It's the truth. And the fact I've gone as long as I have without doing so should tell you how twisted up I feel.
It's kind of amazing to me how often I feel compelled to write at ungodly times of the morning. I guess I haven't because there's no one out there reading. It's not just the writing, but the need to tell stories. To explain. To explore.
But that's likely why I don't have anyone close in my life. My obsession with the world's vileness and my own impotence as a man over the sustained period of time that has been my adulthood. I don't know how to get over it. I don't know how to just push on and live. Giving up is the only thing I've ever been successful at.
I don't know where I'm going with this. I can't even seem to forge a narrative with what's going on in my mind.
I guess I'll just spit it out. I'm angry and bitter at all the women who used to be in my life. I don't want to be. It's not fair to them. It's just weakness on my part to still dwell on them, but I can't not do it. It's been, what? 2 years? Since Shannon told me off. I still think about her at least once a week. I miss the kinship. I miss someone I could talk to about anything and who would engage me back. I miss her. Like, her personality, the things about her that made her unique. The worst part is I know I fucked it all up and I don't know how I did it, I don't know what exactly I did. I just know it was my fault.
Hell, I even "miss" Sara, as much as a person can miss something that was a total fabrication. She was a lie. Everything about her. The purveyor of wanton destruction she sowed, and I don't care. I don't even care that everything she ever told me was a lie. If she somehow called me and said she wanted to grab a bite of eat, even if it was on my dollar, I'd happily oblige. So she never had a twin that died and whatever, I don't care. She's still a fucked up person, just in a totally different way now and as I've often said, I'm attracted to broken things.
I really don't care about myself anymore. I have given in to just numbness. I used to wonder how people ended up the way they do. Ever head to a gas station late at night and see the people who can't seem to walk straight and have buggy eyes and stringy hair? I always wondered how they get to that point, at 50, 60 years old.
And I know that'll be me. I'll have a heart attack at 40 and be glad about it because the way my life is turning out, I know I'll be some worthless grifter by then.
People always say no one loves someone who doesn't love himself. To those assholes, I tell you no one loves himself that receives no love. I don't stand a chance. I have years and years of miserable, abject failure and so each failure adds on to it. When people wonder why I flip out when I fail, it's because I've never fucking won at anything. Do you know what that feels like, to be 27 years old and to not be good at anything, to never rank? People who try to cheer me up always say I'm smart. Fuck you. I know I'm "smart," whatever the shit that even entails. All being intelligent has got me in life is the ability to see my life in a way that means there can't be any happiness.
When people get on my case when I'm angry at myself, that is just the most intolerable thing. I'm already beating myself up way worse than your dickshin face ever could. I've been beating myself up for 15 fucking years. And to have someone who isn't as "smart" as me give me some shitty advice on how to deal with it, I want to punch them in the jaw. How about when I lose it, you just tell me you care about me? I would probably go catatonic with shock if I ever heard "I love you" from someone that wasn't my family. Hell, even hearing it from my fucking family at this point is such a shock and a jolt of positive energy that's totally absent in my life, I don't know how to react.
I think I've done enough whining for today. Hopefully I can pull my head out of my asshole sometime soon here and get back to just attempting to live. Won't happen. But, you know, gotta try and end these things on a positive note. Right?
