Who am i and what am i supposed to do. Im robert. I’m 23 and this is a story of how one destroys one’s same person, his own self. Back in 2012 I finished secondary. I decided to apply to study mechatronics in a close town for i had no idea what i really wanted to do. I got in. I went to live in a dormitory. I quickly turned into a reckless young depressed alcoholic like person. I failed almost all my classes during my first year. I had zero motivation to do anything productive, also broke up with my long term firstloveofmylife kinda person. I was fucking a girl at the dorm who we started to have feelings for each other after a while. We were almost like a couple except I was trying to continuously deny it. I succeeded. First summer after freshman year I went to participate in an eu youth exchange for particularly no reason, joining in randomly to present the topic of biogas. I met a lot of cool people, had a great time, met this girl. A foreigner. She kinda struck me at that times as young exciting creative artsy smart adventurous amazing person I was hooked on in a second. So we ended up having a long-term relationship for more than three years. We went to see beautiful places, had amazing times together. In the meantime, I came home and decided to be a chef. I was so ambitious I wanted to take on the Michelin star even before knowing what professional cooking was. I saw Gordon ramsay as a god to obey and worship. I finished school, I wanted to work for him. I applied to work at about fifteen restaurants of his, all located in London. I got a lot of criticism for this choice of mine to leave university and abandon the idea of ever becoming a professional with a proper Masters degree. A place calls me for a trial, I fly to London the next week, for good. I was ready to take on the culinary world even though I had no idea about it. I was ready to live the best way of life and celebrate capitalism, making decent money that I’m worthy of, learning overwhelmingly fascinating new techniques, working with the best of the industry, with the best ingredients, in a great place of London. I was humiliated on many occasions, I failed their expectations, I was brutally overstressed and overworked and cracked in only 2 months. I couldn’t continue there. My dream was scattered, but carried on looking for a new job. I went to work at this Italian franchise, learned how to make pasta and pizza from frozen ingredients. I had fun for like 2 months. Open kitchen, new casual way of work, same salary. My colleagues were all miserable, except for one guy who was a mouth-breather. They made me miserable too. I couldn’t do more than Septerber, 2015. I discovered the great world of investing in the meantime, I was trying to make money on the stock market. I did well, too well at the beginning. I made loads of money out of hardly any. The gains, however were quick gone. I immediately hooked on the brilliant stories of the market. I started to study a lot, learn how to trade the markets. I built my own strategy. That’s what I thought. I was emotional, greedy, lost control all the time and went in for more. Even with the losses: I was so hopeful all the time, every time I had a failing stock I usually put more money on it, to risk more, I knew that a reverse was in the making shortly and did not want to miss the opportunity to become a millionaire. Only it didn’t happen. Did I make a lot of money? I surely did. I got lucky sometimes. My “calculations” were right, my predictions were correct, I felt like a professional. I would brag about it, waste the cash I had on me, celebrating occasionally: restaurants, clothes, free-time. I thought I was winning at life, I finally managed to hack the system – I thought to myself. I did imagine the life I would live once the big money hits the house. I was sure it would happen, it was only a matter of when. My idea was: soon. It never happened. I wasted all my spare money on this. This was the first step. I didn’t give up. I never did. When I lost everything for the first time, that was a tough timing. I was feeling alone as anything, I smoked every time I got the chance to. I was ready to bail and live the happy life, and bamm, this shit happens. Why me? What did I do wrong? Why do I hate myself? How could you do it to yourself? I came home from work, 2 am, I felt the urge to go out to a prominent club in the heart of London. I bought some sketchy pills from a sketchy guy. I took half. Next thing I now is im sitting on a couch, my heart is racing, my body feels almost paralyzed. I was scared to death. I jump up I ran to the bar, ordered water, drank it like my life was depending on it. Spent the next hour or so in the bathroom, almost unconsciously. That day I woke up, hit the market, lost everything in a matter of minutes, or hours, I cant really say, it felt like seconds after it happened. My life was over at that point. I went to get the mop bucket. I filled it to 10 cm high. I went to my room, sat at my desk. Grabbed the electric hub, got a knife, cut the cord in half, cut the isolation off the wires. Plugged it in. put my feet in the bucket. Put the wire end of the cable in the bucket. Got the remains of the horrible pill from last morning. Took the whole thing. I wrote a goodbye note to my family, saying sorry and expressing gratuity. I was crying like a maniac. My mind was lost. I was lost. I was nothing. I felt like a big empty hole. I was so ashamed. What have I become? How could I do this? Why did I come here? What the fuck am I doing so far from home? At this crappy place? In this room for half my salary, being a slave? I thought about my funeral, I imagined the people crying and mourning. I was there, I was dead. An empty body. Something erased. Over. No more second chances. No more failures. This is it. Maybe another start on the other side – I did sure hope so. I was not hopeful at all. I was scared, frightened. I was completely gone, already dead inside, being half on the other side. I reached out to the switch on the socket. I didn’t do it. I continued crying. I was destroyed, a little baby having no idea about anything of the world. I was scattered for days. Then my long-distance girlfriend came to live with me in London. It was the worst timing, I had zero money to move to another place. I ask my parents to lend me 1000 pounds, I wasn’t even able to save in more than 6 months. We moved in together, I got a place to work at again. I made some money, I put it on the market again by Christmas. I lose everything, I even lost my job in the meantime, the place gone bankrupt. I was head chef at this place, was there from square 1. I was once again scattered in pieces. We got through Christmas , I flew home in january, told my parents that I have no job nor any money. I still had to go back to the uk. I didn’t want to give up as a failure. I wanted to try again. I also felt responsible for my girlfriend. We moved to a bigger, more expensive place in October before. It was fun at first, although I was already in depression. In January I made a deal with my grandparents who lent me 1500 pounds and I promised to pay it back this year. I also promised them I would never go back to the markets again. I went back to London started to work at a uk pizza franchise, now as manager. I was great at this job. I got a bit confident doing it. My team loved me, I kinda liked working there too. In the meantime I applied to come back to my country and start university again. This time as psychology bachelor. I re-did my final exam in English, got in the school summer, 2016. During my first months at my new job I started getting back on my feet pretty well. The first decent amount of money I made and could really spare I put on the market. I told myself I would make the money I owe my grandparents in no time while working. I made some money, I went in cool headed, controlling my emotions, not taking too much risk. Until one day I did. That was it. I was destroyed once again. I came home to start school, leaving my job and my 3-year long relationship behind. I started to feel more hopeful, even starting developing my own company and idea. I still had 800 pounds saved. I told my parents when I came home that I had all the money I owe my grandparents plus some more for myself. I lied to them. It was not the surprise. I always did lie to my parents, starting elementary, to avoid facing the consequences of my actions, especially ones I was potentially facing some kind of limitation of my personal freedom. I can’t take that. It never really worked anyway, as it turns out. I’ve never learned from my mistakes, I made sure I repeatedly committed them to make my life ever more miserable and questionable. I don’t understand this thing. It frightens me. I lost all my money left after the American elections in November. I started dating again in October. Dumped the girl yesterday, 16th december. I told her I couldn’t do it. I don’t think I could. I can barely continue to live my own life keeping this secret, being obviously dark and depressed these days. I can’t keep this in any longer. I feel destroyed and overwhelmed by the misery I caused to myself. Not once. Not twice. Four times. I need help.
Submitted December 18, 2016 at 08:35AM by puttitlehere http://ift.tt/2gYRPnx
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