If you happen to be reading this, dear reader, it’s probably because you couldn’t find me on social media anymore, thinking that you were blocked, and are looking for an explanation. You were not blocked. I can’t keep putting myself through things that are doing more harm than good; much of the time being only harm and no good, so I had to deactivate social media. Whatever time I continue to have isn’t going to be spent viewing people’s lives I will never be a part of and will never experience moments with.
Things have only gotten worse. I would tell people not to worry about me, but… sometimes I lie to protect myself or to spare others from feeling the things that I feel. As of this writing, I have been laid off for 565 days… with no end in sight. I’ve had only two interviews and was absolutely crushed by not getting selected to the second round, after being told there is only one more left in the process, and when asked if there was anything about me that wouldn’t make me the ideal candidate, given basically zero feedback to my direct and confident question. I am left with only two conclusions: Nobody can look past the employment gap or I’m not worth anything to them.
I even wrote an article on that ridiculous “facebook for work” website, which will not be mentioned by name (you know the one), about how hiring someone who has been out of work for a long time is actually a better candidate than someone who is just immediately hopping to another paycheck. After posting it and then going to so far as to put it in my social media story, flat out asking my “friends” to like and repost, explicitly stating that it would “mean the world to me”, I got 2 reposts and 5 likes (one of the likes is from someone who just blindly likes everything, so that’s basically just 4 likes). There were far more people who viewed my social media story post than actually liked or even read the article, even though those people are also connections on the site where the article is posted (there’s an analytics tool on the aforementioned “facebook for work” site that let me know, just how there is on here to let me know if someone read this post). What does that say about the people I consider(ed) friends? What does it say about me? These are people who like and repost garbage content from people they do not even know – you could call those people “influencers” if you want. Those people couldn’t care less about the people liking their reposted content and unoriginal perspectives, but it makes them feel cool or something; hoping maybe someday they’ll get a #followforafollow, but it won’t come. I wrote directly from my heart, and nobody gave a single solitary fuck. It has shown up over 500 times in someone’s feed, but only 5 likes. It has gone over like clogs on a greasy floor. That’s actually a terrible analogy, because at least people would notice if someone wiped out on a greasy floor. The article is more like a mute at a concert or maybe teardrop in a monsoon.
Every day is a struggle. Most of the time I am upset upon the realization that I woke up the next day, only to go through this living hell all over again and again. I’m just tired. I’m tired and I can’t keep putting myself through this. Eventually that “I can’t” will turn to “I no longer wish to”.
Nobody is coming to save me. Nobody is going to help me anymore, and try as I might, I am unable to simply help myself because to solve the joblessness issue I need another person to believe in me. “But I believe in you,” you might say. You’re not the one I’m trying to convince to hire me, so you don’t count. I’ve finally sold the last two possessions that are worth anything, in a desperate attempt to get a little bit of money, but it’s not enough and I have nothing left to sell, with rent currently being 4 days past due – the latest I’ve ever been on a rent or mortgage payment. I can hear the onset of tears in my mom’s voice now when she calls me. I think she actually now believes me when I say I’m out of options and there’s just nothing more that I can do, yet this time around there was no offer of my stepfather loaning me more money to keep my head above water. I truly believe that she calls every day to make sure I haven’t opted out. It’s no longer curiosity as to what I’m up to or trying to paint the picture of a lazy son who is too egotistical and proud to take a shit hourly job. I already told her that the shitty retail jobs won’t hire me because I’m overqualified and they know that they would soon have to interview a replacement for me; besides, I live in a large college town and it’s now September… so even if someone would allow me to work a minimum wage job, the jobs are gone and given to the kids… at the same time, even though I am qualified for the professional positions that I have applied to, I do not even get the courtesy rejection emails; I get silence, which is even worse. I no longer believe that I am “smart” or have any skills whatsoever.
I can hear the fear in her voice. I had my phone on “do not disturb” the other day when she tried calling. When I eventually checked my phone, I got a text from her saying she tried calling, but it didn’t even ring. I imagine she went into full panic. I’ve thought about that fear she must have felt in the couple days since it happened, but it rings hollow. Setting myself on fire so that those around me can stay warm has never served me, so maybe it’s time to give selfishness a try.
In one of the last desperate attempts to find some kind of meaning/purpose/way/connection, I decided to go to a local shop. I was reminded that psychedelics are decriminalized where I live – one of only a handful of places in the country. I stopped in, had a good conversation with the owner, and bought an eighth of shrooms (3.5 grams if you’re wondering), along with a DMT pen. I’m sure that you know what shrooms are, dear reader, but if you don’t know what DMT is and what it’s supposed to do, just look it up.
I’ve seen countless accounts of people who said that the experience of both, especially DMT, changed their lives forever, with some even saying that either compound kept them from checking out forever. They’re considered by many to be a medicine, not simply some “drug”, and there’s scientific evidence to back the introspective and healing properties of these experiences/trips. I had nothing to lose, so I made tea out of the entire 3.5 grams at once (yes, the shop owner said that was well within a safe range and not considered a “hero dose”. I’m no hero anyway). I got just about nothing out of the experience. Everything I’ve seen in my life about tripping on shrooms was a lie. I was fully aware of my surroundings, felt no spiritual or emotional support or guidance. Maybe some nice colorful patterns when I closed my eyes, but that took up about 5 minutes, even though a trip is usually 4-6 hours.
The next day, I worked up the nerve to try the DMT pen. I had been cautioned not to take it by myself and to have a “sitter” with me because while the experiences are known to be very healing and life changing for the better, they can be very traumatic, but I don’t have anyone in my life, and even if I did, can you imagine how freaked out they would be if I approached them and asked them to hang out in a room with me while I potentially freak out? Yeah, exactly. The experience is only supposed to last 10-20 minutes in the real world, but there’s a sense of time dilation for the person taking the DMT. What is 10-20 minutes for the sitter in the room, can feel like an entire lifetime or more for the one experiencing the journey. The pen has about 6 full experiences worth in it, so I used up one of the five. I didn’t even get a single notable result from it and 20 minutes felt like 20 minutes, never once losing the grasp on reality that I was just sitting in my back room with the lights off. I did, however, take way longer in between hits on it (supposed to take three inhales in quick succession, but spaced it out a bit out of a little anxiety about it). No matter, I thought. I will try again the next day, which was yesterday.
I went back to the store, learned more about the shrooms and what I could have done differently to change the outcome of the experience. I had taken it as a tea, instead of eating them, so I was assured that tea likely contributed to the minimal experience. I bought another 3.5 grams of a different type of shroom. If you are wondering, there are ones that are just supposed to be “fun”: ones that enhance colors, induce synesthesia, and other things that you might associate with mushrooms, however, I wanted the ones that gave more of an introspective and learning experience; I was not looking at this for merely an escape, but to help fix what I believe to be broken inside of me and put in the internal work.
Determined that I would finally open the invisible door, I went home and promptly chewed up the entire bag, got comfortable, and began some meditation to help my mind be where I felt it needed to be. Nothing. In an act of either desperation or defiance (maybe both), after an hour or so of feeling even less this time around, I proceeded to deplete the remaining five trips on the DMT pen. “There has to be more than this and I am tired of being denied entry to jobs, relationships, and the universe” is essentially what I said to myself. Surely the universe has to acknowledge me after this, even if it meant I essentially got sent to the nether realm for a potentially horrifying experience; at least I would actually FEEL something…. Nothing.
So at this point either I am dead inside or neither DMT (aka “the spirit molecule”) nor multiple types of mushrooms feel I’m worthy enough to even bother with. Maybe their silence or indifference IS the sign. As the hours pass, I believe this to be more and more likely and am less inclined to persist in this Sisyphean exercise that I choose to put myself through every day.
What a shitty way for a shitty story to end. I always believed there was so much more. There was so much promise. I’m just tired.
Happiness by the Milligram 