How a Broken Heart Improves You: A Personal Valentine's Story

(Note: Originally Written in 2022)

(Philosocom's Directory On Uniqueness)

We struggle and curse-shaking our fists.

Wondering at the heartless design of it all.

Did it have to be this way, utterly appalled.

We are His imperfect creations, lost in the mist -- John Duran

(Background music)

The Day Love Died and Abstinence Began

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, however, 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). She made me realize the worthlessness of the many non-eternal things of this world. That includes all human connections and our attachment to them.

What do I mean by 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. It's because it made me realize that much of what the world has to offer is not that important, in the grand scheme of things.

Finding Meaning in Isolation

Whenever I look at Valentine's Day, I can't help but feel melancholic, not because of the heartbreak itself, but because I realized that there are things I am not "destined" to experience without harm. As long as I am authentic, I will suffer, just like with the social risks of being a philosopher. The wise thing is to find someone who would accept you for who you are, or give up on love.

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. But instead of feeling bad for it, I take pride in it, for I use it to contribute to the world.

I am not talking about uniqueness in personality exclusively, but uniqueness caused by my various disabilities. The ones that make me socially incompetent by default, and thus, struggling to succeed despite the disadvantages. 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. I will aim to succeed in life alongside this, earning power and influence in its shadows.

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 fatigue, 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 the hand I've been dealt, 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. Due to the fact that most people are not depersonalized from their emotions, they might as well suffer far more than me.

I accepted and embraced my dysfunctionality for socially-based communication, and general integration within the rows of society. It's why why I write online, and in isolation. I want to be productive above all, and relentlessly altruistic.

That cannot happen ideally amongst society, who largely prefers hedonism, escapism, and being in-tune with their emotions. Why? Because for me, society is torturous, for it normalized its own infantility, and prefers to be lied to. And as long as I'll be around others, I'll bound to suffer eventually, and make others suffer as well, due to the reasons I mentioned in this paragraph.

Most of you are not strong nor tenacious enough to face me. Unlike yourselves I am dead inside, and I killed my internality so I could walk without a cane. Unlike yourselves I realized, first hand, that emotions are weakness at large, unless they're used as a power source. (Broken Heart Improves You)

I do not know whether or not the certain person which caused my unexpected "enlightenment" to the "dark side", is reading those words. I loved her dearly, but regardless, I have nothing to say to her anymore, other than that I won't let myself be like her. They could've been mine if I was more normal, but that opportunity could've only happened in a reality where I was not so disabled. So different, and as such, so unreachable even within a close physical distance.

Such is the irrational intimidation of the intellect. 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.

But the show must go on, as the cliche goes. And so is my need to transform in accordance to the rejections I use as construction material.

From Broken Heart to the Undead Philosopher

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 cold and calculated mastermind with little actual 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 deadbeat klumnik, specifically due to my passion. A genuinely unfeeling man, who is mainly driven by the altruistic vengeance to succeed.

She said wrong things about me, thinking they were true. But the greatest revenge is a great success. And for denying me the feeling of worthfulness, I will compromise my own happiness in name of success.

I have plans. I remain mysterious.

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.

Instead, I'll work on making my dreams come true. I find it better than whining over heartbreaks.

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. Within there, some of us can grow further, in our own ways. 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. That is, even if it entails becoming a semi or a complete, hermit.

Hidden from the world or not, your choice to live after trauma remains your own, in a world where trauma is natural, just like heartbreaks themselves, capable of emotional trauma as well.