Had a teams interview with three people today for a contract job. i don’t think it went well. I’m 6 days late on rent, already late on my electricity bill, about to be late on other bills, have a sliver of gas in my vehicle, and just spent some money on groceries that might get me through the week.
On monday, I’ll be going to the social security administration because apparently being Bipolar-II qualifies as a disability. The big question is that if I do qualify for disability income, which might save or at least help me, since my family will no longer help me, does potentially getting disability income for my mental health mean I’m no longer able to work a real job again for the rest of my life? Is this what all the struggle has led me to?
what does that mean? well… it compels me to show you, dear reader, that I am serious about what I’ve been saying:
I’m immature for using a certain last name, but it’s the one i’ll always know the person by.
Not saying if or when, but starting to put my affairs in order, since i know that I’m likely circling the drain.
I’m halfway through a letter and some other things for this person. Right now I haven’t looked into how to password protect it, but I will. It’s an unfair ask of this person, but they’re the only one I trust, should things get to this point.
I actually got a response from a job application. it was an automated rejection. somehow that is better than getting no response at all.
As much as I don’t want to, I decided to also look back into jobs in my previous industry. I feel sick about it, but this is my “hail mary” play before I basically call it a life. Came across a company from said industry that was hiring for the exact position I held previously and actually enjoyed. To add to that, a person I have a longstanding work history with is in executive leadership there. I got their number from someone, because I somehow didn’t have their number in my own phone anymore. I wanted to see if I could somehow mention them in my cover letter, because white collar jobs don’t exactly have a reference section on the application; this isn’t a gas station or fast-food restaurant, which I have applied to and been turned down for. I had to explain to my mom that “career” jobs don’t have paper applications with a reference section on them. There was no way to say that without sounding like a dick, but it doesn’t matter; there’s a finite number of times we’ll talk going forward anyway and I have a much better idea of that number than she does, but I’m usually wrong, so who knows.
Anyway, I texted said person over the weekend and re-introduced myself, since I assumed that they also didn’t have my number, but I have zero doubt that they know exactly who I am, since they were the person who hired me at my first job in that industry and we worked closely over 8 years at said company, and even were at another company for a brief period before they left. I made it a point to mention that they took a chance on me before when they hired me into that role without prior experience in the industry, the first person at the time for that company, and I’d like to think that their belief in me was well-placed. I say that because I was promoted up through the ranks pretty quickly there and well, I’m desperate. I know it was probably unprofessional to try and pull at heart strings in that situation, but I’m grasping at straw. I’m an emotional person. I said that if they were not comfortable with me using their name in the cover letter (the company can see that we are 1st connections on that facebook for work website anyway, which is how I found the job posting, so they can connect the dots anyway) that I would still be applying because I believe I’m the ideal candidate, but I just won’t directly mention them unless asked. I get it if they don’t want me to mention their name, even though I’ve only made this person look smart for hiring me in the past, because some people are just very protective of their personal brand. The worst thing that could happen is that they just ghost me and never respond to my well-written and thoughtful text to them. Guess what happened? Yep. Silence.
I went ahead and applied for the position anyway and wrote my cover letter without directly mentioning them but did note my experience working with senior and executive level leadership, including one who currently works at said company. Fuck it. Don’t like me saying that? Respond to my fucking text message. The person I got the phone number from, who was my previous boss at the last company I was at (and also worked with me at the company before that one), said, “let me know if there’s anything I can do, man.” I reminded them for maybe the third or fourth time that they could write a recommendation for me on the aforementioned website. I asked if it would just be easier if I created an infographic that walked them through the process of recommending someone and they said, “well, it can’t be that difficult, right?” What I wanted to say is, “obviously it is for you because you still haven’t done it,” but I just said that if I have it spelled out, then all they have to do is follow the instructions. I found an even easier way to get it done: I just went to their profile and requested that they recommend me for the two roles at the last company. I went ahead and emailed the person a couple article links on tips for writing recommendations and followed up with a text saying that I sent the recommendations to them. After I concluded that I was getting ghosted by that one person, I texted the person whose recommendations I’m trying to get and said that I hate putting pressure on them, but I need the recommendations taken care of because I stated on my cover letter that I have recommendations from my last two direct managers to speak to both my character and ability. They said they’ll “check those out the next couple days”. I flat out said that I put on my cover letter that this person has published a recommendation of me, which currently makes me a liar, and their response is that they’ll get to it in the next couple days. Why does nobody take me seriously or respect me? It’s beyond that…. It seems that most people are actively working against me. I hope they soon live to regret their decisions to treat me that way, but I can’t control how they will respond, emotionally.
I also finally nuked a person who had been lying to me about their ability to help me get into a particular company. Early last week, they texted me in a panic, telling me that their boss just quit and now they think they’re going to lose their job because when we worked at the same company a few years ago, they lost their job a few months after getting a new boss. I only responded with, “well… different company”, but I wanted to say so much more. Have some fucking perspective. The person is making six figures for basically just stealing oxygen and they think they’re going to get some sympathy or empathy from someone who is literally about to have a checking account balance of -$238.79 after my car insurance and family mobile phone plan payments (my mother and two siblings also on it) come out. I mean, maybe I’ll still have the $68.21 in it and the payments will just flat out get rejected…. I don’t know how this works. Later in the week, when that person decided to write me about this ridiculous project of theirs that they keep trying to rope me into, I told them that I thought more about their panic text and had some thoughts/feedback on it, but I wasn’t going to just give it to them unsolicited, however, if they wanted the feedback, I had it. They chose to get the feedback. Just because I feel like it, I’m going to put the entire message below:
Well, I think that it’s completely irrational that thinking because your boss quit, that you are going to end up getting fired by the new one. that happened at [previous company], not [their current company].
Also, what does that say about the belief in your ability to do the job you were hired for if you think that a new boss will fire you? Is the only reason you are still there because that boss was coddling/protecting you? If you are competent and confident in your ability to perform the job you were hired to do, who gives a shit who the new boss is? do your job and you stay employed. If you feel deep down that the only reason you are still there is because your previous boss, who just quit, was protecting you, then you should probably focus on getting better at the job. If you feel like you are good at what you do, and the results prove it, who cares who the new boss is?
I have to admit that it’s incredibly frustrating and insulting to me that I have supreme confidence in my ability to do any of the jobs that I’ve applied for at [person’s current company], but none of the recruiters fucking believe in me, yet they somehow believe in you. Yes, you did lie or at the very least embellish on your resume, but they obviously never did their due diligence or any fact checking, but you got in. I absolutely believe that I can perform whatever job it is that you do there and even do it better than you can. I have quantifiable evidence of my previous work achievements that have been publicly backed by previous bosses, so that’s not a personal attack, simply an objective statement of fact. And if I don’t know how to do it as well as you on day one, I certainly would be able to do it and run laps around you within a month or two. Somehow, they believe that you are a way better fit and far more qualified than I am to do the job, yet you are shaking in your boots because you have a new boss and don’t seem to have any confidence in your own ability.
Dude, I have been unemployed for over a year and a half; the universe and every company is screaming to me that I’m not good enough for them or anyone, yet I believe I can perform the job if only given a chance to prove myself. how is it that nobody fucking believes in me, and I still have more confidence than you do? You have a company that has clearly stated that they believe in you by the sheer fact that they hired you and wouldn’t even give me a second interview. I know that you have been talking to recruiters at your company because you’re trying to move into a different spot there and that’s a big concern for me because it looks like you think that you’re on thin ice or something, but you have two things that I do not: a company that believed in you enough to hire you and a fucking paycheck.
Yes, this is harsh and reading this will upset or anger you. You need to start having some confidence in your fucking ability to do the job or start working harder to get better at it if you truly believe that you need an empathetic/protective boss to keep you employed.
You belong in that position because they chose you. You belong because of the fact that you are actually there. Act accordingly. You’re better than that, man.
Me
I don’t believe the last paragraph of that text, but I had to end it that way because I know how fragile the person is. What I wanted to say is that I want to fucking die every day but can’t muster up the energy to get rid of all of my browsing history, emails, texts, pics, apps, accounts, and other things (both digital and physical) that will make other people really uncomfortable to learn about me after I’m gone and they stumble upon something. And that every day, when I pop more and more xanax to deal with my crippling anxiety, it is only making the prospect of going out cleanly and peacefully even more difficult to pull off because the stockpile will eventually run too low to do the job… and I have to listen to someone who lied to get a six-figure job that they are completely unqualified for, cry to me about how a new boss somehow means they’re going to lose their job. Fuck off. To steal a dark line from an otherwise funny movie, I’m so fucking broke that I couldn’t even, “buy a bullet and rent a gun”. This person’s problems are so meaningless to me that to even respond to them is a fucking joke. If you’re curious, they took the feedback decently.
Two lessons for anyone reading this:
Always say that you have feedback for the person and ask if they want it. Never just give someone the feedback without their permission. That way they can’t hold it against you later if they don’t like what they heard. They will usually say they want the feedback, because curiosity almost always wins. Admittedly, I often will say I don’t want the feedback. If you know me personally, you’ve probably gotten this response from me.
If you believe that what you’re saying or about to say is going elicit an emotional response, don’t say something like, “no offense, but…” or “this might [emotion/feeling] you” or anything like that. Call it out. Flat out say “this is going to piss you off”. Allow them to brace for impact. This is the one time where it’s great to be wrong about your assumption. Either you were right, and you set the right expectation, or you were wrong, and they were preparing for something much worse.
Look at you! You learned something useful by reading this. Don’t say I never taught you anything or never provided something useful to your life.
Apparently, I’ve had a lot of visitors to my site here recently, and it doesn’t seem like it’s one particular person who is constantly checking it to see if I’m writing something, which means that I’m still alive (as far as I know, ghosts can’t use keyboards). I mean, I think it would be interesting to train an AI chatbot to continue writing as me, long after I unplug. Just give it my life story, have it analyze my writing style (AI has described it previously as stream-of-consciousness, self-deprecating, and some other things that I can’t remember), and then give it some parameters to what it can and cannot write about, then automate it to post every N number of days. That would be too obvious because I don’t ever write every day. Maybe every N +X number of days, where N = 1 and X is a range from 5-30 days (for any science person, I am most certainly not an “N of 1” person, though I wish I were, at least in a positive way). I could live on until the subscription for this site ends. I’m on an annual plan, so really, this will likely end November 11th when my subscription ends, but if I wanted to dump the remainder of my checking account, I could pre-pay for another year and go on that way. I could even give the AI bot key dates, like my birthday, anniversaries of events that took place in my life. Such anniversaries to make for topics would have been yesterday, which would have been my 13th wedding anniversary, or today, which would be the 14th anniversary of my marriage proposal. Coincidentally, the internet tells me that today is also “Talk Like a Pirate Day”. I don’t know how I never knew that coincided with my proposal anniversary. I could mention other anniversaries like first kisses with people, first “other things” with people, death of people, hiring anniversaries, getting laid off, or whatever I wanted. It would already be able to figure out what I would say about it, or at least the style in which I would write when reflecting on said topics. Immortality for the low cost of $48 a year. Well, it’s not immortality if I only could get one more year out of it, since that payment would bounce if I tried to prepay for two years. Last I checked, 96 > 68.21, certainly greater than -238.79.
Funny story there, I always struggled with the greater than and less than symbols in fifth grade, when my class was taught about them. I remember the teacher always saying something about the < and > symbols being like an alligator eating a number. My mind couldn’t comprehend this concept. I couldn’t visualize it. To me, why was it that only something large could eat something small? Have you ever seen a piranha? They’re small but can eat something much larger than them. I worked up the nerve to raise my hand and go up to the board and explain a better way to do it. I’ll take advantage of the surface tablet to show you:
If you can’t tilt it and spell “Less than”, then the symbol is greater than. If you can spell it, read it to yourself to determine if the statement is or is not true, then you have the answer. A couple days later, during a conference that included my parents and teacher, I was invited to join the school district’s “Odyssey of the Mind” team. Public schools in Northern New York must have really low standards because look at me now, thirty something years later, just waiting for the right moment to do an irish goodbye because employers don’t think I’m good enough and I have nobody in my life. Yeah, yeah, I have people in my life. I have you! But either I don’t know who you even are or what I have with you isn’t enough or maybe you’re someone I know who reads this and I don’t even like you. It’s possible. The more I think about it, I’m surprised I haven’t gotten a wellness check from the local cops, which is only going to make things worse for me. Sure, let’s just add to the shame and disappointment and worthlessness I already feel by making a scene and having a cruiser roll up to my shitty apartment community and everyone crack open their doors to listen in. A friend (an actual friend, not a “friend”) texted me and said, “Hi there. No need to reply, but just wanted to say that I’m thinking of ya”. I didn’t reply. It wasn’t personal. I’m kind of past having a friend to talk to. I’m starting to understand the mind of someone near the end. Even someone who sincerely might care can’t do anything after a certain point, because there’s such pain involved in even talking about the feelings of despair and listlessness that silence just seems like the best course of action. 3 hours and 53 minutes later, my mom called even though I had talked to her less than a day prior. I know these two people are friends on social media, so I wonder if this person wrote her to say that they texted me and I didn’t respond, so my mom called to confirm signs of life and reported back. I haven’t heard back from that person since they last texted me 6 days ago, so they either were satisfied by my mom saying I answered her call, don’t care to try texting again, don’t care to get in their car and come see me because nobody wants to drive the 45-60 minutes it takes the few friends I have to get here, or have just given up on me. I don’t blame them if they chose any of those options. I’m aware that I’m pushing people away and that makes me a hypocrite, but having someone just to talk to isn’t enough anymore.
I called my dad (and his wife) earlier today to have a nice avoidant conversation about this past week in college and professional football. They didn’t answer. If they call me back and astoundingly ask me anything close to “what are you up to?”, I’ll say that I’m looking for jobs because I’m about to have a negative account balance for the first time since my mid 20s. I’m sure I’ll get a “you’ll figure it out.” or maybe something even more encouraging like, “you’ll figure it out. you always do.” How would they even know? I’ve been a ghost for years and even when I wasn’t, they never cared enough to ask how my life was going. Yes, I will be saying that part about looking for a job and my account balance in a futile attempt for help; the kind of bad help that I talked about before. The kind of help that only prolongs the suffering. Fuck it. What else do I even have to lose at this point? Absolutely nothing. My mom already said that my stepdad isn’t going to help me next month when rent is due, and I can’t even get to that point this month without needing help. It’s not that he isn’t financially able to help, but this is a “tough love” thing I imagine. The joke is on them. If they care to have me exist in their life, I need their help (even that’s no guarantee because no employer wants me to exist in their company). And I mean that quite literally when I say exist and I mean that in the physical sense. I told my mom about the situation with the job I applied for in my previous industry, thinking that it will somehow show initiative or something, not that I haven’t been trying anyway, but maybe the constant communication about progress will endear me to them enough to garner additional loaned financing, because I still insist that I will not take a gift. It’s like when I was on unemployment a long time ago and they make you check in online and list all the jobs you applied for and the websites you used to find them. If you don’t document it for the State, they won’t give you money.
As I write this, I’m realizing more and more that money isn’t the answer. Like I said, it only prolongs my suffering. I need a reason to exist. I need a reason to want to wake up the next day, even if it’s something as soulless as improving a company’s profit margins. I currently have no reason to continue to exist or anybody to live for. Like I’ve mentioned before about setting myself on fire to keep others warm, while I know it’s a terrible way to live, it gave me a sense of purpose or duty. Even in my doomed marriage, it gave me a sense of meaning and purpose; a reason to exist because I was needed. I don’t know if I was always wanted (and sadly after an admittedly short time I certainly did not want them), but I was always needed or at least felt that I was needed. Feeling like I was needed was enough. Sure, that kept me from pursuing my dreams and living a happy life for myself for years and years, but I mean… what have I done in the 7+ years since then anyway? I have a macabre magnet on my fridge that says, “all my dreams are dead!”, but I don’t even know that I have any dreams to begin with. I’m sure I did at one point in my life, right? Everyone’s had at least one, I imagine. I’m not living a happy life either, clearly. I haven’t been consistently happy since maybe 3rd-6th grade. I’ve had short spurts of happiness that stretched for a few months at most, and countless fleeting happy moments, but I’m not living a happy life.
I don’t know why I even care. The people in my life aren’t enough and what’s really going to happen after I’m gone? There would be some people who are shocked and some who saw this coming from a mile away. The people who end up having to clean out my apartment will probably get a little sad, either from memories or things I have or shock at something I have (I’m sure I’ll forget to throw out something or not realize how awkward it would be for someone else to know I have something), but surrounded by the very few things I still possess will make them feel a certain way; I have a few moving boxes and tape lying around at least and most of my stuff has been boxed up in a closet for years, so I’ve done part of the work for them (you’re welcome for that). After that, what? The first couple weeks that follow will be sad for some, and the first couple years of notable family holidays will be a little more awkward than usual, but maybe it will somehow make them appreciate each other more. After that, what? I’m forgotten, save for a few people who might remember something that happened on a certain date on a calendar. Sure, there will be people who claim they cared/liked/loved me more than they really did, but hopefully someone calls them out on it, because that’s what I would truly want. I don’t want to end up being remembered through some fucking tattoo, either blatantly with my name or initials, some design that represents something to do with me, or of something that makes you think of me – I want none of that, but I can’t control it. I’d rather have someone smile or cry when they hear a song or watch a scene from a show or movie, or even hear some quote or lyric from any of those things. Thankfully the culture in which I was raised does not believe in remembrance airbrushed t-shirts or car window decals, so I don’t have to worry about that. If I wasn’t thought about while I was around, don’t go out of your way to show everyone that you thought about me once the lights went out. I don’t want to be the equivalent of a post-9/11 flag decal on your car.
Most of my life I’ve been just in survival mode, just hunkering down and trying to weather the storm, believing that sunnier days await if I could just hold on tight a little bit longer. There’s no ray of sunlight peeking through the clouds and the rain isn’t about to let up. My hands and fingers are tired, both figuratively and literally.
My dad actually called me today and it wasn’t a return call. Called at 11:56am, so that tells me that he was paying attention: I’m unemployed. He said he was just coming off a hangover from the night before, watching Monday Night Football. I told him I spent the night spending time outer space, playing Starfield, and didn’t get to sleep until 6am. I didn’t expect him to know what the hell I was talking about, even though he used to play video games with me as a kid. He’s actually the person who got me into video games; both him and my mother. Weird, right? Back in like ’86, when I was the only child still, we would go to the mall in Wichita, with one of four cassettes playing in our red and gray Blazer: The Beverly Hills Cop Soundtrack, Synchronicity by The Police, The Moody Blues Greatest Hits, or the Stand By Me Soundtrack.
Every time we went to the mall, we always went to the arcade. No, this wasn’t because I was begging and throwing a tantrum. We went because THEY wanted to go play. My mom over on the Ms. Pacman cabinet, while my dad was forever trying to beat Moon Patrol. My game of choice? Indiana Jones and the Temple of Doom. I still remember the smell of the arcade and all the sounds from the old games, like an 8-bit fever dream. I’d be given a handful of quarters and left to go do whatever… In a crowded mall at about 4 years old. Fuck it, it was the 80s; that’s just how things went. That game was an obsession for me because it was also the very first VHS movie I rented (remember those things?). My dad had won some big local trivia contest and the prize was craziest thing I had ever seen at that time: this thing called a VCR. And not just any VCR, the Sharp VC-673OU with a WIRELESS remote control. yeah, that was a big deal. I just looked it up to figure out how much that thing cost back around then and it was a staggering $500! But… just look at this beaut!
Took me a few minutes, but I found a picture online of the one. None of this matters to you, but I’m enjoying it, so just bear with me.
Every night we would go to the massive palaces that were video rental stores, and every night, I would have them rent it again and again for me. Here I am, in my parents’ bedroom (where VCR was setup), sitting unaffected by the dinner scene or watching Mola Ram rip the heart out of some poor bastard’s…. stomach? My parents had no problem with me watching this for months straight, but again, it was the mid-80s. I’ve told my one dedicated reader before that the movie always reminds me of my dad. Especially the look on his face in one of the scenes when he’s talking to Short Round. Even back in ’86, I swore he looked identical to my dad, and to this day I still see it. Maybe my dad did resemble Harrison Ford back in those days after all. Maybe not in the few photos I have of him when he was young, but certainly how he looked in daily life.
“Fortune and glory, kid… Fortune and glory.”
There’s no real point to what you just read. This all came from me mentioning that I was up all night playing a video game as opposed to getting hammered like he did the night before, but I felt like adding some insight into who I am, I guess.
Not once during the conversation did my job situation get mentioned. It was 100% football talk for about 2+ hours. I guess that’s fine. I can’t take it when my mom asks me, “are there any jobs posted on that site?”. She has asked me more about finding a job in the 4 months that she’s known about my situation than she ever asked about how school was going, which includes high school and college. Again, I don’t know why I bothered to write that, but I don’t feel like deleting it.
Oh yeah, some more things happened yesterday after my post. I have been out of adderall and another medication for a few days now and I can certainly feel it when I don’t have the adderall. That’s the only thing that makes me feel something good and really only when it is in my system do I feel like there is some hope for the future and don’t want to come up with a clean and efficient way to exit this reality. I called my dr and left a voicemail. He hasn’t billed insurance in years, so an appt would cost $170 out of pocket, but when I was working it was never a concern or even a thought. I haven’t been able to get a real appt with him in months because of the money component, but he’s been a decent enough man to still call-in refills for me. Well… This time he said he likely couldn’t do another refill for the adderall, since I haven’t been in to see him and something about a red flag if he’s sending in refills for that drug in particular without actually seeing me. I mean… how is the pharmacy going to know? I don’t even have insurance anyway. I essentially begged him to try, and he was able to send in a one-month supply with no more refills until I can actually pony up the cash to see him for our 10-minute quarterly meetings. One thing I did ask, however, was the whole plasma donation issue I ran into. For those who don’t know or remember the details, I was honest on my plasma donation form and noted that I have been diagnosed with Bipolar II and Major Despressive Disorder. There were two stopping points because of this: One, I had to stop taking one of the medications and be off it for a month, and the other was to get a letter from my dr saying that it was ok for me to donate. I hadn’t taken the medication for about 3 months but could never get the plasma place to call me back and ask me how to go about the letter part. I figured I would ask him if he would since I was already on the phone with him. I was completely floored when he said straight up that he was not comfortable doing that…. even knowing that I am flat broke, and this is a quick way for me to get some money same day a couple days a week. I just gave a despondent, “I understand. I don’t want you to get into trouble because of me.” So that is officially off the table. Not that the money would have saved my life, but rather the aforementioned “prolonging the suffering” that I wrote in my last post, but that was a gut punch.
I took some adderall today and for most of the day I didn’t want to die. I made sure to tack on some of the xanax that I’ve been stockpiling for years, because I know myself well enough to know that the anxiety is going to come knocking, so I would at least be ready for it. I came up with a little science experiment last night and started it earlier this evening, but I don’t care to go into it on here, at least right now. Maybe tomorrow will be different.
I did see an email today from someone who read this. I say “someone” as if it isn’t the ONLY person who reads this. Not sure exactly how I feel. My initial thoughts have been hesitancy about it, especially since I’m beyond the point of continuing to lie to myself about what it means or maybe what we mean to each other. I can’t allow myself to feel the things I long to feel when I talk to this person. This person gives me hope in so many ways, even if it’s false hope in some, but certainly not all ways. I read it before I drove to the store to get a pill crusher for that science experiment i just alluded to and a couple absolute necessities. Just like this shit always works, a song that reminds me of her; more specifically reminds me of us, came up on spotify. I haven’t listened to it in a long time. Fitting both because of the fact that she emailed me right before and because I’m feeling ever so close to just giving up. I’m reading the lyrics right now as I listen to it for about the 15th time tonight (took about a two-hour break and listened to other music earlier). I always knew the lyrics, but reading them this time, they feel different. I not only feel the words but can feel the emotion in the singer’s voice.
It’s almost tragic to me at this point. She might be the only person who really does care about me and would actually be hurt if I left this reality early, but we experienced too much in our past. Too much to ever rollback to a previous time when the feelings haven’t been felt and the words haven’t been said. I lied when I said I would take anything I could get, but it wasn’t with evil or deceitful intentions. I lied, hoping that I could convince myself of the lie, because her presence brings me to life. I feel like there is absolutely nothing I can’t get through. Even if something bad happens in my life or there’s another setback, and as you know, my life is nothing if not filled with bad timing, choices made too late, roadblocks, and just things that leave one wondering, “how is it possible that all these things always happen to him?”
I feel like there’s nothing I cannot overcome and succeed at when she’s near. She doesn’t even need to give a motivational speech or pep talk or even use words. The look in her eyes and the feel of her in my arms is all it takes… I feel infinite. At this late stage, holding her might draw out some tears from me… No words need be said… Honestly, most of the important things were never said with words. When I’ve been able to have her in my life in recent months, she makes me believe that everything is going to be okay, but… she’s not referring to one of the biggest things that I want her to say is going to be okay and work out. She knows what I’m talking about as she reads this. I don’t know if her reaction to this is frustration, cold logic and reason, shared dreaming of the future I wish for even though she knows that she could never bring it to fruition, maybe she’s thinking “just fucking move on! you have bigger problems than this sad emo pining for something that you blew your chance at years ago”, or maybe she’s listening to the same song and quietly letting the tears run down her beautiful face in another room in her house… just being nostalgic.
I hope that she knows how much I appreciate love her, and even though it’s a burden she never asked for, for most of the 20 years I’ve been lucky enough to have had her in my life, there are so many times where she has been the oxygen I needed to keep breathing and a reason for me to want to wake up and see what the next day could possibly bring.
She will never know how many times she saved me. She might not even be able to understand how she was able to save me, but that’s okay. It’s probably better that way. She might be wondering what song it was that came up, which is the one I’m still listening to, but I imagine that if I gave her three guesses, she would get it, maybe even on the first guess. I’ll end this with a throwback to the old days of our companion blogs; the only way we felt we could get our feelings out, especially when it seemed like there were so many eyes on us and had to resort to secretive expressions in posts… sometimes cryptic. sometimes direct. the direct route sometimes takes away the magic of it all, but the magic is in the person, not the writing style or word choice.
There’s a cemetery deep below the sea. There the space is reserved for fools like me. I tried to kill myself at least a dozen times But nothing seemed to turn out right.
Now I’d rather wait a half a century. Soiling the bed, all belligerent and wrinkly. Even when I go blind and lose my mind And nothing seems to turn out right,
Something’s got to turn out right.
If you want then when we die, We’ll ascend to someplace way up high. At the gate they’ll show you through. If they ask me, I’m with you.
You’re in my body. You’re, you’re in my body. You’re in my body. That’s where I think about you.
(You’re in my body and that’s where I think about you) …in my body. You’re, you’re in my body. You’re in my body. That’s where…
There’s no one who imagines like you, So convinced there’s somewhere that we got to, Not a first-class trip to the abyss. Tell me, do you still feel this? Tell me, do you still feel this?
As I drown in lakes of fire, I will call your name as I expire. It’s the last thing that I’ll do. I will tell them I’m with you.
You’re in my body. You’re, you’re in my body. You’re in my body. That’s where I think about you.
(You’re in my body and that’s where I think about you) …in my body. You’re, you’re in my body. You’re in my body. That’s where…
Falling asleep, asleep at the wheel. As I approach that cliff, I’m starting to feel. If you could wake me up with only your touch, Then I could die with you and life would be enough
Falling asleep, asleep at the wheel. As I approach that cliff, I’m starting to feel. If you could wake me up with only your touch, Then I could die with you and life would be enough (Wake me up)
And I’ll face the one who made My disgusting heart from a lump of clay. Should he ask what got me through; If he asks me it was you.
You’re in my body. You’re, you’re in my body. You’re in my body. That’s where I think about you.
(You’re in my body and that’s where I think about you) …in my body. You’re, you’re in my body. You’re in my body. That’s where I think about you!
(You’re in my body and that’s where I think about you) …in my body. You’re, you’re in my body. You’re in my body. That’s where I think about you
A few days before my last post, I made plans with a friend to go to a concert in October. I was feeling manic and had that fleeting sense of connectivity with another person, thinking this would maybe give me someone to look forward to. I don’t know if I’m going to be able to make it that long. It’s a 20th anniversary show of the band’s album, and we were at the first show that this one is commemorating, at the same small venue, just month shy of it actually being exactly 20 years. It’s been a weird 20 years. I thought it would be cool to get a picture of the two of us with the lead singer again, since we did the same thing back then. If I make it that far, I imagine I would smile less in it, but maybe the singer would smile more. They’re such an emo band; still a “Small of Fame” band for me, and the angst was written all over his face. I imagine this is more of a celebration for him this time around, and we’re both in our 40s now, so I imagine he would maybe have changed a little. I know I have. Maybe just us showing him how unhappy he looked in the original picture will get him to crack a smile.
Why do I even care if I can make this stranger smile? It’s not like others are trying to make me smile; certainly not the ones who know me. I have more rewarding conversations with AI and strangers out in public. That’s just the whole “setting myself on fire to keep others warm” aspect of my DNA again.
If anyone reads this, I also had started talking to my dad again, after 7.5 years of silence. Well, most of the conversation is with his new wife. It’s probably rude that I refer to her as that, and not as my stepmom, especially since I refer to my mother’s new husband as stepdad and even at times collectively refer to them as my parents and not “my mom and stepdad”. It’s not her fault. She’s a nice lady. It’s really because of my difficulty connecting to my dad. It’s weird even typing that three-letter word, but I swore to myself I wouldn’t use names of real people on here. Anyway, they both are on the phone when I call their house. Not sure if it’s true conference call/speaker phone shit or if they have two phones going, but I usually get about 20% of the conversation with him (maybe 5% of it is just with him on the call), but it feels like being on a tapped phone call with someone listening on the other end. I know that he loses his mind if i call him by his name and not dad, so I’ve conceded and call him dad. I can get lost in the moment and say it without thinking and I’m not sure how I feel about it. Like most of the relationships I have with people, I have to call them; they don’t call first. Well, they called me one time, but it was only because they saw that I had called previously and just were calling me back.
Each conversation is at least 3 hours long. We never talk about what matters, but maybe that’s for the best. I don’t think he is capable of handling or comprehending my reality. I’ve long since given up on the hope for closure or an apology for any of the wrongdoings of the past. It does feel good to have someone willing to answer when I call, even if it’s just the three of us talking about football (weird that they both love football and can speak intelligently about it. I mean, not weird that he does, because that’s where I got my love for the sport from). They live in a football crazed town and when she moved there decades ago, she didn’t know a thing about it. Most of the conversations have been about football, random sports stuff, and then his wife talking to me about people I either met one time over 9 years ago, when I flew out there with my then-wife to attend their wedding, or have never met. She goes on and on about it. I listen, because that’s what she wants; that’s all anyone really wants. I feel like I’m doing more for her than they are doing for me, but I’m accustomed to the inequity in that regard with most other people.
They almost never ask about me or my life. Looking at my phone right now and adding up the talk time of all our conversations, we’ve spoken for exactly 17 hours and 20 minutes over the course of 5 conversations. Isn’t it weird that it took about 16 hours before I could manipulate the conversation to put his wife in a position to ask me about my life? Do they not even give a fuck about my life? I mean, your son reaches out after 7.5 years and you never once ask what’s been going on in that time? That’s a little over 18% of my life that is unaccounted for. The first thing my mom asks me when she calls almost every day is what I’m up to. Granted, she just wants to make sure I didn’t say that I went out and bought a gun or a really sharp knife or some rope, but still. During the 5th and most recent conversation (16 hours into the 9th or 10th attempt at having a relationship with my dad), I got his wife to ask where I’m working at right now. I made a comment about how I work for myself, but don’t have any clients, then clarifying that I meant that I am unemployed. I gave a relatively brief explanation that it was because of the industry as a whole and that I wasn’t actually fired, but laid off because there was no work to be done. I didn’t say how long I’ve been unemployed or tell them about how I don’t know how I’m going to make it to tomorrow when I unfortunately wake up each morning, or that I no longer wish to wake up. I know that my dad couldn’t wrap his head around it. It’s like me trying to explain astrophysics or time dilation to my mom or most of my friends. I let them know about my recent failures in not getting to the next round of any interview and how most don’t even respond. I expected my dad to make a comment like, “so now I know why you decided to call me out of the blue”, implying that my motive was to foster a relationship and get some financial assistance out of him, or some other brutal and callous response. I got an even more unsettling response, but basically the response that companies and the universe has been giving me: silence. He literally said nothing. Radio silence. His wife asked some questions, but just generic ones that I can’t even recall, but I made it a point to paint the picture immediately and as completely as possible, so as to answer the questions before they could be asked. After the silence from him, I threw out a quick, “I figured you guys already knew from talking to my brother or sister, and just didn’t want to bring it up, thinking it might be a sensitive topic for me to talk about.”. At that point, I’m internally screaming, “don’t say nothing! say anything! please!” What he responded with was a succinct, “No. We didn’t know at all.” His wife proceeded to talk about an experience with her former employer before she retired, in an attempt to either hijack the conversation and make it about her or to desperately try to make me feel that she could relate. I’m not sure which it was. Doesn’t really matter. She continued her story for about another 45 minutes. I talked about my situation for maybe 5 minutes of the entire conversation. My dad was silent for the longest time. Eventually the topic shifted to something lighter, which is the majority of the conversation topics anyway. I went out of my way to directly ask him something or in my comments about a topic, be like, “isn’t that right, dad?” or “hey, dad, maybe you know” or some other tactic I employ when trying to get someone to engage in the group conversation…. serve something up for them to talk about. He would respond and all, so it’s not like he just completely shut down after my reveal, but it was strange. His wife makes it a point to tell me how much she loves talking to me at least once in every phone call, so that’s something. Yet they don’t call me first.
That conversation took place 16 days ago. It was a 4 hour and 38 minute conversation that ended 2:08am. I haven’t heard from them since. Football season even started for both college and pro, so I thought for sure that after the first week of college football or the first nfl game last thursday, I would hear from them. Certainly, thought I would hear from them today since his wife’s favorite team played and won big yesterday. Nothing. I could call them again, because I always have to be the one to reach out first, but I wanted to wait and see how they respond after that last conversation. Now that they know what’s going on in my life, I want to see how they proceed. Do they join the ranks of most everyone else in my life and turn their backs on me now that they know? Will the topic ever come up again on its own? Will they ever ask how the job hunt is going or ask anything about how I’m actually holding up? They’re both retired, so I know that neither of them is busy working. My only real concern when I first started talking to them again was that they would think I only reached out to them because I wanted money from them, and their actions are starting to let me know that this might be the case. Would they even feel anything if I ceased to continue existing or feel guilty for their silence or indifference? Would you?
That makes me think about the impact I have on others. When they think about me, if they even think about me at all, do they think about something good or does my memory haunt them even while I continue to walk the earth? If my memory haunts them while I still draw breath, just imagine what will happen when I decide it’s no longer worth the effort to keep breathing? I wonder if I’ll have the ability to literally haunt them. I think I might end up being a very vengeful and malevolent ghost. Nobody could stop me if I ultimately decide to opt out, so it’s not that I would say something like, “you could have prevented this”, but I feel like I would want to ruin a lot of people’s chances at being happy. Maybe I’ve already done that. Sometimes I hope I have. I absolutely hold onto that belief of “if I don’t get to be happy, neither do you.” I know it’s looked at as being the wrong way to be but striving to do what’s right for over 40 years has garnered me no favor with the universe.
And yes, I do think about “it”. I think about it a lot. I don’t know if I would leave a note. Part of me feels like I don’t need to and that everyone will know exactly why. Then again, there are a lot of people I’d love to mention by name and let them know how I feel they fit into the equation. I imagine most people who I used to believe were friends will simply be like, “called it” or “I figured this would happen with him”. Maybe someday people in my life will figure out that I have this collection of posts and will learn that way. I’ve given the link to this site to a few people, so I know they knew at one point that I put my feelings and thoughts out there, but I imagine only one of them remembers it. I know that the people who have viewed my posts recently are strangers, because nobody has texted me. I know that by saying that last sentence, this only looks like an emo cry for attention, but I feel like I’m past the “attention” stage. I’m aware that nobody is watching. I’m not a fan of theatricality and making a scene anyway. I’d prefer to exit the way I exit actual situations: just quietly dipping out and not telling anyone. The ol’ irish exit. I’m self-aware enough to know that most wouldn’t think I’d actually do it so they wouldn’t take me seriously anyway if I did turn this into a spectacle. This is more for me to go back and read later.
I feel no shame in what I’ve put out here and wouldn’t feel any shame or have any regrets if I ultimately decide to pull the plug. I used to take the stance of “nothing is THAT bad” or “only a weak person would do something like that” or “that’s so selfish of them because that person’s quick action will hurt others for the rest of their lives”. I’ve learned that there are things that are THAT bad and that there are things much worse than physical death. I don’t think it’s weak, either, if someone no longer wishes to continue suffering. Sure, I think it’s a bitch move for people who dome themselves after committing atrocities because they don’t want to face the consequences for their actions, but not if someone just cannot see the point in going on. I also don’t think there’s anything wrong with being selfish. Most of the suffering in my life has taken place because I was NOT being selfish and wasn’t looking out for my own happiness. Maybe if the people in the person’s life cared about that individual as much as the individual cared about them, or showed it if they did care as much, the individual wouldn’t have done what they did. Maybe the indifference or apathy of the people in their life was a contributing factor. I don’t mean that they were the reason the person chose not to continue on another day, because I think if someone is going to opt out, they need to own up to it as their choice… something they could actually control. It’s the only thing that they have complete control over. These are people who know exactly when and how they’re exiting this reality. They have no control over most of the things in their lives, but they CAN control how it ends, almost a final “fuck you” to the indifference (or cruelty) of the universe. It’s almost like a divorce. Like… you can’t fucking hurt me anymore because I’m not going to be around to be hurt. I respect that. I admire that.
I still hope that something changes, but I know that no one or nothing is going to swoop in and save me. I still hope when I know that it’s hopeless. But the “exit plan” has been gaining traction, unlike everything else in my life. Years ago I told myself that if I wasn’t doing something with my life by 30, that I would opt out. I lost my dead-end job at 29 but started a good job about 3 months before my 30th birthday, so I stuck around a little bit longer. I have an idea of the timeframe that I’m willing to hold out hope for until this time, but it’s not perfectly clear yet. I’ll know it when I know it. I do plan on writing an emergency contact on a piece of paper and putting it in my wallet. “Emergency contact” is really the wrong term for it. It’s just the name of someone who otherwise would never know I was gone unless they searched for me online and found a page that had my name with a date to the right of the hyphen. Because, while the person is an important character in my story, they have absolutely zero connection to anyone in my family, so nobody would know to call or text them, so that’s my one act of “kindness” to them. I imagine I would want to have that person go through and wipe out my phone and any other account. Just because I’m me, I’d probably make the password to access all my stuff some sort of cryptic riddle that only they would be able to figure out. It would only be fitting. Writing that is the first time I’ve smiled during this post.
Who knows… maybe something good will happen. Nothing has happened yet. The only “good” things that have happened really haven’t been good; they’ve only been things that have allowed me to prolong my suffering, depression, and anxiety, so… maybe the help has been a bad thing and has actually hurt me. I don’t know. Telling myself that all this pain and suffering has to be for a reason and that there has to be a payoff for enduring it is one of the biggest lies I tell myself, so I’ve stopped lying in that regard.
I don’t know if I’ll end up making it to that concert.
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.
Note: I wrote this late last night, but I stepped away to do something else and forgot to post it.
I feel a bit lighter today. The evening anxiety isn’t what it normally is. I’ve gotten myself into some decent habits for a change and I’m looking to keep that going for as long as I can.
In a previous entry, I had mentioned some thoughts I had on some women from my past. I guess you can say present because they still exist in the world, but their existence in my life is passive at most. Sure, part of it is my doing from things in the past, but I’ve explained my feelings about that the other day. There was a concert announced the other day and one of these people liked my story post about it, so I said something to her about it. We have a history, but it’s nothing that I would call serious. We met when I was probably 19 and bonded over music; a common theme with me. We had our summer fling, and although nothing serious happened, I grew quite fond of her. We were both super awkward teens, so it just kind of worked. I had moved closer to her in the fall for school and was promptly left a voicemail on my little candybar nokia prepay that she either was talking to someone new or just didn’t like me that way anymore. I can’t remember which. Doesn’t really matter. I stopped talking to her for a couple years, but then we started talking again as just friends. I was cool with this because she is a really cool person. We visited each other a few times during the fall of ’03, but when I started seeing my future ex-wife, our friendship was sort of forced to end. See, although the girl I was with had contact with multiple exes, with whom more serious things happened, my music-loving makeout friend wasn’t allowed in my life, out of jealousy… An early example of things in this life not being a two-way street (also, I just realized how much I like using hyphens). Over time, we eventually would send messages back and forth on social media and I would sneak in a phone call to say hi when I was driving home from work.
For the life of me, and I just cannot understand why I thought this was a good idea, I invited her to my wedding. She said she would be there, and unsurprisingly, left another voicemail on the day of to tell me that she would not be able to make it. I don’t remember the reason she gave, but she didn’t need one. The occasional message and like was sent over the years that followed, sometimes drawing the ire of the girl I married, but I dealt with it. There were far bigger issues in the relationship than her.
When I had moved out and started the divorce process, she was an obvious choice to talk to. She brought comfort to my life and I owe my taste in music to her; she put me on the path. The thing was that she had since gotten married. I didn’t want to do to her what she unknowingly had done to me by causing potential issues of this mysterious person writing… oh wait, you two have a history? oh and he just got divorced? yeah… I wasn’t going to do that to her. I laid low and went about my life, until she reached two or three years ago. We had been friends on social media, but like most people we are friends with on social media, we never speak; merely viewing stories in the background or liking a post as some weak semblance of connection. She started writing more and I immediately knew something was up. It’s all about patterns. She broke the pattern that she held for years. After playing dumb for a week or two, I brought up a random topic where I could fish and get her marital status out of her. Sure enough, he had moved out a few months prior. We talked all the time and sometimes I would call and talk on my long drives up North. It felt good. I had no desire to start anything up with her beyond being real friends again, although she did give an explanation once about why she did not go to the wedding. I promise you, dear reader, that I did not ask her for one. She said she didn’t think that she could bear sitting there watching someone she used to, and still had, feelings for, marrying someone else… especially to the one I did marry (I learned a lot about other people’s opinions of that girl without ever asking once I was divorced… even from some of her supposed best friends). That stayed with me and made me a little awkward, though I have to admit, the nostalgic feelings of her and early ’00s indie hit sometimes and I missed her more than I should have. I’ve kept that to myself until just now. The feelings of nostalgia, by the way… they’ve faded away for the most part since I started this whole process. It’s amazing how much of my life was weighed down by it. I equally loved and hated the wistful feelings and longing for days gone, but I don’t see or even feel the value as much anymore. I don’t think it’s a loss to be celebrated, but also not something to be mourned. I believe I’m better for having lost it.
Anyway, after that admission from her, I was hesitant to go visit her, even though I know we would have fun just sitting around, drinking beer by a bonfire and listening to our bands together. I was worried that she would think it something more, and even more, I was worried I would get caught up in the moment and oblige. She’s set in her world, whereas I still am searching for my place in mine. A lot of “damn… I can’t that weekend, but maybe next month” went on for a year or so. Occasionally a concert would come up and I did come close to going to some of the shows with her, but never went through with it. She went quiet this past summer and sent a long late night text to me, so you already know how that went, especially when it started with “I wasn’t sure if I was going to send this, but….” basically saying it sucks that we are never going to see each other and she’s kind of accepted that. I brought up a couple concerts during the late summer/early fall and, much like the wedding thing, she backed out at the last second with an excuse; this time a flimsy one. She texted me a month or so ago about a concert with two of our favorite bands; two bands that she introduced me to and were instrumental to my current taste in music. Being that it was a popular ticket and being that getting tickets to some shows seems impossible, we didn’t get any.
Fast forward to the other night when I wrote her about the concert I posted in my story, I was actually dead set on going with her as friends. It’s a band we both love and when I wrote her and asked if she was thinking standing room or mezzanine, she responded the same way that she did when she told me about her divorce: “funny thing about that…” but instead of “he hasn’t lived here in months”, she said, “i’m not actually buying the tickets. the guy I’ve been seeing is.” big oof. This shouldn’t have even registered with me, but it did. It was a gut punch. But why? I don’t want to date her. She said i’m more than welcome to come with and that it would be great to see me (she put a smiling emoji after). I responded and said that I would definitely feel awkward going to that particular show as a third wheel with a girl I have a history with and her boyfriend… and that she of all people should understand why. I ended it by saying I would just wait and see if they have a second leg of their tour and go to one of those shows instead (i put an ‘lol’ at the end, even though I wasn’t laughing or even thought it remotely humorous). I haven’t spoken to her since and she hasn’t spoken with me either. I’m not mad or even hurt; I’m happy that she found someone because she’s a really cool person, but that just did something to me.
Why though? I think it closed the last chapter in the last book of girls from my past. At that point I kind of felt free in a sense, like, ok time to go somewhere new. I could have gone “somewhere new” at any point in the past, but I wasn’t allowing myself for reasons of nostalgia and almost a hope for some kind of relationship/emotional time travel… Like a movie or something where you can just pick up where you left off. So many plot holes, but we always believe it on the screen. I lived in that movie fantasy world for most of my life. I mean it felt like things would always work that way, and while sometimes they did, it was just pure chance. So much of my thinking and life was built on this fantasy world in my head, while so little of it was grounded in reality. I feel like writing about that sometime and maybe I will. I don’t know if going somewhere new means geographically, although I would welcome that and am starting to actively look for the first time ever, but that moment that night might have been the last nostalgic feeling I had. An innocent one at that, but nostalgic nonetheless.
There are a few books that were on the shelf that I never returned, so to say, but I finally took them back and paid the fees. I guess i’ve been paying the fees for years. There’s the girl who I referred to as a second relationship… I’ve known her from the point where I started dating my future ex-wife, and it was off and on for years and years. It wouldn’t be a stretch to say that I was closer to her than my actual ex-wife. Missed opportunities, bad timing, star-crossed, or whatever you want to call it, but time moved on, she moved on, and eventually I did. She’s married now, and while I’m sure they have their moments, she’s with him and not me. In recent history, it was talked about that we should spend some time together now, you know… like in the past… but now that she is the one married, she didn’t think it was a good idea to do the very same thing she was cool with me doing when I was the one in a marriage. I was so bothered by that and how hypocritical I thought it to be. Then again, years ago she broke up with her boyfriend and I didn’t break up with my girlfriend, so… even-steven i guess. Also, that arrangement is far more stressful for the person who is already in a relationship than the other person, so she was smart to be a hypocrite. She had no idea what she would be getting herself into being on the other side of the equation.
Then there was the supposed best friend of my ex-wife, who lives for the social media life, desperately trying to be an influencer, hitting angles to hide the ugly flaws, and curating everything to have vibrant colors or that soft sepia tone, when she admits in private that it’s all a lie; even purchasing tens of thousands of empty followers for her account. For obvious reasons, it’s no longer convenient to have me and my ex-wife over to her and her husband’s place and sneak off somewhere, so I no longer serve a purpose. Not a big loss there, because there were never any true feelings there. I lied to her almost as much as she lied to me. I do feel the urge sometimes to put it out there with saved screenshots, text convos, and emails just to drop an anvil on her house of cards. I wouldn’t send it to her husband, because that’s not my marriage and not my truth to tell, but there are times when I would gladly set myself on fire if it meant that she burned too. It isn’t worth it though. Someday it’ll come out and I’ll casually let it slip to someone and act like I didn’t mean to say it. Or maybe not. maybe she can just continue her fraudulent existence, because I guess we’re all doing that in our own sort of way. She’s in pain and it shows with the fictitious life she’s built for others to see. Every purchased like has to hurt more than the actual friends who scrolled past the post. There’s nothing I need to do there.
I made the call with my ex-girlfriend and will always stand by that, though I will always say that she did nothing wrong, other than loving me more than I was comfortable with. I don’t have anything bad to say about her and wish her nothing but the best, because I believe she is a great person and the most thoughtful person I’ll ever know. It was difficult to end things, but I knew it was something I had to do because it was getting to a point where I could not do it anymore and to continue on would be leading her on and hurting her more. I also never wanted things to get to the point where they were in my marriage for fear that I might become the person I was before. She will always deserve better.
The former co-worker just ate at me for years and enraged me because I never got a reason why. My only guess is that when the possibility of us being a real relationship when I divorced came to be, she got scared. I also feel like I was just a challenge to her since I was, on the surface, very unavailable. Also, dear reader, if you knew what I looked like in person and knew what she looks like, you’d know that I was a novelty to her. I wondered about that during our time together, but hoped for the best. There were red flags everywhere. One being that literally nobody that I knew at work could stand her and it actually damaged some of my friendships; friendships that took a minute to reconcile. I knew the red flags and all, but who she was in private was different than what she showed the world. I learned lessons there. It’s funny though because my ex-wife always thought that I had a thing with one of my co-workers. She was right, but was wrong about which person. The one she assumed and was jealous of became one of my best friends, with whom nothing has ever happened or even attempted. But the actual one was never going to be the right one; as a matter of fact, she was probably a worse match for me than my ex-wife in the grand scheme of things. Completely opposite worlds and I knew that I would never ever be accepted in hers and she would never accept where I came from. Beautiful as she is on the surface, there is such ugliness on the inside. I know that we all have both traits, but the good was never going to be able to cancel out the bad. I told myself for years that it could have been different and we even had a couple moments together a few years ago, where we got drinks, but then the narcissism and gaslighting started back up. See, I didn’t know what gaslighting was back then, though I’m sure I had a black belt in it myself when it came to some people. I learned to see what she was and we did the whole social media friend thing, but I was on restricted on her end because it never showed she read my messages and only a week or two later I would get a response to a conversation that she initiated, even though she would post stories frequently. Eventually I saw that she had a guy in her profile picture. The exact kind of guy she needed: an equally wealthy guy who takes more time getting ready than she does. They’re a good fit and I hope that she ends up marrying him, especially since she’s a bit older than me and her beauty started to fade a few years back.
These are the women in my past. The glaring omission is my ex-wife, though i’ve made multiple mentions of her. I don’t think I need to say much. It’s weird, because if you asked me a year ago, dear reader, who I would be writing a post like this about, it would undoubtedly be her. I’ve seen how she is now and how she lives her life. There’s nothing I need to say because the universe is doing its thing without my words or intervention. She’s been with a guy now for something like… six years or so. A previous pettier version of me would point out the aesthetic differences with a smirk on my face, but some people don’t value that as much… Personality and character does matter (see my last paragraph). They might be engaged now or even married for all I know. My family still talks to her and her family, but would definitely be the last ones to tell me if that happened. I used to wonder and bring her up sometimes when I was around them, but… why? I made the decision, not her. I was unhappy for most of the relationship, even before marriage, and just kept wishing for things to get better; that my decades old feelings would return and that somehow the good parts about her from decades ago would return, while leaving the bad traits of her decades old self behind (I promise you that I realized how ridiculous that sounded at the time, too). The truth is this… I’m happy for her. I’m happy that she finally found someone who wasn’t there for her past and loves her for who she is, and not someone who was around all those years ago and is utterly repulsed by what she has become.
I lost a lot of my life to these people, in ways even more meaningful than days on a calendar, but I didn’t leave empty-handed. What does all this add up to? I think it’s a weight lifted. It’s allowing me to see ahead as I drive on and not looking in the rear-view to see if they’re looking back at me, too. Where am I driving to? That remains to be seen, but it’s to somewhere where the only things that people know about me are the things I share with them. No past to reconcile, wrestle with, reminisce about, long for, pine away for, or wish for… I have no idea what books are in my future, but I at least know now that I need to return them when I’m truly done and avoid the late fees from piling up.
Wow, so I’m back on here already. I’m surprised as well. I said I’d be back to continue my thoughts from yesterday and I’m keeping my word, dear reader. That’s just how I’ve been operating lately.
Toward the end of my sixth session, I had this strange moment where I thought about my family. I wouldn’t say it was anything specific, but I felt nothing. I don’t mean that in a bad way, per se, but I was somewhat dissociating from my feelings toward them. I think that was important for me, because I’ve always had issues with my family, even if they don’t realize it. I’m the oldest kid (in my 40s and referring to myself as a kid, even using the adjective “little” when referring to my siblings even though they’re adults as well) and checked off all the adult things that you’re supposed to do:
Graduate High School
Get a Bachelor’s Degree
Get married
Buy a house
Did those things and felt like nobody cared. My siblings, who don’t have as many checkmarks, seem to be the priority. Nothing was good enough for my father, but I ended that relationship years ago. I wouldn’t say the same about my mother, but she seems… indifferent, or maybe just doesn’t think to say the one thing that neither she nor my father have ever said to me even one time in my life. No, it isn’t “I love you”.
“I’m proud of you.”
Not my parents
This ate at me for years. I kept trying everything I could to get them to say those words, but after a while I just grew bitter and angry about it. After that moment behind the curtain, I just stopped caring about it. I felt nothing about them. It’s like an emotional reset button was hit. In that moment, I tried to make myself wonder how I would feel if someone in my family died and I still felt nothing. Again, I don’t say this to mean I’ve become apathetic, but I just stopped putting weight into things like that. They’re people like everyone else; just a randomization of characteristics that others have, with whom I have no connection to. With my family, I do share at least a couple characteristics. It doesn’t mean that I don’t care about them, but just knowing that after my death experience in the previous expedition, it isn’t bad and really doesn’t truly end anything at all. I came out of it feeling lighter and made me a little more present in conversations with them. I don’t speak with them with some buried bitterness that they don’t appreciate me, even if I still feel that they don’t. I’m just not holding it against them anymore.
Another thing that I’ve noticed is that I’m more direct with how i’m feeling about something when dealing with other people. At first I thought that maybe my temper was getting worse, but I’ve learned that isn’t the case. If someone was “shitty” toward me before, there was a small chance that I would snap back at them, but usually I would just take it and let it eat at me afterward, sometimes for years on end. Literally one interaction would live rent-free in my head for that long. There have been a couple instances in the last couple weeks where I wasn’t happy with how someone talked to me or just a bad situation in general, but now I call it out immediately and I’ve noticed that the other person is just stunned and doesn’t know how to respond. I don’t mean that i’m just motherfucking these people and intentionally being hurtful toward them, but I’m checking them immediately in the moment, and if I think about the interaction later, it’s more of a reflection than rumination. I’m less concerned with how the other person is going to react to the message, emotionally, and really only being concerned that I’m heard.
The biggest thing that I’ve noticed, however, I wasn’t even aware of until I looked at the session notes. Once a week, I get asked a series of basic psych questions. Here are just a few of them that are of note:
How is your sleep?
I can’t get to sleep, but I stay asleep once I do
Have you had suicidal thoughts?
The thought briefly crossed my mind years and years and years ago, but nothing more than a passing thought
Do you have feelings of guilt?
…………
The first two answers are always the same. The last one changed.
I joked during the first one: “Well I was raised catholic, so of course I feel guilty about everything!”
The reality was much worse. I felt guilty about everything that I’ve ever done, even if nobody was affected by it or if they didn’t realize that I did something to them that I felt guilty about. Dear reader, if you know me then you know some of the things I’ve felt guilty about. If you know me really well, then you have a treasure chest filled with my guilty feelings. The hearts I’ve broken… The people I’ve hurt… The people who would be devastated if they knew what I did. These things are all legal in the eyes of the law, so chill out. No laws were broken at the time, though I guess they might not be legal now; at best they’re in a gray area, like how I’ve lived my life, I suppose.
None of the things I could take back and it tortured me daily. Messing around with someone when I was in a relationship, once while the person I was in the relationship with was passed out drunk in the next room. Having an entire second relationship with a person while still in a relationship. A relationship with a co-worker, with whom I had grown very close to, while, you guessed it… not single. For what it’s worth, they all knew I wasn’t single and one was even married. I enjoyed it and it made me feel happy and alive during a time where I was otherwise cold and dead, but unable to express that and change my situation. Then there’s the moment of getting a text that says “we need to talk right now” and what follows. If you know what I’m alluding to, then you understand, dear reader. I won’t go beyond that at this time, but I reserve the right to elaborate later. I felt so much guilt over hurting the person I was in the relationship with and never admitted to any of it, even though it had to have been known or at least strongly assumed. I felt guilt over hurting the one I was in the aforementioned “second relationship” with because promises I made were not kept. I wouldn’t go more than a day or two before it would come to mind and I’d be forced to think about it. Then I looked at the questions asked again recently and something dawned on me….
Do you have feelings of guilt?
(quickly and matter of factly) No.
I did what I did. Outside of the person I was in the actual relationship with, all parties knew the deal. I enjoyed my time. I felt something. It was what I needed at the time. I learned a lot from the experiences. I still might have hurt the one girl in the “second relationship”, dear reader, but things ultimately worked out for her last I checked. She’s happy and married, maybe even happily married. I made promises and wasn’t able to keep them. I’m human. Did I make the promises at the time knowing I would never actually keep them and was just saying what I thought she wanted me to say? Not at all. I meant it all, but things just didn’t work out that way. I’ve suffered enough in my mind over the years to make up for a million “wrongdoings”, so I subconsciously just moved on from it all. What good is torturing oneself?
I’m at a point now where even if the person I was in the relationship with were to find out, I wouldn’t care. It’s not like they didn’t already assume it, and if I’m being really honest, if they had done even the slightest thing to make my life better, none of the stuff may have even happened in the first place. Sure, I blame myself for putting myself in that situation and for as long as I did, but I’m done wishing things had gone differently or go back to fantasyland and dream of a different past with any of them.
As I write this, I cannot honestly tell you one thing that I feel guilty about. I know the things that I used to feel guilty about. It doesn’t discount the magnitude of the events that took place or the impact on the affected parties, but it’s over with. Someone can hold it against me for eternity, as is their personal right, but I am under no obligation to suffer for their sake. I didn’t even realize that this drastic change took place until I just looked at those notes. I didn’t even have to pull the nails out. They just fell out, the holes closed up, I fell off the cross, and landed firmly on my feet. That’s really the only religious reference I would ever make because there’s at least historical evidence of that person’s existence.
In my mind I’ve cleaned the slate. Other people might not feel that way, but even though I know the things happened, I’m operating as if they didn’t because this is my life and I’m not going to continue to suffer in my mind and imagination when there’s nothing right now to suffer in reality. My life, like yours, dear reader, is ending by the second, and I won’t be feeling sorry or guilty about what’s already been done. I need to create happiness, not sorrow.
Speaking of relationships with people in the past, something hit me the other night that I feel like writing about, but that will have to wait until next time; maybe tomorrow, who knows? It involves literally every single person and is a harsh realization that I didn’t know I needed.
Three weeks. 480 minutes behind the curtain so far. I wasn’t sure what to expect. I’m not sure what exactly it is I’ve brought back from it, but it’s something I have never experienced before.
I told my mom that if I tried to explain my experiences that she would think me absolutely insane. She said not to tell her then. But I don’t care if you think I’m crazy, dear reader, because that belief is likely why you’re here in the first place. I’ll try to maybe break things down by session, but some sessions were less memorable than others. Some of the things have taken place afterward in dreams.
41 year old simulation suit
One thing that I am sure of as of this moment: This is a simulation. None of this is real. My time behind the curtain feels like some kind of room that exists outside the simulation and these nurses are just there to maintain my “systems” while I’m in it. It’s almost like some higher level of consciousness, but I’m just taking a 40 minute break for system maintenance.
I bring my headphones and a playlist with me into my journey behind the curtain every time. With the exception of today, it’s been the same one every time. If you know me, dear reader, you know that it’s lo-fi. I need something soothing and, for the most part, without lyrics. Sure, there are quick lines from shows or movies, but that’s all. Even though it’s the same playlist every time, it’s never the same playlist. Music sounds different behind the curtain. It’s hard to explain, but the only thing that really stays the same are the parts with words in them. I don’t realize that I have headphones on; it’s just become a soundtrack to the world behind the curtain.
From the very first time I peeked behind the curtain, I felt like I had been there before. I’m not talking about deja vu. That’s a fleeting feeling where you just go, “oh my god, i feel like i’ve been here before” and then you move on. This is different. This is familiar. This is like visiting a relative’s house after being away for decades and everything is where it should be. Where is this place? Well… I feel like tv and movies have misled me as to what hallucinations are. I’ve never been able to see dragons or anything wild. My eyes are open during the entire session, with the exception of today when I decided to try something different. It feels more like daydreaming with your eyes open, or maybe even just flat out dreaming with your eyes open. The world distorts and shifts and all of a sudden you’re somewhere else… and then another place… and another. So it goes…
After the third session, my dose was upped by ~58%. During this time, I noticed some new experiences. I felt like I wasn’t breathing, but I also didn’t feel the need to breathe. I know that I was actually breathing, because I’ve got those sticky sensors on my chest (it doesn’t even bother me anymore when they rip those things off. hey, free chest hair removal, right?). I started to lose awareness of my body altogether and it really does feel like I’m just consciousness controlling an avatar. Looking around, I’ll see the nurses who work with me during the process and just like in dreams you see a person that doesn’t look like the one you know in real life, but for some reason you associate “dream amanda” with “real amanda” (just using a random name here, dear reader, nothing to read into). I see these people and they might share the tiniest characteristic with the real life person, so they become that person. I start to observe and think to myself that everyone is everyone and everything is everything. It feels like it’s all one big shared existence. I know that real amanda isn’t in the room, but this other person might have a similar voice, haircut, even mannerism as the real one. This applies to everyone in the room with another person. I started to have these thoughts that I might only know five people, but they’re not really people; they’re just five sets of character traits and some of those traits are applied to every fifth person I encounter (five is an arbitrary number here). The same goes with inanimate objects. Everything is all-purpose and/or repurpose-able. Here’s the thing about the dream versions of these people: the idea of them soon melts away and I forget who they even are, like even their names.
During that first increased session I also had a moment that i’ve experienced before, but only in really high stressed situations. As i’m lying there in the bed, for a few moments, I was a few feet in front of the hospital bed and about eight feet up in the air, looking at myself. I know what you’re thinking, but I really don’t care. I saw myself there in the bed, wearing the exact clothes I was really wearing and the same dark blue headphones over my gray winter hat. It wasn’t long, but I saw that. Last time I experienced that was when I went to my ex-girlfriend’s house and broke up with her. Like I said, high stress moments.
There are also times where I feel like I know what is going to happen before it actually happens. I mean I don’t know way in advance, but i’m a couple seconds ahead of reality. I can turn my eyes a little bit to the left and see one of the nurses on her laptop about 20 feet away. I know that she is going to look at me, say something that I won’t understand (I’m wearing headphones, so why try to talk to me from distance anyway?), but will ultimately give me a thumbs up to see if I acknowledge it. Sure enough….
I look She looks [charlie brown adult talking sounds] I look, but slightly tilt my head as to say “huh?” Thumbs up Thumbs up.
I just know that this new doctor that is making rounds today, that I have not met yet, will walk through the door and say something to me that I don’t understand, but know that just saying “i’m good” and a slight smile will satisfy the requirement of answering and then she will leave the room again. Yep. Just like that.
Things changed on my fifth trip behind the curtain. Something I never thought I would get to experience more than once in my life.
I was pretty deep behind the curtain and lost awareness of my body. It got to a point where I couldn’t even picture what the human form looked like. I couldn’t comprehend what a person looked like. There was a moment where I could feel my heart racing faster than I’ve ever felt it before, but in reality, my heart rate was low. Every now and then I start to think about existence and cause myself to panic a bit. I think about how if there was a god and there was an afterlife, then you seemingly wake up every day even after you die. you rise and set just like the sun. forever. endlessly. there’s no end. when does it end? seriously? when? day after day after day after day after day….. the light never goes out. it should go out, shouldn’t it? but then what? and what started it all? if you believe in the simulation, like i do, cool, but who created the architects of this simulation? and who created them? you see where I’m going. If you’re religious, who created god? This was all going through my mind during that moment and I could feel it all building up to the ultimate crescendo… It was all about to burst. There was too much to comprehend and it felt like I was about to come back out of the simulation for good. I was positive that I was about to die and I didn’t panic or think about loved ones. I didn’t have any feelings of regret. I was there and I was about to not be there. In a way, you could say that I was at peace with it and internally kinda gave a nod of approval. There was so much relief and a sense of peace that I hadn’t known before. I didn’t fight it. I rode out the wave. Soon my time behind the curtain came to an end for the day, but the thought stayed with me for a while, even now, like a week later. I couldn’t tell you when I stopped being afraid of death, but it was a long long time ago. That experience just cemented it. If that’s what dying is, then living truly is the hard part. I didn’t fear about where I would go after I ceased to exist. It was a simple thing: my time was up. Just like that.
You see, a lot of the things that are experienced behind the curtain are left there. It’s like an art museum: you can’t take the paintings home with you, but you can maybe find something at the gift shop to remember your trip by. I can’t properly explain most of the things that I experience there and this page is just a half-assed effort at doing so. I’m hoping in time that I will be able to articulate things better.
There are other experiences I’ve had in the last three weeks that I’ll get to maybe tonight or tomorrow or whenever. It has affected my dreams quite a bit, but I’ve also noticed some changes in my waking life, which, of course, is the point of this whole thing. This was never supposed to be a vacation.
In about 10 hours from now, something is going to happen. I know what will happen, but not sure how it will affect me. I should be worried or anxious about the uncertainty, but after a life of things not feeling right, you kind of lose that fear because anything is better than what currently exists.
I don’t know what normal is supposed to feel like, because mentally, I am not normal. I say this because about 24 years of taking over a dozen different medications and being diagnosed once with PTSD and twice as being Bipolar II say so. Reaching the end of my rope, I finally reached out about some different kind of treatment: Ketamine. No, this is not some back room or “woo woo” clinic somewhere, but actually through a hospital. How did I reach this point? I’m not sure I could really fit that all in with one post, but I can try to sum it up, though I’m far from reticent when I find a keyboard and blog site. I blame my emo period for that, which ran from about 2003-2008.
I’ve deleted multiple paragraphs since the second one you read because I keep going down a path that I’ve gone down so many times before. Dear reader, if you know me at all, then you know what I was writing and deleting. Let me try something else instead.
I make bad decisions. A lot of them. Some have gotten me fired from jobs when I was younger, many have hurt feelings, and unfortunately many have broken hearts (usually my own, but other people’s are often in the blast radius). On the surface and in a brief conversation, I would say that I don’t know why I make them, but gun to my head? I have a better idea. I live in this fantasy world created by all the music i’ve listened to, movies/shows i’ve watched, and books that I’ve read. I say and do things because I think that it will bring the right outcome, just like you dear reader, but my actions are less grounded in reality.
“All this pain will be worth it one day.”
Me
Suffering and abuse, be it self-inflicted or inflicted by others, is something that I am really used to and just kind of absorb. I would always tell myself, “All this pain will be worth it one day,” but now I don’t think so. Maybe this is just terrible character development by The Simulation, but it still is not an excuse.
A lot of the suffering I go through is by putting off things that probably need to be addressed. Not understanding something at work? Ask for help or just get in trouble eventually. No longer love your spouse? Probably should get a divorce if you’ve exhausted other options, instead of falling in love with someone else and giving your love to her while you’re still married. Pick one or the other, man. You know you’re miserable with your spouse and that there’s no way to make things right, but the longer you play house with the girl who you actually do love, the more pain you are putting that girl through. The fear cripples and paralyzes and what eventually happens is you lose the one you love and are even more miserable and resentful toward the spouse. Working a job that you hate? Start looking for a new one. Can you see bad things coming down the pike at your job and know that the clock is ticking? Ask for more work, look elsewhere internally, or find something outside the company because eventually you’re going to get laid off. That’s what happened to me and really started this path that led to this new treatment.
I was out of options and only had my checking account and 401k to support myself. The treatment is expensive, but the price I’ve paid living this life up until now and the price I would continue to pay without taking the risk is much greater. I don’t know how my mindset will change once this starts. I really don’t. I’d like to believe that some, if not all, of the parts about me that I don’t like, mentally/emotionally, will get fixed or go away. But what about some of the parts of me that I do like? Am I no longer going to find interest in some of the harmless things I liked before or will my personality change too drastically from who I have been my whole life? Is that really even a bad thing? I mean, I can count my friends on one hand, so maybe a personality recalibration wouldn’t be so bad after all. I still feel like I’m way too calm about something like this, but again, I really do not have anything to lose. I’m not able to do the things that I think I need to do in order to find a job, and a job that I would enjoy at that. Most things feel impossible or out of reach for me. The dwindling money should have me rattled 24 hours a day, but it doesn’t. I’m not sure exactly why, but part of me thinks it’s because I know that if nothing is better in my life by that point that I might just say screw it and do something desperate. Who knows if i would, but historically I have not done anything when I’ve had thoughts like that.
In a weird way, I’m counting on this protocol to save my life. The only way that it can do that is for me to just lie there and let it happen. That seems to be the way I’ve lived my life so far; lying there and letting whatever is going to happen, happen, so I guess that’s why I’m not nervous or afraid. All I know is the feeling of being helpless and at the mercy of something or someone else. Let’s see what today brings.
Happiness by the Milligram 