Delayed Gratification or a Fool? I possess an affinity for writing. One of the few “gifts”, and I’m starting to lean into it more often. My personality and demeanor fit writing like a glove. With my eczema and lack of other skills, I’m left cursing the heavens. “What a useless character build” I think as I navigate the world feeling increasingly lost as time passes. When I set out to make 2024 a year of change, I didn’t realize how much I would be writing. The modern world forces everyone to be a content creator. Creating a personal brand opens up the possibility for a lot of opportunities. But how personal should you make a brand?
Am I chasing Delayed Gratification or am I just a Fool?
I decided at the beginning of the year to dedicate myself to content creation and blogging. Even at the cost of “oversharing” I wanted to share everything ups, downs, and everything in between. While I understand having content from a singular source paints me in the best light, for now, there is only one content creator in “Laidback Lifestyle”. Furthermore, I also feel the need to express myself in the way I know best. . .RAGE TYPING.
It’s Not Enough
Although I’ve called my brand LaidbackLifestyle, I’m no stranger to working hard. My whole life I’ve felt whatever I do is never enough. My parents, teachers, and now the world have mirrored that feeling like a still lake. It’s a feeling that’s hard to explain or shake, I find it similar to a “Spider-Sense” of self-doubt. Perhaps that’s why I loved Into the Spiderverse so much. Not only did the character look more like me, but his inner world replicated that of mine. Miles Morales shares the same inner turmoil. He is not Spiderman, he barely knows his place, yet there are all these Great Expectations that he has to hold up.
Mile’s story comes to a happy ending. He learns to use his Spider powers, bets on himself and takes the leap of faith. At the end of the film he has stepped into the shoes of Peter Parker, and fulfills the role of Spiderman with his own personal twist. Whereas I’m still learning how my story will end. Time and time again not only do I believe I’m not enough, but so too does the world reinforce my belief like a positive feedback loop.
No matter what I’ve done in my life. Look at where I am in life, I make over $100,000 a year, I live in the middle of the city, and I drive two sick cars. I still feel like I’m not enough after all these years.
Anonymous Friend
What Happened to Making 2024 A Good Year?
Making 2024 a year of progress, growth, and hustle has never left my intention. Even though I’m neurodivergent, I am still human. I still have varying levels of energy, plenty of faults, and emotions. I just need a longer time to sit and process my emotions before I understand how I feel.
The purpose of the shift in tone for this post is to be real, I can’t fake what I’m feeling when I write. While I’m a fan of working hard, masking who you are and how you feel to put on mask for whoever might read this is the wrong type of effort. Right now I am in pain, I’m hurting, I’m angry and this stupid writing thing is one of my only outlets.
What was so difficult? Just a phone call with my mom. I don’t know what made this phone call go off the rails, but it did.
The Clock Read Around 10:00 PM
The phone vibrated on the table, what followed was a video call alert on his computer. The familiar profile photo of his mom interrupted his work. While editing a video for a YouTube channel that three people watched he wanted to finish before taking calls. He muted the call before typing “What?” in the chat. After a second or two his mom responded “What do you mean what?” . . . I had the impression that “What?” implicated that I wanted to know the reasoning for the call.
“I just wanted to call and talk”. . . seeing this message made him sigh. It was almost late at night and she had no reason to call. “Can it wait for the weekend?” without typing a response the phone and the familiar call alert triggered. He moved to promptly reject the call but before he could even return to resting position the phone was already ringing again. This cycle repeated swiftly twice more before he just sighed and answered the phone. His mom didn’t understand the concept of boundaries other than physical ones. It had taken an ocean to keep the hover parent helicopter from doing its routine patrols and yet he was feeling the wind from the blades still.
Even then he had seen too many movies where the protagonist didn’t answer the phone and their parent died. Life is unpredictable too just be thankful you can call your parents still. . Or at least one of them cares to check up on you.
Well That Escalated Quickly
After starting the video call with his mom things went normally for about five seconds before unraveling like a poorly scripted film.
The conversation started with my skin which is a sensitive topic . . . get the pun because I have eczema. Somehow the conversation steered towards how my skin was a little redder than it usually is. It’s frustrating when your skin is a topic of conversation. Anyone with eczema can tell you that having a skin condition impacts every part of your life. It’s always on your mind, the way my mom was talking to me about it triggered me. I understand she was probably concerned about it but I chose because I had to.
Unemployed for 7 Months
To anyone who happens to stumble upon this article. I’ve been jobless for half a year. It’s not that I wasn’t trying to find a job. I was scraping by freelance gigs when I could, but I didn’t have a stable reliable source of income. When money was getting tight, I decided to cut one of my largest expenses, eczema medication. To clarify I still use eczema Medication every day. Topical Steroids are a necessary evil in my life. I have to apply one ointment to my body, and another medication to my face.
Even with the topical treatments, my eczema leaves my skin flaking, dry, red, and inflamed. Seeking relief I’ve been on a myriad of expensive medications to try and tame the issue. I’ve been on biologics, JAK Inhibitors, and Immunosuppressants all of which are expensive and have potentially dangerous side effects. One medication that worked decently okay was Dupixent, but due to the conjunctivitis side effect, I had to stop it. The other medications I’ve been on were stupidly expensive for only a slight improvement in my symptoms. I was paying around 500 dollars a month between all my medications, and doctor visits. It was just too expensive.
I decided to cut the expensive Oral medications and use only topical medications. My mom wasn’t too happy about it. She went on a tirade.
You’re Telling Me Things I Already Know
What started as a conversation as a conversation about my skin turned into a scolding session. It pretty much boiled down to you’re poor, you should have come home, and you have skin issues. My emotions were a mixed bag. . . it’s not like I didn’t already know these things. There were probably some things I shouldn’t have typed. My emotions got the better of me too. I couldn’t repress my anger and fear. . . I wasn’t just mad at my mom I was mad at the world, I was angry with myself.
“You don’t think I know that? Why do you think you’re better than everyone? You Treat my Dad the same way. . .?”
The string of typing continued . . . I was using the only gift I had left, writing, to cause harm. The violent outburst was enhanced by my keyboard warrior perk. The thing I threw the most insults at was myself.
I HATE MYSELF
I’m a loser, everything I touch fails. The voice in my head grew from a whisper to a scream
“Nothing You Do is Enough. You’ll Never Be Enough”
Don’t Be Suprised If It Bites You
When I was a kid my dad caught a Garter Snake in a bucket. When you’re young I don’t think you’re very good at reading the mannerisms of animals. Handling animals gently is pretty difficult too as you’re still learning how to manipulate your own body. I remember looking at the little snake as it smelled the air with its tongue. When you’re a kid you can either learn the easy way or the other way. Unfortunately, I was the type of kid who learned the “other way” most of the time.
You can handle snakes without them biting you, but it’s probably a good idea to keep your hands away from their face. Moving my hand near its face the snake tried to bite me, but I was able to move my hand away. The danger of the near miss was electrifying. The next time I moved my hand a little closer, the snake reached again. . Too slow buddy. The snake’s big eyes and angry open mouth were oddly cute and entertaining.
The modern saying is Fuck around . . . Find Out. Boy did I find out? After five minutes of provoking the small snake, he was finally able to grab onto my thumb as I sailed too close to the sun. The instant pain and panic caused me to swing my arm around. As a result of the panicked swinging the snake grasped on tighter creating a terrible cycle. Eventually, my dad came over and calmed me down. After holding my hand still the snake let go and slithered off into the rocks.
Humans Have a Snake Brain Too
My rage typing was enough to push a button in my mom and like that snake, I was playing with fire. I love my mom, but she can be a mean person. Her life in High School is pretty much Mean Girls Filipino Catholic edition. Now and again you can see that version of her. Like any human, she is capable of saying mean and scathing things. The meanest things I’ve ever heard anyone say have come from women in general. While this might be an anecdotal thought from my life experience, it is well documented that disproportionately women will use verbal aggression more than men.
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I’d seen my mom use cutting words against my father. Sometimes these words were justified as he would have his problems going on. I used to observe him after he and my mom would have arguments. Sometimes he would stay on the porch to smoke a cigarette and stare off into the golden sunset over the pudget sound. Other times, he would just sit in his car after coming home and do nothing for an hour before coming in. At the time I didn’t understand it much, but after growing up I understand it could be guilt, the quiet time alone, or he didn’t want to be around my mom when she was in a bad mood.
Different Depths of Cuts
It’s not like he didn’t do things to put her in a bad mood, but you can only take so many vicious verbal cuts before it can eat at you. I’m glad my upbringing has gifted me with different tools to express my feelings, but my dad was different. The only way he knows how to deal with things is less than healthy. Gambling, substances, and yelling were and still are his outlets. My dad often said mean things to everyone in our family. As I grew older I realized my dad’s words were only just words, like an angry dog barking, or like Alonzo’s speech at the end of training day. Most of them were just empty threats and posturing. What we learned swiftly as kids is Dad’s “Maybe” was a yes and “No” was a maybe.
My mom was different. When she said something mean it was meant to disembowel. Like a poisoned blade the words my mom used she also meant. While there was rarely physical violence in my house there was a verbal arms race, and my mom had the bigger blades.
This Is The First Time I Was Cut
In our short but heated exchange, I also tempted my mother’s verbal arsenal. I had been hit with the flat side of the blade when I was struggling through high school or college but never cut. Usually, my mom moved to support and coddle me. . even too much that I had to push her off. My own growth was hurt because she tried to protect me from emotional pain. When I didn’t make the select soccer team, she had lied to me and told me another kid’s parent had bribed the coach with a nice jacket. . . It took me almost twenty years to see through that lie. There was no kid with a rich parent, I just wasn’t skilled enough.
To stay on topic, my words also irked my mom and she started to cut me with words.
“You Don’t Work Hard Enough”
I was flabbergasted after weeks of work putting together a power automation system, making these stupid blogs no one reads, and trying to piece together a digital media career that left me stunned. I had also spent years trying to build up skills in the music production space and art. Not to mention living in Japan which has been one of the hardest things I’ve worked for and continue to work for in my life.
“I work my ass off, you think what I do is easy?”
Cut and Bleeding
“None of those things make any money, maybe you’re putting effort towards the wrong things”
It felt like my whole inner world was shattered in half. The oceans of my inner landscape run red with blood. Even the person who is usually my number one fan and cheerleader didn’t believe in my dreams or abilities. Why do anything if it doesn’t produce a financial reward am I right? My mom’s one-sentence stood against everything I had built my life around. Even this whole “Laidback Lifestyle” thing I was trying to build stood on the shoulders of my ideals.
Maybe that’s all they are anyway, just ideals? It was my dreams that told me that the time investment from getting better at my creative skills, storytelling, and walking towards my interests would eventually pay off. But maybe they won’t, it’s most likely they won’t, but I have to keep believing right? I was deflated and floating around space with nothing to ground myself. The weapons in my verbal arsenal pointed towards the wielder.
Loser
When I graduated college I was really into a girl at the place I worked at. We would chat on the job, carpool together, and even go on dates. I still remember the pizza place where I got my first kiss in my life ever. She was fun, free-spirited, and free-spoken. Being neurodivergent I assumed if we went on a couple of dates that meant we were dating right??? Wrong, not in America? As fun and free-spoken as she was she also played games, was she dating her ex was I just a rebound, fuck I don’t even know.
Sometimes she would say mean things about other people or maybe even to me. When she said mean things to me like “You suck” or “Loser” I thought it was in a teasing playful way. . .but maybe it wasn’t. A loser isn’t just something she called me to poke fun at, but something I had always thought of myself as. Sideline star, getting cut from the basketball team, rejected by my prom date. . . the only thing I was capable of winning at were online games. . .but when I reached for the stars there I came up short.
The Firing Squad
A tirade of self-hatred came at the walls of my inner city like a tsunami during high tide. Tearing myself apart wasn’t only something I did physically, but mentally as well. My nails, tearing skin, and blood were replaced by the image I constructed in my mind.
“You don’t think that I don’t know that I’m a loser? Everything I try at I fucking fail. I’m broke, everything in my life is breaking, eczema sucks, my art and music suck, I have fucking nothing? Life sucks and continuing is nothing but a pain in the ass I don’t even want to live anymore anyway. I don’t even know what to say except I’m hurt and I don’t want to talk to you. Nothing I ever do is good enough. “
You don’t think I know nobody gives a shit about my art, music, or this stupid fucking brand I’m trying to push? I always come up short just wow.
Those Guns Are Always There
In my head that arsenal is always there and half-cocked. It only takes one bad week to put them on full alert. My thoughts are a toxic cesspool of doubt, criticism, anger, and hatred directed inward.
I HATE MYSELF
My mom was a little taken aback. She was probably still displeased with me, but she probably expected more attitude and a fight back. Instead, I joined the beatdown of myself.
She typed some encouraging messages but the damage was already done.
“Well you made enough to survive. . . focus on what works”
“Yeah nothing I do works don’t talk to me for a week or two. . .You’ve hurt me.”. . But it wasn’t just her who had hurt me a lot of the damage was self-inflicted. . . she might have been done saying hurtful things but I wasn’t.
“you have two successful kids. . .now let me just fucking soak in my failure”.
“Nothing I do works”
It’s Been A Couple Days
I still haven’t talked to my mom since then. My inner world is shattered like a dropped phone screen. The angry words I directed inwards bounce around my skull like echoes in a cave. They’re not wrong. . .everything I’d set out to do or wanted in life hadn’t materialized. I don’t work in a creative field, I didn’t go to animation school, DJ at a large club or festival. There is probably zero chance of doing any sort of drift event in Japan. All my dreams are just that . . . dreams.
I’ve probably been lying to myself thinking that I or this brand will get anywhere. I had thought if I just keep at things there would be some sort of delayed gratification goodie at the end, but it’s not the case for me. Certain people, creators, and athletes have a special spark about them. This magical creative force and spark wasn’t something I possessed.
It wasn’t that delayed gratification was inbound for sure, it was a delusional pursuit of nothing. I was a fool chasing a pipedream.
Creating to Create
The value of creation should be the act of creation itself. . .the world ruins great things by rewarding or capturing them. When people notice something marketers ruin it by placing ads on it to sell you something. Even things like racing are ruined by politics, sponsorships, pr, and marketing(Although that’s also what makes F1 Interesting as a spectator). The only reason professional sports is a thing is so that people can sell you beer or pizza during the game, but shouldn’t the fun be in just playing the game?
In my philosophy, I believe that life is a game. . .shouldn’t I have fun just playing? Although that also goes against my idea of playing to win. . .but what’s the point of playing if you’re not having fun. . .Jigglypuff players. (I’m a Falco Main BTW). While I want a level of success to help me attain experiences like racing, drifting, or learning believe it or not. I should create just because I like to. . shouldn’t that be enough?
True Colors
My mom said that maybe there is value in my work if it uplifts people. Let me get this straight it’s not my fucking job to uplift you. My writing may depress you, and make you feel sad, heavy, or bleak. I don’t even write for your entertainment, cheers if you find it entertaining, I write because I want to share my true authentic experience of myself and the world. Authenticity is so hard to find in this toxically positive linkedinfyed world where algorithms push positive messages like a dystopian worldwide mood regulator. My platform is a place where you get the real thing. Being sad, upset, angry, and disappointed is part of the human experience these dark periods of our life help to contrast the better times creating a full picture. Accepting this negative side of ourselves helps us to get the image like an old film camera.
Oddly there is a paradox is the acceptance of negative moments and thoughts in our life that ends up benefiting us. 🤔
All of my content is all about keeping it real, ditching the sugarcoated stories for the raw, unfiltered truth. It’s a spot for those who crave a genuine dive into what it means to be human – the chaotic, gorgeous mess and all.
