Cornellius

My quick [poorly written] bio.

I'm on FDR because I love philosophy and psychology and I want to live with rationality. I am undergoing a lot of psychotherapy at the time of entering FDR. This biography was motivated by the great pleasure of writing to actual people; in other words, I wouldn't have done it on my own. Thank you for existing.

My childhood was a tough patch, and my upbringing, for lack of a better word, messed me up in a unique and potent combination of ways.

For the sake of their personal interest, my parents brought my sister and me, two years later, into the world. The first years were high on isolation and emptiness. My father left for months intermittently when I was a baby, for a job at the opposite side of the province of Québec I live in. Being an INTP according to the Myers-Briggs classification, I got into legos a lot. But that's all my life ended up amounting to, play. My social development didn't exist until the age of six, when I started to understand the notion of a friend... elementary school was alright. I was a smart and very different kid who had a talent in drawing. I had lots of interests, I loved cities and human ingenuity. The major downside was being betrayed by the few friends that I had when they found more stimulating, mature and popular kids to spend their time with.

My sister was domineering, and my parents, incredibly humiliating from time to time. Their worst outbursts were at the slightest sight of disrespect or resentment on my part. My father could be incredibly menacing whenever I became individualistic. Once, I heard my mother on the phone complain out loud that I was changing, just like my sister. The issue was most of the time the fact that I didn't play outside enough. My mother could chase me around the house and spank me violently for no apparent reason. I was dragged to my room and isolated in there for indefinite periods of time, and ended up developping insomnia. I generated lots of pride from my marginality, but that can indicate exactly how my particularities were seen. They made me marginal. Different, for better or for worse. I was never accompanied through a process, never raised, never trained... just praised or humiliated. In fifth grade, my grades were dipping. My parents divorced in a ruthless and brutal manner. It kind of came by surprise. There was no regard for me and my sister. We had no say in the matter. I was confused. I could've been mad, but I was only briefly. One could say that my parents retained their authority over me post-divorce, but in fact, nothing really changed. Nothing existed between us, and nothing that was strong existed elsewhere in my life, so I was reduced to clinging to the bits of attention and the gifts that my parents would lend me.

For the following years, I became an isolated boy. I started to stagnate. Spent my summers alone, doing absolutely nothing, while my sister squeezed all the value she could out of every week. I had no motivation. My friends became the rejects in school; of course, I became one. High School sort of completed my transformation into a bitter guy. It was five years of my life wasted. And through it all, there was confusion.

I depended on my family for bonding, but that wasn't strong either. My mother became more hysterical post-divorce. She got put on the antidepressant Citalopram without my knowledge, and kept that. She was always volatile, stressed out, and most importantly, fake. Over the years, I developed a sort of repulsion of the smell of her house and the noise of her loud phone babbled that went on for 12 hours a week. Living in her basement ended up making me absolutely insane. My father started to advocate jovialism and contradictory ethics about working, getting out there and doing it, and scolding me for being depressed. The worse my mood got, the more enraged he would become. But I remained their docile little walking ornament, who had to be shaken from time to time arbitrarily just so that they could pat themselves on the back.

Their post-divorce relationships kept getting unhealthier. A few years ago, my mother met a Cuban male on vacation and decided that she wanted to have a relationship with him, even though she didn't speak spanish even close to fluently. She spent months making him immigrate, and cried to me that she was tired of being lonely, and complained that nobody cared for her sick project. Part of the exhausting procedures was to marry him. She was already far within the procedures when she announced me that she was making a Cuban come to live at home. I seemed to depend on the people that my parents got with, as I was so afraid of loneliness. But the Cuban's presence was so unsettling and so disturbing that for a change, I was actually terrified from the thought that the man would be part of my life for the rest of my family life. A man who didn't speak French or English, a man who I had never accepted into my life. Luckily, and horrifyingly, he had a friend in Montreal who came to pick him up one afternoon when my mother was at work and I was at my father's place. My mother got mad for months afterwards and encouraged me to hate the living crap out of the man.

I started college. I couldn't stand my mother anymore. I couldn't focus on my work, couldn't relax, because I had a sort of psychiological reaction to her simple presence. My father got with his third post-divorce girlfriend, a Narcissist. Eventually, I wanted to live every week at the house that they had moved in, just to be able to live. There was no regard to me. The two of them said that their relationship depended on me being away for two weeks every time. I had my room there, and the basement to myself, and I had to go live at my mom's. The girlfriend was lecturing me on how I needed to take care of my mother, and that was why she wanted me to live there two weeks as usual, but it's simpler than that. THE B*TCH HAD A SAY IN WETHER I COULD STAY AT MY FATHER'S HOUSE. Eventually, I understood that he just wanted to have his little idyllic ivory tower to live in. I'm still trying to understand his motives for the weird ways in which he started to alienate me and my sister.

One night, I was panicking and asked him to help me not commit suicide and he screamed in my face and went into a false panic stroke himself. I still wonder why he did exactly that, because it was so irrational as usual, but I know the effect: it confused, repressed and alienated me.

College went worse and worse. I did architecture, visual arts and humanities over two years, but I ended up quitting it. I went on the web a lot. I came across Libertarian and Right-Wing speakers on Youtube. I became a Nihilist for a while. I started a blog on depression and I started to see barely competent health professionals. I stopped working. In between, I clashed with all my family, more and more intensely. I started getting episodes of existential panics, feelings of being bound to eternal helplessness. I rebelled, became resentful. I got into enlightenment, but not rationality, so I ended up with anticonformity but no much sanity.

I stopped studying, and moved into an apartment which my parents paid for, and got onto welfare in december of 2013. My life became calmer. I could finally go on the internet without being scolded about appearing lazy or irresponsible, which I was. I kept on exploring the rabbit hole further down. I gradually broke with my family, and traversed bits of undescribable meandering emptiness, in which I had an internet fixation, and could barely do any self-maintenance. My disorganization became worse and worse, but I became more and more rational. At the time of writing this, I am still undergoing this tumultuous and mentally challenging... reset stage.

A month ago, I quarelled with parents on the phone very often, falling into the trap of lowering myself to their level by argumentating with them. This loss of hope in the future, this intense will to express myself turned into self-destructive actions. On day I tried to reason with my father, exposing his murderous negligence, which ended up with him brutalizing me with brutal humiliation and physical assault in an empty parking lot. The reality that my parents had been putting on a façade their whole lives, had no empathy and not even a shred of interest in truth was so baffling to me that I ended up slapping my father in his backyard. He immobilized me in a brutal way on the ground, screaming in my ear and twisting my arm for 10 minutes as a stranger was crushing my ankles. The policemen came and condescendingly interrogated me and took me away. I hold trauma from images of my father's murderous facial expression, his girlfriend's narcissistic smile, the immobilization and the policemen. Yes, a lot of things went down. I had suicidal thoughts, crying fits, panic attacks, you name it. At the time of redaction, the legal process of assault against me initiated by the sociopath who impregnated my mother is coming to court.

I have decided that my family is better left ignored. particularly for the pleasure of knowing that no future personal contacts with them shall occur.

It was living in my apartment that I discovered Freedomain Radio. I may have committed suicide without the buffet of truth that is the site, and I would like to thank Stefan Molyneux for his generosity and the purity of his soul. However, I don't want to turn this into a publicity. My story is to be continued, and left on a cliffhanger as I put it. It feels like a cliffhanger. During the better part of so much growth, and so much learning, so much is at stake at the moment, so much more than ever before in my life.