The Arsonist

I am Dilpreet.

I write.

I made robots once a year, for four years of high school, which immeasurably changed my life.

Lead Design and Build for
Team 1259, Paradigm Shift, 2013. I'm proud of what I did there.

I've been through... a lot. If you're looking for someone to speak with, I take pride in being a conversationalist.

Home Archive Ask Older Work FRC Network The Untitled

walking, flipping a knife open and closed in her hands

she spots him, frail, barely standing

pained expressions, slow motion

the knife opens

and slides right in

they lock eyes

and she twists the handle 

and although a faint smile

remains on his face

the twinkle in his eyes

shines no more

if you wanted to motivate me

you should have been honest rather than sugarcoat the bullshit


At some point you made me into an enemy, after my house burnt down. An affront to your happiness, a threat to your safety. You reminded me of it constantly, at every opportunity. I should have known when every touch grew shorter, felt more forced. For some reasons I won’t disclose out of respect, you made me into your worst nightmare.

By telling me how evil I was, I began to believe it myself and embodied your vision of me. You knew me so well, how couldn’t I be what you said?

A couple days ago you told me you know me better than myself…you know what? I agreed with you then, but not anymore. You didn’t. Nobody does. You only saw the bits of me that were damaged, but that’s not all I am. Defined by loss and pain, yes…but you didn’t know everything. You were content only with what I told you.

No, you don’t know me better than myself. You don’t have the authority to tell me that when forcing me to cut you out of my life. I have so much I never told you because you only heard, rather than listened.

With the places you come from, I’m not surprised. We came from different worlds. I tried to live in yours, but you couldn’t ever cross over to mine. I can’t blame you. You don’t know what the other side is, not like I do, not like my family does.

There are people who exist that have the capacity to understand. But, because you either chose not to bother or simply couldn’t, you are not one of them.

Nick was right about that.



"When people betray me, I drop ‘em. I really do. I feel like I do loyalty pretty well. When someone’s my friend or my loved one, I’m on their side through thick and thin…but if they start siding against me, that’s it! You’re done, you’re cut out, I don’t need you! With friends like that, who needs enemies?" 

I grew too soft in these past months. Perhaps this will lead me to be the person I was happy being. 

I miss having my best friend. It’s killing me. The person I wanted to keep in my life the most doesn’t want me in their life at all. The fuck’s the point?

in the end, I needed to have her tell me what I already knew. 

it hurt a whole bunch but I’m no stranger to cutting away diseased flesh. 

Why do people have to be this lonely? What’s the point of it all? Millions of people in this world, all of them yearning, looking to others to satisfy them, yet isolating themselves. Why? Was the earth put here just to nourish human loneliness?
Haruki Murakami (via troubled)
“I DON’T CARE!” Harry yelled at them, snatching up a lunascope and throwing it into the fireplace. “I’VE HAD ENOUGH, I’VE SEEN ENOUGH, I WANT OUT, I WANT IT TO END, I DON’T CARE ANYMORE!”
"You do care," said Dumbledore. He had not flinched or made a single move to stop Harry demolishing his office. His expression was calm, almost detached. "You care so much you feel as though you will bleed to death with the pain of it.”

(Source: excepttheeyes, via libbykamen)

I hate myself for what I did, I was so damaged that I hurt you and I hate myself. I want that part of me gone forever, whatever it takes.

I hate myself for letting everything get to me and do this. I’m weak and undeserving of your help but I need it, I won’t get it, but I need it. I was too goddamn blind to see anything because I’m a fucking idiot and I hate myself and I hate myself and I hate myself. I can’t repeat it enough, I hate myself.

An open offer

So, if you’ve been following me for any period of time you’ll have noticed that I occasionally post something deeply personal and give it a title of “Untitled”. Since 2007, I have been writing stuff like this, and in 2013 I compiled the first 28 into one text file and called it “Untitled 1” - different from the first one ever written, of course. I just recently finished the second one, aptly named Untitled 2. 

So here’s the open offer: Whoever you are, wherever you live, whatever you feel about God, love, anger, whatever, if you want to read them, you tell me whichever way you like and I’ll send them your way. I won’t let you read 2 without reading 1 first, unfortunately. It has a bit of a twist, though. Since I’m sharing something so deeply personal, I’d like to at least have some sort of real conversation afterwards. Whether that conversation leads to us being friends or instead makes us both realize we want nothing to do with the other, if you want to read this, I want to talk to you after you’ve done so. About what, exactly, I’m not sure—questions you might have, things you related to, I don’t know. The sky’s the limit here, friends. 

So uh, yeah. If you like reading goodish writing, give me a holler. One thing I’m very publicly confident about is my affinity for writing, and I promise that unless you find me despicable as a person, you’ll at least appreciate what I say in Untitled 1 and 2. It’s one of the things I’m not faking confidence for, too. If you’ve ever wanted to get to know me better, that’s one way to do it, too. 

It’s something on my list of improvements, in a way—doing things that make me uncomfortable, and to be frank sharing myself so openly does that for me. But I want to do this, scary as it is to me, so please, if you want to, I want you to. 

I feel like I’ve been shot - Untitled 51

every little bit of her is slipping away from me and there’s nothing I can do to stop it besides hope that this is all one big nightmare. Please, let me wake up, or make me stop dreaming permanently. I don’t wanna feel anymore if it’s not going to be happy, I can’t feel more of this.

This is how I felt when I saw my dad wheel out the hospital door, thinking it’d be the last time I saw him, this is how I felt when my former best friend practically walked out of my life without so much as a goodbye(2011-2012), this is how I felt when I realized I’d never speak to Mattie Warbelton again, not the way two amicable friends ever could. This is how I felt when I left the Pewaukee house for the last time, the Brookfield house, and how I felt when I rolled up on Capitol Drive to see Best Buy Liquor burnt to a goddamn crisp.  This is how I felt when I lost, reader. This is how that lifetime in India in the summer of 2007 felt, where I was entirely alone, wandering hopelessly, scared. I had no one to actually talk to then, reader. No one was close, not close enough to understand what was going on at home. No one I could call or text or whatever at any time of the day, nothing. That’s how I feel now… except I know what it’s like to have someone who will help you shoulder all your burdens, all your baggage. God, I hope UHS makes the difference. It’s too early to tell.

I’ve lost weight over the past two weeks. I’m not disclosing the amount, but it was notable enough for me to notice before actually weighing myself. I showered before writing this, and whilst shaving, I realized my legs were shaking, uncontrollably. I ate immediately. I am trying to make a conscious effort to eat even when I don’t feel hungry. It is hard to remember to eat when there’s so much else. 

My sleep averages 3 or 4 hours a night. I tried a sleeping pill, and that got me to about 5. I don’t really have a solution to this right now. I’ve been running and working out whenever I find a convenient time to, but it doesn’t help me sleep at night whatsoever. It used to. 

I don’t think it gets better. I’ve been trying to make these changes but the only person who would have helped me make them doesn’t want to help in any way they can. I can’t do this alone and I am alone, reader. I don’t have anyone to ask to help me, I’ve asked plenty of close ones already and I’ve been shot down one way or another. I guess I haven’t been to UHS (university’s mental health services) a bunch yet but that alone won’t fix me, and I don’t have the strength anymore to hold my broken frame up. I don’t think it gets better this time. 

I won’t go out lying down. I’ll fight until the bitter, painful, bloody end. I want to be happy, and I’ll pursue that until I die…but right now, reader, I don’t think it’ll get better. I hope I am wrong, exactly like how I hoped I was wrong when I tried to convince an entire team of people that we’d build a successful robot, whilst secretly believing that we would fail horribly under my leadership. I show an air of confidence to the world, but underneath, I feel scared, crippled, and unsure of everything.

I feel so horrible. This has got to be one of the hardest things I’ve ever done. Please, please, please, don’t break what little I have together. This week has been harder than after the house. At least then I knew there was someone who’d put up with my shit. 

Since you’re gone
I don’t go out
I mope in the house
Yeah and since you’re gone
The days and nights are long.

Since you’re gone
I lock the house
I keep the curtains closed.
And since you’re gone
I don’t do much of anything at all.
Oh this is nothing like I’ve pictured
Forgot what it was like to miss you.
There’s no one to take for granted
Now you’re gone.

I’m sorry
I’m sorry
Come back
Come back
Oh I don’t know what I’m supposed to do with myself
Come back
Come back
Come back

Why did I hurt you?
Why did I let you?
Why did I let you, let you go?
Come back

If you’re an animal person, this is a hard read

I just had a wave of emotion about my pets. I used to have two dogs, a parrot, and a turtle. I loved them all, so much. They made every hard morning a little easier.

Here’s how I lost them.

I lost Squirtle, the turtle, when my mom gave her away. Last I heard, she’s doing well. She was the most recent loss…despite her angry nature, I thought she was beautiful. Of the pets I lost, hers is the only one I’ve healthily accepted and am not torn up about.

I lost Sophie, my beagle, in a house fire. She was part of my life from 2004 to 2014. She died by asphyxiation. My mother tried to find her and get them out before the firefighters forced her out. When we finally found her body, she was laying down, eyes slightly open. I carried her from the car to the humane society when we got her cremated. I said goodbye to her there, but the only words I could actually choke out were “I’m sorry”. Sorry I wasn’t there, sorry my last moments with her alive weren’t as long as I hoped, sorry she left this world the way she did. I will never forget your eyes. They understood everything. They contained a wisdom that transcended humans or dogs. I’m sorry, Sophie.

I lost Gracie, our white poodle mix, in the same fire. She entered my life in 2006, and left in 2014. She died by asphyxiation. My mother tried to find her before she got forced out, too. She was laying down on the couch upstairs, both eyes closed. My sister carried her from the car when she got cremated. I said goodbye there, but the only words I could choke out were the same as for Sophie. “I’m sorry”. For all of the same reasons. I’ll never forget your energy. When I was sad, you cheered me up by being so happy. You didn’t give me a chance to be sad if I ever was around you. It was always play, play, play. That playful innocence helped someone who felt like he lost his way too soon. I’m sorry, Gracie.

The first pet I ever lost was Sam. He gets a little more here because I haven’t written much about his death. He was an African Gray. He was beautiful, in every sense of the world. I fell for that damn bird as soon as I saw him. His awkward waddle, his defensive nature. He’d bite before he’d cuddle. He died in April 2013 when he fell off his cage and snapped his neck. As I understand, he died on impact, no pain. I buried him that day, about an hour after I found out. I cried like a little bitch, reader. Of my entire family, he only was civil with me. He would walk across my house just to flap up to my shoulder while I worked in my room. He did that only for me, reader.

Some mornings I’d hear a scratching at the door, and he’d be there when I opened it. A loud and extremely happy “GOOD MORNING HELLO” would escape his little frame and he’d grab on to my leg and climb his way up, with his beak and two feet. In death, he looked serene. After burying him, I sat there and just…I just sat there. I’m sorry, Sam. I don’t know what to say to you. You were with me for less than a year, but you were so wonderful despite your cold exterior. You made me happy. I’m sorry, birdie.


Someone who truly loves you will be angry at you for so many things, but will always stick around.
(via makemestfu)


you could crush me, please don’t, crush me

(via libbykamen)