For many, Valentine's Day is either a very happy day to celebrate, or a day where one remembers something—or someone, more specifically—that is no longer a part of their world. For me, a person who has never experienced true love despite my age, Valentine's Day is still an important day, because it was on that day, 7 years ago in 2014, that my path to optimal abstinence from the world truly began.
There was a certain person, who was basically the overarching antagonist of my mature life (i.e., the one who initiated my change to the "dark side" of society, who is not necessarily a villain), who made me realize the worthlessness of the many non-eternal things of this world.
What do I mean by that? I mean that over time I became a partial nihilist due to all the experiences I have accumulated thus far, and that partial nihilism eventually made me a self-proclaimed ascetic, with that relationship, of that specific person, being the biggest of said experiences, because it made me realize that much of what the world has to offer is not that important, in the grand scheme of things.
Whenever I look at Valentine's Day, I can't help but feel melancholic, not because of the heartbreak itself, but because I realized, because of it, that there are things I am not "destined" to experience without damage, caused innocently, by myself.
To further explain the whole thing—as I grew up, I realized how dysfunctional I am, due to my unfixable difference from "most" of society. I am not talking about uniqueness in personality, but uniqueness caused by my various disabilities. In other words, after years of analyzing my situation with that specific person, I now believe I am too eccentric for general society, and that my place is in its corners, permanently.
The belief that, "I am too unique for society" is not used here in arrogance, but in sorrow. It's the feeling that rises when I realize I could've been someone else, if I hadn't had Asperger's, and if I did not suffer from other disabilities associated with the mind (GAD and fatogue, to be specific). It is on Valentine's Day when I realize that this specific person, that I loved most, could've been mine, if I wasn't "cursed", so to speak, with undesired uniqueness.
Thus, understanding the magnitude of what I was given by existence, I did not become a misanthrope, but simply a hermit, because I know that any person in the world can eventually trigger the negative aspects of my being—even if they have no ill will whatsoever—and make me suffer, with justification or without—it doesn't matter.
What matters is, I am too dysfunctional for general communication, and general integration within the rows of society, and this is why I write online, and in isolation. I want to be happy and be productive—that cannot happen ideally amongst society. Why? Because for me, society is torturous, and as long as I'll be around others, I'll bound to suffer eventually.
I do not know whether or not the certain person, whom I loved dearly, which caused my unexpected "enlightenment" to the "dark side", is reading those words, but regardless, I have nothing to say to them. They could've been mine if I was more "normal in the head", but that opportunity could've only happened in a reality where I was not so disabled.
Their reasoning for this abandonment of me was that they are too premature—but deep inside, even this weird one knows, that they could've returned to me in any time they wanted, because it is reasonable, as I experienced with others, that my undesired eccentricity is repulsive; rejecting; weirding-out.
I do so wish they were mine if I was different, but instead of becoming a lover, I've turned to the dark side, thus becoming, "The Undead Philosopher"; a thinker with little presence among the living; a shadow of something that could've been greater if a different hand was dealt; a writer living on disability money, but refuses to be a leech, specifically due to my passion; a genuinely-sad man, who almost entirely is happy away from the potentially-harmful presence of others.
To summarize—some celebrate life in Valentine's, others contemplate the long-gone past; I just remember it as the thing that made me realize that I have no other dominant reason to live other than to write until the inevitability of death. Even so, I do not wish to die yet, but whenever I'll do, I won't be regretful for things that I cannot change.
Let this be a lesson to all of those who see themselves as uniquely undesired, that the shadows, too, can be comforting, if not satisfying. Many will not get to escape from said undesired-ness, but at least you can do your best to have a life that has been well lived, even if it entails becoming a semi or a complete, hermit.
