Day 3: Jogging & Blogging

Day 3

There are two things I’ve come to realize about this project, which I’m tentatively calling “Jogging and Blogging.” The first is that these blog posts are going to be a lot more conversational and not always as thought provoking as my more “serious” blog posts attempt to be. Although I’ve also come to feel that my talent as a writer is in telling personal and emotional stories, rather than omnisciently narrating.

The second thing I realized is that I’m going to need to make a point of setting time aside during the day if I want to write, rather than squeezing it in right here before bed. Tonight I happen to very tired because I didn’t fall asleep last night until almost 6:00AM, and also, well, my tummy hurts, so there’s that. All that is to say this one will probably be pretty brief like last night’s entry.

Today was mildly productive. I went to the grocery store, I fed the animals, I made my bed, I didn’t do very much because I didn’t get out of bed until around 2:00 in the afternoon (I woke up a couple hours before but couldn’t get back to sleep when I tried).

Around 6-ish in the afternoon I was feeling pretty unmotivated about the prospect of jogging or walking, but I decided to give it a go anyway. Surprisingly, I actually did really well. Probably one of the best jogs I’ve ever had. It only lasted about fifteen minutes but I was jogging for almost the entirety of it and the length I can sprint has increased by quite a bit. My phone was nearly dead and I didn’t have my headphones so I was just holding it and listening to music which it turns out is not terribly comfortable. But the point is I did it, and I felt good for doing it. I came back inside to put my phone on the charger and get water, but I still had some energy so I went back outside. Pretty adorably, one of my family’s cats called Milky decided to follow me when I went walking, and she followed along beside me like an excited dog going for a walk. She ran in front of me, rolled around in the dirt a bit, and got very playful. She was purring the whole time. I’ve never really seen her act like that.

Altogether I exercised for about 25 minutes, which isn’t much but it’s something, and I’m really proud of myself for not falling off the wagon on the third day, which is the kind of thing I could see myself ordinarily doing. Afterwards I had some food, and I went to play Kingdom Hearts III but I took a break to go and practice a piano song I’ve been learning. Not surprisingly it’s from Kingdom Hearts, it’s called alternate “The 13th Side” or “Organization XIII,” although I associate it most with the secret ending of the first Kingdom Hearts game, called “Another Side, Another Story,” and then later on the final mix secret ending “Deep Dive” which expanded on it. I remember I used to read Kingdom Hearts news on fan websites and possible interpretations about the meanings. Roxas didn’t have a named yet so everyone called him Blonde-Haired Kid.

Honestly the level of early 2000’s emo edginess in the Another Side, Another Story secret movie and cool guy anime CG action sequences is pretty fantastic, it’s the kind of thing that’s so imbued with the atsmosphere of it’s time, it absolutely looks it could and should be a music video for an Evanescence or Linkin Park song. I have no doubt in my mind there were tons of AMVs (Anime Music Videos, fanmade combinations of music and visuals from wherever a person happens to choose – I saw one once that combined Shadow the Hedgehog in Sonic X with a Three Doors Down song… they can’t all be winners) using that scene.

This is kind of a piece of something larger I want to talk about but I can’t really get into it tonight. I’m very proud of myself though, these are small steps but they mean something. A little bit of physical activity, a little bit of writing, it’s good for me. It helps me to feel productive, like I’m doing something with my time, and also it helps my body and my mind to get into better shape. They’re both going through a rough time. I’ve had type 2 diabetes for nearly five years now, and I’ve been having serious issues with my memory and cognitive ability in the past couple years which has gotten really serious lately. My doctor referred me to a neurologist where I have an appointment scheduled in December, but I no longer have health insurance so I’m not sure what to do about that. Maybe I can apply for Medicare again? Or Medicaid, I can’t remember which is which. God wouldn’t it be nice if we didn’t live in a capitalist system that values money more than people’s lives and health? But that, again, is another topic, and one I’m not particularly informed enough on to make sweeping statements but I do definitely have feelings about it.

Oh right, so I finished learning the song on piano. Or at least part of it. I used to know how to play the beginning in high school but forgot so it was nice to re-learn it. I would post a link to a video here but I think I’d want to have something really good quality before I put it here on my blog. But I guess this is a reminder to myself that I want to make an album of video game music covers. I hadn’t thought that song would ever be part of it but now maybe it will.

My OCD has been bad today too. I have therapy tomorrow, I hope I can remember to bring it up. There’s also some people coming over to work on our floors, and I have to wake up early and move a bunch of stuff out of that room so they can work on it. But it’ll be okay. The biggest thing I’m excited / worried about is that there is some money I’m supposed to be getting and it might come in tomorrow, and I’m just keeping my fingers crossed and literally praying that it happens, because I need it and it would be life-changing for me right now. I really, really hope this money comes through. I don’t even want to talk more about it until it happens, because I’m so used to getting my hopes up for good things to happen and then being disappointed. But I’m gonna keep hoping. I hope to have good news on that front by tomorrow.

And that’s it for me today. Sorry that this one was brief again. I’m a bit on edge tonight, not really in an anxious way, just nervous for tomorrow. I’m gonna try to get some sleep now.

Well, At Least It’s Raining

I’ve always been comforted by rain. Much more so as I’ve gotten older. As a child, I was really scared of thunderstorms and especially tornadoes. As an adult, I guess they don’t scare me at all anymore. It’s not unusual for people to find solace in storms and rain, it’s a pretty common thing, but less common is feeling depression at the absence of rain. When it goes for too long a stretch of sunny days and beautiful weather I start to feel dry, choked, and trapped. Rain makes me feel relieved, nourished, safe. It feels like the world is growing around me. Like being tucked inside the branches of a primordial tree while the world develops around me, the sounds of rain touching everything, dripping from leaves.

This is a stressful time. I’m writing this on April 8, 2020. For the second time in my life, I am living through a major historic event. The first was in 2001 with the September 11 attacks, and the second is this, the Corona Virus outbreak. This feels different, and in many ways, worse, than September 11.

The thing about 9/11 that has always remained with me is how united everyone was afterward. And I’m not talking about patriotism or being united as Americans. Nationalism was as strange and upsetting to me then as it is now. What I mean is that people were all afraid. Everyone was scared, or angry, or unsure. But nobody felt safe anymore. And the fact that everyone felt this at the same time was comforting.

It’s a similar feeling to being at a funeral, or being near someone who’s dying. I’ve been lucky in that I’ve never lost anybody I truly, deeply love, only family members like grandparents and stepfathers. I know that probably sounds cold, but I’ve never had a close relationship with my family, so it was a weird experience for me to be at their funerals and their wakes. The thing is, everyone seems to be feeling the same thing. Everyone is in shock, and everyone all his this air about them. It isn’t sadness, it isn’t depression. It’s the gentle shock of someone raising their eyebrows and smiling and shrugging their shoulders and saying “Well, here we are.” I don’t know how to put it into words, exactly. Nobody is angry, not at each other. Everyone is being… civil. And for some reason that I don’t entirely understand, civility and politeness are extremely important to me. It makes me feel safe when everyone is being civil. At a funeral, or at a restaurant after 9/11, everybody was on the same page. Nobody hated each other. Not yet. As a country we all became afraid of or angry at Muslims due to xenophobia, but it didn’t happen yet where I was, and all the sudden it felt like racist people weren’t racist anymore, bigoted people weren’t bigoted anymore. Of course that turned out not to be true but for the few days, weeks, months, there was a sense of camaraderie amongst everyone. I was also eleven years old at the time so I’m realizing as I’m typing this that maybe my rosy view of things isn’t true, that people didn’t truly come together, but at least everyone was all feeling something at once, even if it was fear and uncertainty. The same way people are at funerals.

And that’s what it’s like during times of crisis. People suddenly stop dividing themselves so much. People come together. It sounds so cheesy and stupid but it is how social creatures work. We unite when we have a common enemy, and the common enemy might be death, it might be terrorism, or it might be fear.

I don’t feel that this time. Because this time it’s a virus, and exposing yourself to other people makes you vulnerable, and everyone is inside with their doors shut, communicating mostly through memes and Facebook posts. And I am here, stuck at my house, which honestly wouldn’t be so bad except that mom chose this moment in time to come stay with us, and she brought with her my aunt and my cousin, neither of whom I particularly want to see for an extended period of time, especially during a crisis when distancing is important.

It would honestly make me feel better if my mom would leave and take the company with her. I’d feel more at peace if it were just me and my brother here and the house were quiet again, while it rains and storms outside. I could go and play piano or something.

This has been a confusing time for me. I’ve been working at a job for about a year and a half, I won’t say exactly what it is because as of now I’m still employed there, but suffice it to say I work in retail. Last week I accidentally overslept by an hour and I was the sole person opening the store, which meant the store opened an hour late. My boss has been incredibly unspecific about how he intends to respond to it, and I haven’t been back to work in a week. At first i had two days off, but then I was told he didn’t have any updates about the schedule, and he’d get back to me when he did. Then another day passed, and another. Today I texted my co-worker (there are only two of us working there, along without our boss) and he told me he was fired on Monday. And that he was told they were going to fire me, and not only that, but fire me in such a way that it was phrased that I was being let go not because of the needs of the business due to the Corona Virus outbreak, but because of me oversleeping last week, and implied that I wouldn’t be able to draw unemployment if that were the case. I don’t know how unemployment works but if so, that’s incredibly dirty of them, bordering on criminal, since conspiring against someone to keep them from getting unemployment during a worldwide health crisis because they came in to work an hour late seems negligible at best and criminal at worst. Again, I probably shouldn’t be talking about any of this, but I’m so fucking frustrated. I’ve been a good employee and done good work. This is the first job in my life where I’ve made a consistent effort not to call out of work, even when I’m exhausted or not feeling well. I’ve called out of work three times, all because I was sick (one of them was anxiety related but the other two were actual feverish sickness).

Today I went to the store to ask my boss about it to find that an associate from another store was filling in for him. When I called him he refused to give me any specifics and just kept repeating “I don’t know, I don’t know, it’s all very confusing right now, I don’t know what’s going to happen.” He wouldn’t admit to me whether or not he WANTED to fire me. I tried to call our district manager and he wouldn’t answer his phone or texts. I called human resources, who told me they’d look into it and get back to me, but they didn’t. I eventually got a text from my district manager saying “We’ll talk about this in the morning, and get it all straightened out.” I don’t know what that means. And even if I DO keep my job, I don’t actually WANT to go to work, because I don’t want to risk infection, I want them to temporarily lay me off so that I can get unemployment until this crisis is over so I don’t have to keep going outside and risking infection every day.

It’s been difficult here. I have a couple of local friends who I go to see when I’m feeling lonely and I can’t even do that. One of them is a friend-with-benefits who I have a pretty affectionate and sexual relationship with. I went to his apartment and he told me he was uncomfortable with me being there because I worked with the public and made me leave. I felt very hurt by that. And apart from someone coming over to visit me, I’ve not been able to see any other friends. I lost a Facebook friend this morning who I’ve known for a year or two because he didn’t appreciate that I wasn’t enthusiastically supporting Joe Biden, which is an entirely different topic that I don’t have the strength to go into here, but suffice it to say I think Biden is a buffoon with exactly the same temperament as Trump and even less grasp of where he is and what’s happening around him. I’m sick of watching the country being run by senile old men who don’t know what year it is, both literally and figuratively.

On a similar topic is that issue of my memory. For the last two years or so I’ve been developing memory issues that seem to be getting worse. I can’t recall what I was talking about or doing a few minutes ago, I need to make lists to remember things, I can’t recall words I need to use that I use on a regular basis when I’m talking or writing. It’s terrifying. I think that if something were to happen to my memory, if I were to lose the ability to retain information… I wouldn’t want to live anymore. It’s not something a 29 year old should be dealing with. And on the topic of being 29, I’ve spent the last year in an existential crisis about turning 30 and having achieved absolutely nothing in my life. I’ve become so contemplative, trying to understand the meaning in every aspect of life and being continually surprised to find that there is so little meaning in anything we do as people.

We just wake up in the world and drift through our lives and then one day we die. I’ve stopped believing we go anywhere. It’s a beautiful idea, that I might wake up in some fairy grove and rub the dust from my eyes and see the spirits of the dead around me, beckoning me to an everlasting paradise of sunshine and rolling green hills and clear blue skies, where all the fantasies of my life can come true, where there’s endless love and hope and adventure. But it’s so silly, isn’t it? So juvenile. So entirely human to believe that the universe owes us an afterlife, owes us meaning. The universe doesn’t owe us anything. We exist and that’s it. There is no meaning apart from the fact that we exist. Some things exist, some things cease to exist. Consciousness is not a magical spirit essence that lives inside our bodies, we are brains firing electric signals encased in flesh and bones. I would LIKE for spirits to be real, I would like for magic to be real, I would like for fairies and dragons and flying on angels wings to be real. But that doesn’t mean it becomes real.

You see, this is the kind of thing I’ve been doing all year. Trying to understand the deep, psychological and philosophical meaning behind everything. I’m going through a kind of puberty that I went through as a teenager, a philosophical puberty where I’m asking questions about existence, only this time they’re not accompanied by the hope that as I get older I’ll understand. They’re accompanied by the realization that not only will I never receive an answer, but NO ONE WILL, and no one has, and that is the state of existence in which we live. It is terribly unfulfilling but that doesn’t make it less true.

So, how do you keep going? How do you keep living when you realize that there are no fairies and magic, that Santa Claus doesn’t bring you presents and Jesus doesn’t monitor your thoughts and send you little miracles when you pray and ask for them? Julia Sweeney inspired me years ago by saying that the fact that we only have this one brief life makes every moment mean MORE, not less. And she’s right, of course. But that doesn’t mean that the sense of fulfillment from before, back when we believed that the universe had a grand order to it, isn’t lost. I’ve never read Paradise Lost but isn’t that what life is, the loss of the lies we believe from the time we’re children? What might life be like if as a child I’d not been taught that God was watching us, that we go somewhere when we die? What if I’d had the chance to grapple with these questions when my brain was still forming and come to accept them without existential angst, how much more fulfilling might my life be? And what better choices might I have made?

I’m angry at the circumstances of my birth. I live in a capitalist society where boys with families who have more money than I do got to get cars when they were sixteen and go to college and make friends and have sex and go to parties, but I was raised by simple, dense, southern baptist Christians who did the best they could but didn’t know any better. I was born smarter than my parents and the people around me and I grew up being told by teachers and adults how bright I was and how I’d change the world when I grew up or I’d be a great writer or a great artist, but I’m almost 30 and I’ve achieved nearly nothing. All I have are hundreds of low quality recordings of me and my piano, and this blog where I’ve written down my thoughts. And also the fear that someday someone will read through my old posts not to better understand me and the journey I’ve been on, but to search for a hint of moral infraction with which to cancel me and try to hurt me. I have to be measured and careful about what I say now, because if I have an outburst of emotion on the internet it will be captured and eventually used against me.

There are things that have happened in my life that I desperately want to write about, here in this blog, that I can’t, because I know from the experience of confiding in people that I can’t trust people with dark thoughts and regrets, I can’t trust people to treat me with compassion or decency. People are so selfish. America in particular is so selfish.

I wish I’d been born in England. I wish I had a family that lived in a nice house with two floors, and a dog, and I had two brothers, and my dad went to work and my mom took care of us, and when I was scared or sad I could go in my brother’s room and cry and be consoled. I wish I had a real family that I could love. I wish I didn’t lay my head down wondering where I’ll be sleeping in two months, if my mom will kick me out again, wondering what I’ll do for work, wondering if I’ll ever be able to go to school, wondering if it’s too late, too late to become a musician, to become a novelist, to achieve something. Wondering if the grey in my hair that used to be charming because I was so young to have grey hair is becoming a part of who I am now. Because soon, I won’t be young anymore. I’ll be young overall, but not really. I won’t be socially young. I’ll be thirty. And I won’t have a promising future anymore. I’ll just be… some guy. This is where my ship has landed, the island on which I find myself. This will be the life I’ve found, and it’s not even a life I’ve built. I always said I’d never be thirty and still living with my mom, never be thirty and still be fat, never be thirty and still have no album, no book, no prospects, never gone to college.

But it’s all come true. And I’m sitting here in my room, with the only comfort being the cool feel of the air conditioner as the rain comes down much more gently outside than it was half an hour ago and I started writing. I want to talk about how I’ve taken up jogging in the last couple days, but I just can’t. Everything feels so futile because despite everything, despite how hopeless my life feels, I can still imagine a life that’s fulfilling, with friends and lovers and people who give me what I want and need out of life, and the chance to go to therapy and to go to school and to have a job I actually love.

But it’s just not here. Nothing is the way it should be. This is not what I thought my life would be, and I’m heartbroken, because I’ve just wasted so much time. So much time that can’t be bought back for anything. And I’m mad because what else could I have done? This was the life into which I was born. Not poverty, but not wealth either. Not a family who loves and supports me, a family who holds me down and suffocates me. Even when they try. My mom isn’t trying to hurt me, but she does. She can’t help it, it’s who she is. And I’ll never truly be happy here. And I don’t think there’s any way out of this situation, out of this life I’ve found myself in. This is just… where I am, and who I am. And how can I possibly be strong enough, clever enough, determined enough, to find a way out?

I’m sad. I’m unfulfilled. And I haven’t truly fallen in love again since the first time when I was fifteen. I don’t think I’ll ever feel that way again, that pure unbridled happiness I felt with Michael when I was fifteen, when the world was so full of promises and opportunity and I had a bright future ahead, and I was going to be a great writer, a great musician, a great person. But I’m just a guy, in his mom’s house, on my bed, typing in the rain. I don’t even know if I’ll have a job tomorrow afternoon. And the world is crumbling around everyone, we’re headed toward an economic disaster because a virus has brought the entire world to it’s knees. It’s like all those apocalypse movies about the year 2012 except it’s happening, and it isn’t zombies, it isn’t nuclear war, it’s so simple. It’s a virus. And I’m stuck here in this house with these thoughts swirling around in my head, and the only thing I can do in the day is go jogging down a dirt road or go driving aimlessly.

I haven’t given up hope, it will always keep burning in my chest, that I’ll find a life for myself that makes me happy. But right now, I just don’t see how it can happen. I don’t see how life can change.

Wanting To Get Better

I’m not sure where to begin with today’s post. This past week has been a really difficult time. I’m still feeling very shaky and unsure of my life, things have been pretty solid for a while and lately everything has been upended.

Some of it I won’t talk about yet, because a lot of it involves my job and it’s not a good idea to air your job drama in a public space online. But what I can say is that I started a new job in December of last year and over the past nine months or so I’ve become pretty good at it, I’ve received positive feedback from management, from customers, and from the people I’ve met at my job. I’ve become comfortable with where I am and what I’m doing, and it’s been a great feeling to have a job that isn’t a source of constant stress.

Working is always a source of stress for me. Especially if I have to work at a job I hate. I find it completely unbearable. If I’m forced to get up and go to work every day at a place I hate, with no end in sight, it isn’t an exaggeration to say that the entirety of life starts to seem futile to me. My thoughts turn very morbid. Last year was especially difficult because I started the year employed and then had a health problem that I couldn’t do much to fix. I had a bone spur in my mouth, poking through the gum, and the oral surgeon I went to see wouldn’t remove it, so I had to spend a month or so on very heavy pain medication just trying to exist, and missing a lot of work. On top of that, my stepfather died, and my family was busy with his funeral and with dealing with his death, and right afterward my mom got a really substantial insurance policy from his death, which meant that all of a sudden our family didn’t have to worry about where groceries was coming from next week until pay day.

My mom moved into an apartment of her own, because she couldn’t take being in the house after he died. I quit my job because it had become too stressful, I was getting in trouble for missing so much work, and I knew my mom could take care of me anyway. I admit that’s not a healthy attitude, but at the time it was the choice I made. Afterward, a lot of things started to happen very quickly. My best friend, who is the closest thing I have to a boyfriend, and who I love very much, moved in with me. I drove eight hours to pick him up and tried to help him break away from his abusive family. After a few months living with me, he went back home so he could go back to his internship, and then his job. I was left alone during the summer and unsure of what to do next. My mom had basically given me one of her debit cards and though it didn’t have unlimited money, I could get food and gas pretty much whenever I needed. I got a couple of jobs that I didn’t last long at. I finally started to settle into a job at Starbucks when I got incredibly sick and had to go to the emergency room, followed by recovering at home for two weeks, during which time I quit Starbucks. After I had recovered I was feeling very alone, very useless, and very unsure of where to go.

I ended up finding the job I have now, a comfortable job in a sales environment, a fairly low-stress job where I can sit at a desk. It’s not quite as stress free as an office job would be, but it’s a good place to be, and I’m able to use my personality to make money. Though I admit to feeling a little slimey being in a sales position at all, as it makes me feel like I’m actively participating as a cog in the machine of capitalism, but then again, I exist in a capitalist society so I have to survive somehow. My pay has been decent. My mom moved into her own house at the beach and my brother and I have been living at the house my mom owns. We don’t exactly pay rent, just the power bill and our phone bill and we help when asked, but usually my mom takes care of the bills. I started to get a lot of commission and have large pay checks for the first time in my life, and I was honestly not sure what to do with the money, so mostly what I’ve done is spend the majority of it on food. Eating out for breakfast, lunch and dinner. I’m getting progressively better at grocery shopping but I still don’t know how to cook many meals.

There is a big purchase I need to make, which is a new computer, as the one I’m currently typing this on is on it’s last legs. But I just never seem to have enough money. For a while I was using a savings account and doing pretty well but then I had to start dipping into it until there was nothing left. It seems like I have just enough money to feel confident that I’ll survive, but not enough to get nice things. I guess it could be worse, I am from a poor family.

And all that preamble is to say that I find myself in a position where my life is going to go through some changes, and it all hit me rather unexpectedly. Starting a few weeks ago I started going to the gym and though I haven’t been doing it as frequently as I’d like, I’ve been getting in about two to three visits a week which is a very good starting place. I’ve been overweight since I was a kid and as an adult I have type 2 diabetes that I don’t exactly manage very well, so losing weight is important. I was actually starting to feel really contented with my life a couple of weeks ago: my housing situation is safe, I’m making enough money and I even had a savings account, I was starting to get in better physical shape, and my anxiety wasn’t hounding me as badly as it ordinarily is. I still dealt with intense loneliness and depression, but in general it seemed like things were on an upward curve.

And for all I know, they still could be, but there have been some upsetting developments.

The first and most important thing is that my job situation has changed. I’m still employed, but I’m no longer at the same store. Again, I can’t go into the details, but my old manager, who was great at his job and who was a very honest person with a lot of integrity, left our store when he moved to another state and transferred to a new location. The new manager was a nightmare, who made working there virtually impossible for me. I asked to be transferred to another store and thankfully, the management came through. Right now I’m working at another location while I wait to figure out where I’m being transferred. I don’t exactly know what will happen next but at least I’m out of that toxic environment with the new manager. Still, things have changed, a job where I was happy and comfortable has been pulled out from under my feet and I have to learn to adapt to a new atmosphere, possibly with people I won’t connect with very well. I can’t know what will happen, but the anxiety the past few days has been almost unbearable, and I’ve had to take way more of my anxiety medication than I’m used to, which scares me because I don’t want to become even more dependent on it than I already am.

Today I was off. I spent most of the morning and early afternoon sitting in the living room and playing Final Fantasy X and watching Youtube Essays, which are my favorite form of entertainment lately. A lot of what I was watching was related to media from when I was a kid and early teenager: The Simpsons, Silent Hill, Dragon Ball Z, even W.W.F. Wrestling. And it got me thinking about those days in the 90’s, and how young I was, and how I wasn’t truly able to enjoy a lot of the things that were popular then because I was too young. I’ve started to wonder what life would have been like if I’d been born in the early or mid-80’s and been a teenager during the 90’s or the early 2000’s instead of a kid. I might have been able to go to Tori Amos concerts in 1996 or bought my own Playstation or Nintendo 64 with money from my own job. I would have had a car with a CD player and a binder full of CDs like I do now, except it wouldn’t be outdated. I’d be making mix CDs like I do now, except other people would actually care about mix CDs and I could make them for friends. I could use the internet not as a young child but as a young adult, enjoying the fullness of AOL instant messenger and browsing the web with other people who were just building the online landscape.

Hell, I’m writing in a blog right now. Blogs are a mostly outdated form of media, at least a personal journal-style blog like this one, which might have actually been popular if this were the early 2000’s.

And of course, these thoughts are rooted in the same thing I’ve been thinking about for the past few months: an encompassing feeling that I have wasted the past decade of my life. I’m 29 now, and in a year I’ll be 30, and what will I have to show for it? I’ve done virtually nothing with my twenties. And I came to realization earlier about why I might be feeling that way.

I have never had a social life.

I mean, I almost did, once, in junior and senior year of high school. I went to friends houses and rode around in cars with them, and we laughed and had fun. I met new people, did new things. I went places. But now… I don’t do any of that, and I haven’t for many years. And I think I’ve just wasted so much of my youth. My life since I graduated high school has consisted of trying to survive through a haze of rolling, continuous panic attacks, and then alternating between relaxing at home playing the same handful of video games I’ve played all my life and going to work, day in and day out. There’s been no time for much else. My romantic attempts have all failed. Very few of them were even fulfilling or meaningful. I’m musically talented and I’m a good writer but I’ve not created anything with it. I’ve not written a novel, I’ve not recorded an album.

On top of it, I’m faced with issues I didn’t have when I was younger. I’m fatter, I have type 2 diabetes, and over the past few years I’ve been having issues with my memory that have been getting progressively worse. I have difficulty recalling words I need when I need them, especially when writing, or in the middle of conversations. I can’t recall things I need to when I need to, and my gut suspicion is that it’s a result of all the antidepressants I’ve taken over the years reshaping my brain chemistry and fucking up my memory. I’m tired. I used to just be lazy when I laid around doing nothing, now the reason is that I’m exhausted. I’m just as horny as I used to be but now I’m becoming a grown man whose penis doesn’t respond to the slightest whisper with a stiff erection the way it did when I was a teenager.

Time has not yet quite begun to take it’s toll, but it’s starting. I’m about to hit some kind of peak and then… what? So often my thoughts turn to death. What will I leave behind when I die? I’ve come to accept the fact that I probably won’t have an afterlife. So life is now even more fleeting and precious than I thought it was before. So what then? What will I leave? This blog? It’s the closest I’ve got to a legacy. My journals, where I talk about the really dark shit that I wouldn’t admit in a public space? The conversations I’ve had?

What would my funeral be like, if I died today? Would my mom organize it? Would it be a Christian service? For god sake, would they play I Can Only Imagine or When I Get Where I’m Going? Would I be buried in the same drab cemetery where my grandparents lay? The thought is sickening. It’s defeating. So much of who I am would be lost. No, all of who I am would be lost.

Today when I came to Starbucks to sit down and write this, I felt the overwhelming urge NOT to. It was like a boulder I had to push out of the way. When I’m in my car, when I’m playing videos, when I’m sitting and thinking, I can come up with a brilliant way to express my feelings, but when I sit down to do it I’m reduced to scrambling through a hastily written journal entry like this one. I’m confused, I’m scared, and I’m alone.

So what do I do about it?

Dragon Ball Z is all about growing through adversity. Maybe this is a low point. Maybe this past decade has been building to something, some moment where I make the choice to change. Like I said in a previous post, a little at a time, but a change nonetheless. To go to the gym. To find the right job. To go to school. To study piano and creative writing, to record my songs, to organize my thoughts and feelings, to reach out and meet new people, to build relationships, to not be stuck on my own, sitting in my chair or in my car with nowhere to go and no one to do anything with. To move away from South Carolina to a place where I feel I can truly be myself.

After I wrap up here, I’m going to the gym.

I haven’t reached a point where everything changes, not yet. But I’m still trying. I’ve been sinking and sinking for years, and I can’t come up and crawl and stand and fly and soar in one day or maybe even in a year. But I can keep making changes. I can keep trying. I can keep doing little things until finally, something big happens.

I just don’t want to keep feeling like everything I’ve done up to this point is futile, like I’ve wasted not just the past decade but my life. I wouldn’t want to start all over from childhood because I hate where I come from, I hate being from the south, I hate being from a poor family, I hate having parents who damaged me, I hate not knowing the concept of a loving and supportive family, I hate the pernicious influence of the religious cult I was indoctrinated into. My life has just been a series of traumas, moving from one to the next, and as an adult I’ve been stumbling around, trying to survive, but I don’t want to just survive anymore.

Maybe therapy is the next step. I can’t say I know when I’ll try to reach out to a therapist but I hope I do it soon. I want things to change, to get better.

Maybe that’s what’s different. I didn’t want to get better before. I would have been happy if things got better but I wasn’t driven. Am I driven now? I think I am. I want to get better.

I want to get better.

That seems like the most important step in beginning a journey, truly wanting it.

A Little At A Time

Where to start.

I’m honestly feeling pretty demoralized today. I feel pretty demoralized most days that I’m off. This week I had two days off work in a row. And you know what I’ve done with them? Next to nothing. The things I want to do when I have time free, the thing I want to do to be productive, is to write and to work out. Well yesterday I sat down to try and write but I just didn’t feel it. I never do when I actually want to do it. And I spend so much time thinking about what I want to write and what I want to say that I make little notes for myself about topics to discuss and then NEVER touch those notes again. Right now there’s a notepad document on my computer filled with years worth of blog topic suggestions for myself that I’ve never perused again.

My life has changed a lot since around late last year. I was working at Starbucks at the time (the very same Starbucks I’m currently sitting in, actually) and I got really sick from food poisoning. I ate eggs that I brought home from Starbucks which had gone bad and which I should have known better than to eat anyway, and I became horribly sick for about two weeks. The first few days were the worst, I could barely move at all during that time, eating was impossible. Then a few months later I got hired on to a full time job which I still have, but I got sick twice right around the time I got hired. The first was a cold, then I developed pneumonia and I didn’t miss a lot of work but I did spend a lot of time in bed absolutely unable to move, forcing myself to get some toast or fruit down my throat.

I met a really nice person during that time, a guy on Tinder I’d had a little date with at the bookstore. My mom had moved out and I was in the house all alone (except for my brother, but he’s not exactly much help), and this guy came to see me multiple times while I was sick. He even made me soup and brought it to me. I didn’t eat it because I was too sick to eat and I hated the smell of food, but it was such a kind thing to do. When I was alone and afraid, he came to help me. I wanted to go out and drive around because that’s what helps me feel better, but I was too weak to drive, so I sat in his passenger seat, sometimes sleeping, sometimes talking, often just riding along, and we drove around for hours every day. Once I got better, we visited the mountains in Asheville.

I experienced something that’s happened to me many times before. I started to have feelings for him even though I knew I didn’t really have a connection with him, and though I didn’t admit, we were dating one another, we were pre-boyfriends. We were spending every day together, we were sleeping over at each other’s houses, we were having sex, and when I was sick he went with me to the doctor’s office, and while we were alone waiting for the doctor to come in I started to shake with fear, and he rushed over and put his arms around me and involuntarily, without realizing I was doing it, I whispered “I love you.” And I meant it too. It felt good to say it. A little embarrassing. It was kind of like I’d just busted a nut in front of him without meaning to. But it felt good.

Eventually we had to have “the talk.” The one where we figure out what the hell WE ARE. And we weren’t boyfriends, but we could be. He wanted to be. A part of me wanted to be. But I didn’t feel that it was right, and when that happens, I have to be the bad guy, I have to break someone else’s heart, and my own, and end it. We’re still friends, but it was hard at first. A couple of days after we talked, I started to have a panic attack alone at my house at night, and I needed more than anything in the world to see him. He let me come over and I sat on the floor in his living room and just cried. It was all so sad.

I still don’t know what will happen with our friendship. He left for about a month to go on trips to see friends, and since he’s got back he’s been secluding himself. He’s dealing with his own issues, he’s going to therapy (something I need to do). I’ve not seen him much.

I’ve just been working. Working so much. In early May, I left town for the weekend and went to Washington DC to see Imogen Heap live with my best friend Jake (the one who lived with me for a couple of months last year). It was wonderful to see him again. I felt a little bad because he was so excited to see me, instantly pulling me into bed to have sex, and I was being distant. I didn’t mean to be, nor do I know why I was being distant. Probably I still had my earlier friend on my mind. The concert was wonderful, Imogen Heap was great, and her Frou Frou bandmate Guy Sigsworth was there, participating in about half of the songs.

There was one particularly memorable moment when, during a question and answer segment (Imogen took questions in between each song; I never got to ask my question, which was the very obvious and appropriate “will there be another Frou Frou album?”) someone asked Imogen to use her Mi.Mu gloves to play Angry Angel, and she said she could try but she didn’t remember what key it was in. Jake leaned over to me and whispered “A Minor.” She did some explanation about the gloves and she said “I’ll try to play a bit of Angry Angel but I don’t remember what key it’s in” and I shouted “A MINOR!” Imogen’s head popped up quizically and she said “Eh? What?” and Jake and I both shouted “A MINOR!” in unison, which received a laugh and then a roaring round of applause from the audience and Imogen shouted “Thank you!” We were both so excited, we had our little moment with Imogen.

When I got back from my trip, one of our employees no-call-no-showed and then quit the following day. Later the same week, another employee was promoted to district manager of another store and moved, leaving only my manager and myself to run the store. I had to work a LOT of hours. I was working nearly double my scheduled time because there was simply no one else to help take care of the store. I got MAYBE a day off in a week, never two. In a month, I had three days off. Then my boss had to leave for a vacation which was planned months ahead of time and I was the acting store manager in his absence. It was pretty stressful, I had help from other stores but not much of it, usually one person from another store to help me during the day, if anyone at all.

We finally hired a third person who I’ve helped train, and he’s actually really cool, I like him a lot. We think very similarly and we have long, intense conversations and make each other laugh, which is wonderful. He’s exactly the kind of friend I want to have in my life. I thought to myself at some point “If only I could meet a guy like him, he’d be the perfect boyfriend.” Weirdly, I did NOT develop a crush on my co-worker, which is odd because I usually crush on every male who I befriend.

So then, an important thing happened. I turned twenty-nine.

Twenty-nine years old. A big moment for me. Because it’s the moment I finally started to realize that I’m about to be leaving my twenties and I’m going to be thirty. And being thirty… that means having your life together in some way, knowing who you are, what you want to do. It means starting to look your age. It means I’m running out of time to be a young, cute Instagram model. I’m kidding. Well, I’m half-kidding. I’m probably not kidding at all.

I’ve got a list of all these things I wanted to write about on my blog, but I just can’t right now. My brain is stuck. And for these two days in which I’ve been off work, I’d had nothing to do, and no one to do anything with.

So last night, I decided if I couldn’t find anything to occupy my brain the least I could do was occupy my body. And not by jerking off, like usual. Although there was some of that. I went back to my beginner’s yoga video, which is about ten minutes long and which I’ve been using since around 2012 whenever I want to try to getting into Yoga. It’s a series of five videos on YouTube, but I usually only ever use the first one. I felt incredible. I know I’m an atheist or whatever now, but it felt like all my chakras were opening up and chi was flowing through my body, my body actually felt alive and aware of itself. I kept up my momentum by going to the gym.

Today will be day two of going to the gym. It’s where I’m going after I finish this post. There’s so much I want to talk about but… I just can’t right now. My brain is all scattered. What was it I was thinking last night?

Writing is a little bit like working out or being fit. You can go for a long time without doing it, and you just have to start again. You won’t do very well at first, you’ll only be able to do a little at a time, and you won’t have much endurance, but with time you’ll get better at it and see better results. I guess I can be proud that I wrote anything at all today.

Part of the reason I’ve not posted in so long (despite the fact that no one reads this so I’m really only writing to a potential future audience of people going back through old posts to read them for whatever reason) is that I started trying to keep a private journal, one I don’t share with anyone, where I can talk about things I don’t want to share publicly. That’s still a good idea, but the problem is the things I’m really upset about, the things I don’t want to talk about publicly, they’re not things that writing about in a journal will fix. They need a therapist to hear them and help