Emotionally Amputated

I'm not going share this entry on Facebook or Google+, because I don't want it to look like I'm trying to milk the subject for clicks, because right now it seems like everyone has something to say about it.

I had to write a little news article about how Blizzard are going to pay tribute to the late Robin Williams by including him as an NPC in World of Warcraft. The first thing that annoys me is the ever-repeating wave of wisecracks bringing up that same old argument: thousands of people die every day and now we're all acting sad and depressed, just because some celebrity died. And there's only one thing I have to say to you guys. Fuck you.

Just because you don't personally know someone, just because they weren't friends or family and you didn't hang out doesn't mean you can't be sad when they die. Many people grew up watching his movies, enjoying his standup comedy and just like some of you get overly attached to ancient 8bit gaming systems or Saturday morning cartoon shows, others get attached to certain films, actors and the characters they played. Some draw inspiration from them or find their role-model. I wasn't a huge fan of Robin Williams, myself, but it pisses me off when people want to dictate what one should or shouldn't feel sad about. Just shut up.

What annoys me even more are people, who argue whether or not depression is a "real disease" and call Williams a selfish coward for ending his life. Depression is the darkest, most soul-crushing form of loneliness. Imagine seeing your firstborn child for the first time, hearing their first words, watching them make their first steps and you feel absolutely nothing. You know you're supposed to feel something, there is this magical bond everybody talks to you about, you know there should be something, but you're completely detached and watch the whole thing like a neutral bystander. If anything, there is despair, because you know there is something wrong and everybody around you expects you to feel something, so you pretend to make everybody happy.

Imagine your father dies, suddenly, unexpectedly and without warning and week after week you're waiting to cry, you're waiting to grieve and there is simply nothing. After you've already felt nothing when both your grandparents died a few months earlier. Everyone around you at the funeral cries, everyone is sad and heartbroken. And you try to fit in. Be normal, even though you know you're not and there's something wrong with you.

My friends, readers, fans, people I work with, nobody has ever met me face to face. I get dozens of people asking to meet me at events like Gamescom right now, role-playing conventions, people want to come over and meet me here in the UK and I always ignore them. I don't want them to see me. I don't want them to meet the real me. My blog, my columns and articles, everything I do online makes people laugh. When I have to meet with neighbours and family I make them laugh. I'm good at that. It's a persona. It creates a safe distance and distracts from the real me.

As a child, I had to deal with more abuse, alcoholism, violence and other bullshit than I want to bore you with. I tried to talk about these things with my father a few years back, just before I left the country and moved to the UK. He felt like I was attacking him. Told me it's ancient history and I should get over it already. But that's not how it works. You don't just "get over it", without ever being able to talk to the one person, who was responsible for all the drama and pain. Nobody cared, nobody listened and I didn't matter at all. Wouldn't have made any difference had I not existed at all.

You don't want to know what it's like to just exist from one day to the next, having absolutely no reason to get up in the morning. For the most part, I didn't feel "sad" on the bad days. I just felt nothing. I didn't care. About myself. About life. Swallowed a whole box of pills once to see if I'd stop waking up altogether. It's hard to describe. It just felt more interesting than life, if that makes any sense.

My partner loves me and cares about me today. I'm building a decent relationship with my son. I'm looking after our ever-growing collection of pets. I have the one job I always dreamed about as a kid. In a way, everything turned out okay for me in the end and I'm glad those pills just severely fucked me up and didn't kill me. I enjoy life and I'm happy with things the way they are, though I'm still far from normal.

I don't miss my family back in Germany. Everyone was happy to see me at the funeral, but I didn't stay in touch and it doesn't feel like it matters. I'm still not crying over the loss of my father or my grandparents. And I'm still pretending.
I'm not suicidal. I'm not sad. I've learned to deal with the whole thing my own way and I'm leading a reasonably normal life. But that shit doesn't just go away over night.

-Cat