made friends well – I’m too dark, and I think about things too much. I see connections. I don’t like that. People think I’m crazy because what I instantly see as a pattern is something that takes so long to explain to others, but it is self-evident to me.
My pattern was hating myself, and blaming myself, and hurting myself.
Again and again, things would rise to a pressure – I’d throw things away, and move on. Sometimes to new starts in new cities. Sometimes to the street. At some points in life, I just didn’t care anymore. I had to go away, so I went away.
I did have one friend. One friend who knew me, who couldn’t really understand me but could accept me, always. One friend who’d let me be quiet. One friend who’d trust what I’d say because I just thought in a different way. He followed me to different cities – sometimes he’d leave, too – but sooner or later we’d always be back.
We’d take care of each other. If I didn’t have enough to eat, he would share. If he didn’t, I’d share. When we went to the bars, because oh my, we did drink, we looked after each other.
One day we got into a petty fight. We stopped talking for a little while.
Then I found out that he went drinking with someone else one night while we were angry at each other.
They probably had a great time, good laughs. They certainly got a little drunk, because they did some singing on the way home.
A grumpy person did not like that singing.
A grumpy person beat my friend over the head.
The person my friend was with was not supposed to be drinking, so instead of the hospital, he brought my friend home to his family.
My friend died.
My friend died, and I wasn’t there. I should have been there.
I started going more crazy again, then. Not just depression. It’s fine.
I went for help, and they put me on pills, and they made it worse.
I am not on pills now.
My friends birthday will be in a few days.
I put on a happy face.
As it turns out – some of you couldn’t stand that.
Some of you couldn’t stand even my forced, fake happiness, and you wanted to make my life worse.
So I’d like to thank you for that.
As it turns out, I now have proof from multiple different sources – including an audio message to be shared with the police – that some of those stalker trolls I’ve posted videos about now have my name, phone number, and address. This is not paranoia.
I really don’t care about myself. I’ve been done for a long time. I just wanted to play the game.
I’m afraid of what will happen if any harm comes to my family, though.