How to become Trevor from GTA

Being an autistic social outcast millionaire is not easy. A problem that one at some point in his life faces is an utter misunderstanding of such commonly accepted concept as love.

What I am is I am easily bored. Numerous attempts of building a relationship have showcased me as an eternal hypocrite and you can easily prove that with the reasons relationships existence has ceased. Exhibit one: the girl has suddenly realized that I am a terrible fucking nerd and after sex becoming a more or less common and positive practice, the what seemed as a very tempting and wowing first impression, first discovery, unravels a person with barely any literal substance being (properly) dispatched. “The monotony is real” — I got a feedback from one boo in pure slav. I kind of did wish I, as in the actual cognition that is writing this post, had anything to do with this monotony suddenly swapping in front. Exhibit two: the female is so — I’ve got no idea what is their motivation, but somehow it just works this way — she would not be noticing any monotony and the level at which things are is satisfying-ish acceptable. Brilliant! The irony is that now I got bored and once again, sue me, I don’t really see this as a psychological process induced or supported consciously. The person just stops being interesting. It’s just like with this article and anything I have written or even done ever. Starting of (arguably) impressive and strong, the fucking sentences become a pain in the ass to read as they degrade in fidelity and promote in complexity. Even I get sick of this shit, that’s why I’ve got 35 unpublished drafts on Medium currently.

Back in the day when I was studying in the university, we had a lecture in philosophy. All the lectures in philosophy were more of lectures in talking-about-making-kids-and-picking-career-being-challenging because the Russian education system sucks wiener, but there ya go. Being a loud guy, I’ve dun did participate proactively in the discussion, and one of the cring-iest moments to ever happen in all of those years was when the lecturer has employed a “fuck-you-idiot” tactic to shut me up. What she said is:

Izzy, you are not even supposed to have your mouth open! The only women that would ever buy on you are either too fucking stupid or as fucking weird as you are. And even that, with former it won’t cut because you’ll get too fucking bored, and with latter it won’t cut because you won’t be able interest them enough.

Now back to that clickbait title. I had a terrible night. Now it’s 7:22 AM Friday. Will be packing up and off to work in a half an hour. Tonight I had dreams about one of my greatest loves in this life, and I got no contact with her nowadays. But this whole dream was magic. It was a parallel universe. In it I was still in school in my hometown, however, already working, and I was about to be excluded from school, and I was seriously having thoughts about ceasing education and going to Moscow to pursue career. And this baby was in Moscow. And I was talking to her over Skype, and I cared so much about her. And I care now. We ain’t even got much to talk about, she doesn’t really know much about me, me about her neither. But this dream which I witnessed in such a detail makes me believe and most importantly want otherwise, and I am wondering when this shit’ll get back to normal. And how we even got here again?

I did hurt her. And she said that it doesn’t cut, and she left, blocked me out of her life. I was also getting really bored with her by that moment and coming up with conversation topics was harder and harder. But right now, feeling this wave of feelings, enjoying imagining her voice in front of me again, remembering her smile, I regret. I’ve been a selfish cunt but I don’t see this until this feeling of love strikes me yet again, without it she seems just another sacrifice. Just another water stream flowing further away. And we ain’t ever talking again. And this — The life is not going as we imagined it go. We were talking about her coming over to my city because she was virtually more capable of it than I ATM, we were talking about me moving to Moscow in the perspective… We were talking about the future that we lost (cue Bloodhound Gang — “Diary of a Stranger” lol). The feelings that we then never had. And it feels like shit right now.

And now it hurts me. Maybe I really am misrepresenting the thing called love. It prolly ain’t even a state I am supposed to accept passive, but the state I am supposed to induce aggressively. Pick and person and literally, love! I would really appreciate if anyone actually reading until here took their time and posted a comment, where I am going wrong.

But this lack of control and wasted people, impossible dreams, lost opportunities. They make me mad. They make me cry. I feel pain, it’s cringy, but it’s crippling, disabling. Me claiming having no control back then leads to me having no control today and it’s dangerous. The only fucking thing right now left for me is to bang my head against the wall, and every time a tosspot would start mumbling shit in my face about him needing money “for food”, I swear to god, I want to punch the living shit out of that prick, and all these people on bus, being slow, fat, ignorant, selfish, it’s — fuck, it makes me wanna choke myself of disgusting it is to be among white people, and I can’t help, today I can not escape and can not turn the time back, and bring it all back and take the opportunities I never took, and the only thing left for me, today, without control, to do is to shout and deliberately shit behind the dumpsters in the street only to show with my deviance to the people that this style of living does not work, it doesn’t bring happiness, and it’s not worth it. And then this fucking Michael…