Wasted


Trigger warnings: this one is a bit dark, and very dreary and depression, mostly because I’m talking about depression. Enter at your own risk. If you do decide to read it and it hurts, then I am very sorry. I hope I’ll be okay, and I hope that you will too.

***

My head is a weird place to live.

Last night was very difficult. In retrospect, I should have seen last night coming, because the whole day was leading up to it.

Sorry, I’m being cryptic. What I’m talking about is my depression. My depression which as I’ve said before manifests as intense loneliness, and it just follows me around throughout the day. I was actually going to write a blog post last night about “Grey Days,” which was a possible word I was thinking of to describe the kind of day where my depression is having a “flare up.” This is something that’s really been happening all my life. When I was a little kid, it wasn’t so much a feeling of loneliness as it was an intense nostalgia, longing for a past time when I felt safe or comfortable or happy. This affected my OCD and caused me to spend a lot of time playing video games and watching TV to try and recreate a moment when I had felt safe. And then in turn I’d try to recreate that feeling later on, leading to me doing a whole lot of playing video games and listening to television and not a whole lot of anything else.

And you know, I wish that I had known then, back when I was twelve, spending all my time staring at screens, that it was a very unproductive use of my time. Granted, my life was not easy when I was twelve. I was raised by an emotionally abusive mother and I needed whatever moments of peace I could get. But I wish I had found peace in walking around outside or reading books more often than video games, because ultimately, as much as I love video games, it kind of saps all the creativity out of me and leaves me kind of zombified. Sometimes that’s nice, but to spend the majority of all your free time that way isn’t exactly healthy.

And really, I think a lot of my problems are due to unhealthy habits. I never learned to eat properly, I never learned to play any sports, I never learned how to interact with people my age, I never learned to drive or do my taxes or deal with the responsibility and stress of working a job. I never learned to manage money, I never had a supportive family who could comfort me when I was lonely or heartbroken, I had to do everything by myself. I had to raise myself. Emotionally, at least. And well, a kid doesn’t know how to raise himself.

I’m rambling today and I guess that’s just gonna be what today’s post is. It’s important that I write every day just to exercise, another thing I need to work on. I want to go back to the gym. I’d like to do so today. But today is another Grey Day where everything is just HEAVY.

I carry the loneliness and the depression around like a very heavy blanket over my shoulders. It’s like a blanket in a lot of ways, it comforts me and keeps me safe when I’m alone, but it’s also hard to carry around, and it keeps me from breathing unfettered.

I was determined that today, I would not let the depression keep me from being productive. I was going to get up, take my computer, and go out into the daylight, sit down at the coffee shop and write, apply for college, work on job applications, and try to make the most of the day. And I’m doing that. But it would be accurate to say that the simple effort to just sit here, out in public, and do something so simple, is so draining that my whole body is weak and I almost feel like I could pass out from it. I’m not really panicked or anxious right now. My current meds have traded panic attacks for deeper depression. It’s time I asked my doctor to change them. I don’t know what the next ones will be like.

I’m horny all the time. I always have been, I’m hypersexual. But this summer, I indulged way too much, and I had a lot of unsatisfactory hookups that ultimately amounted to self-harming. I was shattering my spirit every time I did it, to the point that I didn’t even enjoy hooking up anymore. I was even a little grossed out by it. This is not something I’m used to feeling. Usually, sexuality is so powerful that it consumes me, and even if things don’t work out with the person I’m having sex with, at least I had fun having sex. But now even that has vanished. And the loss of my sexual appetite (and inability to stay hard at important moments, again due to the medication) has really affected my sense of identity. Sexuality is such a part of who I am that I don’t know who I am without it.

A Youtuber who I like, called Contrapoints, said that when she transitioned and no longer had to deal with having so much testosterone running through her, she felt like a huge weight had been lifted from her shoulders, like she’d been released from the curse of having a man’s body, the need to have an orgasm every day, to have sex frequently in relationships. I admit that I thought it sounded nice. I thought, it would be good not to have this throbbing thing between my legs dictating my bodily needs, demanding attention before everything else, to the point where orgasms didn’t even feel that good anymore. I usually cum more than four times a day. And this is me ON ANTIDEPRESSANTS, we won’t even go into what it was like before I had medication. Suffice it to say my sexual appetite is huge. And I guess that’s a natural part of being a male in my twenties, but combined with my recent struggles with such intense loneliness, it makes for a dangerous combination.

Last night, I gave up on writing a blog post, packed my computer up and drove home. I’d gone to Starbucks, which is my preferred place to hang out and write, mostly because they always have incredibly fast and reliable WiFi. I spoke to the manager earlier this week about a job and she was very nice to me, and I honestly got really excited. I called her a couple of days later and she assured me she hadn’t forgotten about me. I came in today and asked if she was there, but she’d already gone home. I’m hoping she’ll call me back. I’d always kind of worried about what working in a coffee shop would be like for me, being stuck behind a counter with long lines and potentially feeling really hot and overwhelmed, but for some reason I now really want to give it a try. I think I’d be a good fit. I hear they pay their employees really well.

You see, I don’t have any idea what I was going to talk about when I started this, it’s all very stream of consciousness today because there’s just so much I have to say. I’ve been working on writing a song, and every day I spent at least twenty minutes or so playing it and throwing around ideas. It’s progressing very slowly. I’ve been keeping track of my ideas for stories and blogs. And I made myself some lunch this afternoon instead of buying it, and that always feel better than eating processed food.

I wish I had any fucking clue how to do any of this. It’s awful to be twenty-eight and have no idea how to be a grownup. I feel so embarassed and humiliated, like this big child who doesn’t know what the hell I’m doing. And mostly, the only real emotion I’ve been feeling lately is desperate, cloying loneliness, which doesn’t exactly make online dating easy, because I’m either upset at all the rejection or I’m coming on to people way too strong.

I guess I’ve gotten over being ghosted a couple weeks ago. But I haven’t forgotten about it, and I haven’t stopped being angry. Another guy has put off seeing me three times now and vanished without responding to messages. I don’t know why people are so unreliable. I even asked him last night to promise he wouldn’t disappear on me. But he did anyway.

What I feel today is hopelessness. The effort to sit here is overwhelming. Just driving around, being out in the world, it’s enough to make me swoon with sadness. I walk through the day, on the verge of tears at all times, and the worst thing is I don’t know if it’s for a legitimate reason or if it’s just my stupid brain chemistry not doing what it’s supposed to.

I’m getting old. I’m not actually getting old but I can feel myself aging, turning into an actual adult, and I’ve missed so much. I didn’t go to college, and even if I start soon, I’ll never know what it’s like to be twenty-four in college. When I think back on my life, I ask myself, is there any time I would go back to and live again if I could travel into the past? And aside from my visits with Matthew last year and Jacob this year, the answer is no. I hate my childhood, I hate my teenage years, I hate my early twenties. When I look back on my life, I don’t see a collection of lived experiences and a life full of interesting thought and contemplation and expression of my talent, I see wasted potential, I see the person I currently am: a fat, diabetic, alternate-timeline version of the real me, the one who went to school and made friends and had lovers and felt things, felt life, actually FELT everything. But this version of me? It’s a bad dream. One where you wake up and think “I’m so glad I’m not actually in my late twenties, I’m so glad I haven’t sat around and wasted my life playing video games. I’m so glad I didn’t turn into my older brother, sitting on my ass playing games all day while a woman takes care of me.”

But in my case, I don’t wake up, I don’t look down to discover I’m still spry and energetic and hopeful and sexual. I realize that I’m twenty-eight, but I look like I’m twenty and I feel like I’m forty. And I’ve spent so much time doing absolutely nothing, and I regret.

I regret. So. Much.

I think I’m going to go home, and save the college application for later. I’m going to crawl into bed with the dog and the cat, and I’m going to curl up and maybe cry, maybe listen to ASMR videos, maybe browse through the fifteen open Pornhub tabs on my phone, maybe fantasize about my novel that probably isn’t actually any good, and has gone stale and old and lost it’s spark and it’s magic, and will probably never be written. I’m a good writer, but not good enough to write a book. I’m a good musician, but not good enough to make an album. I’m a good lover, but not good enough to make someone feel a genuine connection with me. Except for Jacob, of course. I still love him. And a few other people, but most of them live far away.

I didn’t mean for this to be so sad. But this is what it’s like inside me, walking around inside my sad little body. You can’t really explain it to people like my mom who don’t have a conception of what it’s like to be constantly in pain, constantly hurting, constantly alone, constantly on the edge of tears. To live your life with your emotions just laying gently on a razorblade, and any bit of pressure will bare down on you and it will cut you. To feel sick, and depraved, and like everyone who’s ever met you was mistaken when they saw your kind voice and your compassionate heart and your articulate way of speaking, and they didn’t see that inside you’re a creep. Everybody loves that stupid Radiohead song, “I’m a creep, I’m a weirdo.” But they don’t really believe it when they sing it, or identify with it. They don’t really know what it’s like to be a weirdo. They don’t know what it’s like to learn with surprise that your other gay friends DON’T peek at the urinal every time, that they DON’T find themselves fantasizing about fucking every cute guy they see, that they DON’T immediately wonder what someone’s penis looks like when they talk to you, that they DON’T see the world through a hypsexual fog that increases the color of everything like a television turning up the saturation, but that only gives you an exaggerated version of reality, and it’s pretty but it still isn’t real.

I’m ashamed. I’m lonely. And I don’t think that I’m really worthy of love. Because I know that I’m too much work. My heart is a tangled web of veins and arteries and muscles, and to actually get to anything worthwhile, you have to go cutting through the vines and searching for something hidden deep within. I wear my heart on my sleeve and I’m clingy and emotional, but at the same time I’m shut off, I can’t really express love or actually enjoy a connection. I’m so many contradictions in one person, and it tears my spirit into pieces when all the different parts of me are running in different directions and leaving me in the center, being pulled and pulled while the fabric begins to tear.

I’m not going to hurt myself. I certainly don’t want to hurt anyone else. My version of being suicidal is not actually attempting to kill myself because I don’t truly want to die, it’s a feeling of giving up all hope. It feels good to let go of hope, because it’s not the answer you want but it IS AN ANSWER. If you pray and God answers, “No,” well at least he spoke to you. That’s what giving up is like. It’s like trying to stay alive in the ocean but making the decision to unbuckle the life vest and sink, because now you’ve made a CHOICE, now the power is back in your hands, and even the ocean can’t take that from you.

I hope that tomorrow I feel better. I hope that tomorrow I find the love of my life. I hope that tomorrow I laugh. I hope that tomorrow I never have to feel the way I feel when I’m around my mother. I hope that tomorrow I’ll be a little bit better of a person than I was today, and I won’t feel so incredibly wasted.

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“And Protect Yourself With Fire”

Content warning for some explicit sexual content

I think I’m beginning to develop trust issues.

I’ve had… one of the weirdest couple of weeks of my life. And frankly, it’s all starting to wear on me.

When I tell people about the things that happen to me, they often respond by saying I have such an interesting life, or they say “How are you meeting so many people?” or “I wish I could meet guys like you can.” Well, it isn’t really like that.

I don’t know where to begin, so I’ll start about a week or so ago. The story is very detailed and complicated but to wrap it all up in a brief summary, I had a hookup with a guy in the middle of the night who was drunk and acting incredibly strange. At one point he asked me how much money I had in my wallet, then when I told him I was uncomfortable with that question and I’m going to leave if he keeps talking that way, he laughed at me and said “You really think you can leave? I’m very strong.” That’s probably the most horrific thing anyone has ever said to me. It occurred to me in that moment that the people killed by Jeffrey Dahmer probably also had a similar moment of realization that they were in serious danger.

Despite his creepy behavior, and for whatever reason, I actually ended up staying so that we could finish fooling around because it was late and I was worked up. He did another incredibly weird thing, which is that he found a zit on my back and then BIT IT OPEN, causing me to start bleeding everywhere. Weirdly, I did still stay until we finished, and then left soon after. That night, I went to Waffle House around 4AM to try and get some food and calm down, feeling really dirty and gross. When I went back to my car, I was sitting there looking at my phone and a drunk lady opened my passenger door and sat down in my car, resulting in me calling the cops to get her to leave, which she did, she hopped in her own car and drove away.

A few days later, after spending a day at a friends house more or less recovering from all the strangeness, I got a message from a guy on Grindr who wanted to hook up. When we met, we had a lot in common, and for some reason that I still don’t understand I just started to fall for this guy very quickly. He was charming and cute, and he was affectionate and understanding and very intelligent and well-spoken. He invited me to spend the next day with him while he worked from home, even told me to go home and get my computer and then come back, but later on after I left, he completely “ghosted” me, and never responded to any messages.

Next, another guy who I’d met through Tinder asked to come spend some time with me. He knew I wasn’t feeling well but he wanted to come anyway, and he actually drove two hours to get here. He was in his early twenties, but acted like a teenager and we had nothing in common. He was very rude to me, refusing to look up from his phone, playing on Instagram instead of paying attention to me, and when I tried to liven things up by playing piano for him, he was checking his Grindr instead of listening to me. He started playing piano for me and was doing pretty well, but he kept going on about how his favorite musicians were Miley Cyrus and Taylor Swift and Selena Gomez and honestly I just couldn’t believe how awful his taste in music was, especially for someone with some level of musical ability.

Later on with that same guy, things got sexual but he said he didn’t want to touch me at all. He didn’t mind me touching him, just didn’t want to touch me back. I was a little confused and thought that was selfish, but eventually without really any prodding from me, he DID start to touch me, and then stopped to ask me if I’d showered, and implied he didn’t want to go down on me because I smelled bad. Considering I had come home early from my job, where I’d been standing up in the heat all afternoon, and he hadn’t seen me take a shower, I thought he might have put together that I hadn’t taken a shower, but to outright insult me like that on top of everything was too much, and I made him leave.

I felt guilty for doing it, because the guy has Asbherger’s, and while that isn’t a free pass to be a dick to me, he honestly just looked so SCARED when I told him to get out, and shocked and confused, and I realized that maybe he hadn’t intended to be as rude as he was, and I felt awful at the idea that I might have made him feel unsafe. We spoke about it and I apologized, as did he, but the whole experience is still upsetting for me, mostly because I feel so terrible for even possibly making him feel unsafe. I was angry at him and cussed at him, but I didn’t want him to think I was going to HURT him. I just told him he had been incredibly rude and was being a bitch to me.

After all of this had happened, Gay Pride weekend started in Charlotte. I wanted to go but I kind of chickened out. I never went to the parade or the official celebration, but I did go to a gay bar. It’s a small bar that caters more toward bears and a wider range of guys than our local gay club, and has a better atmosphere. I felt a little out of place there, as the majority of men were large hairy guys in harnesses and kilts, or wrestling singlets. I mostly sat by the pool tables and played on my phone, ignoring the crowds. At one point I start to walk around outside, where people were moving in a line to get through the crowds, and I saw one guy who stood out from the others, but only from behind: he was a short guy with somewhat pale skin, wearing nothing but rainbow briefs and a harness, with blue glitter all over his body and in his hair. At one point he turned around and I saw his face and realized it was actually the guy from earlier in the week who had ghosted me after I had started to kind of fall for him.

I called out his name and said hello to him. He was very nice and easy to talk to. He told me he’s in a weird place right now and didn’t know what to say, and I told him that if he didn’t want me to talk to him it was okay, just to let me know, and he told me I hadn’t done anything wrong. But later on, after I tried to message him… once again, nothing. No response. Ghosted me again. I was feeling pretty down after the whole experience so I went home. I wasn’t fitting at the gay bar and generally just preferred to be at home with my video games and my library of Kate Bush music.

I got a message from a friend who I’ve spoken to online but never met in person that he was drunk and needed me to pick him up. I’d told him earlier on that I was willing to come get him if he needed anything, so I absolutely didn’t mind doing it. I brought him back to my house and we got in bed, started to snuggle, and one thing led to another and we ended up having sex. This was actually a very special experience for me, because the guy in question is transgender and I’ve never been with a trans guy before. As far as having sex with someone with a vagina, I’ve done that once, a very long time ago, with a girl I worked with, and it wasn’t a very enjoyable experience. I didn’t get to do a lot of the things I wanted to try, we had very little chemistry, and the whole thing was over quickly.

So this was really my first time being with someone who doesn’t have a penis, and there was so much I wanted to do and experiment with, and I was finally able to. I tasted and touched things I hadn’t before, and I felt new sensations. I felt like a virgin again. We fucked twice, kissing each time, holding each other close. I woke up in the middle of the night to us already making out, and he climbed on top of me and we fucked again.

In the morning, I tried to reach between his legs and he pulled away. Later on I asked if I could kiss him and he said “I’m good.” We had a good time going out to breakfast, and then I took him home. He didn’t ghost me afterward, but I’ve realized that most likely what we did only happened because he was feeling very uninhibited and excited. He assured me the night we did it that I wasn’t taking advantage of him, as even though he was feeling tipsy, he was still in control of himself, which was why he’d asked me to come and get him in the first place, because he’d been with a guy who was coming on to him too hard and wanted to get away from the situation but couldn’t drive himself.

But I realized that what we did probably didn’t mean very much to him. For me it was special, it was my first time with a trans guy, it was a new experience that I’ve wanted to have for a long time, and it was beautiful. But for him… well, it probably wasn’t that important. And that’s okay, but after everything that’s happened, I just wish it hadn’t have ended that way. I don’t mean that we should have become boyfriends or anything, but getting rejected by him right after we’d had such chemistry hurt.

The next night, I was laying in bed when a guy on Grindr told me he was homeless, his boyfriend had dropped him off earlier in the day and never come back. I knew it was a dangerous idea to invite him over to my house, but I wanted to help, so I picked him up and took him to McDonalds, then to the gas station to get him some water and snacks to take with him. The next day he found somewhere to go, an ex of his came and picked him up. This story doesn’t actually end with sex or rejection or anything, but it was an odd experience to happen in an already eventful week.

And then we reach today. Yet another guy from Grindr (I’m starting to see a pattern here…) asked me to hang out. We’d spoken before. He’s polyamorous and married, and we’ve exchanged photos and generally been sexual with one another. So he invited me over to watch a movie and have dinner. He ordered pizza and he gave me alcohol. We actually spoke for about an hour beforehand and we were getting along well, he seemed like an interesting guy and we had things in common. But about fifteen minutes after we’d eaten and we were just starting the movie, he stood up and started walking around his house, and when I followed him to ask if everything was alright, he told me he needed to get started on homework. I was a little confused that he would ask me to leave right after giving me alcohol, as in addition to being strange and sending me mixed signals, it was also an irresponsible and potentially dangerous thing to do to me. I hadn’t actually come on to him apart from earlier when we sat on the couch and I gave his back a quick scratch and asked if he’d like come and cuddle with me while he watched the movie, to which he said no and just kept his face turned away from me.

After I left, feeling utterly hurt and disappointed, he told me that he was uncomfortable because he could smell something weird in his house that smelled like a combination of cat poop and body odor. I hadn’t noticed it, but his house did smell like cats in general because they’re fostering a bunch of kittens, and it hadn’t bothered me. But he also made a comment that made me feel even more hurt, he said he couldn’t tell if the smell was “Your feet, my work clothes, or cat shit under the carpet.” Wait did you just imply that my feet stank too? That’s the second time this week someone’s made a weirdly disparaging comment about how I smell! I literally had just taken a shower, what the hell?

And now here I am at home, genuinely starting to wonder if I can trust people. I told this guy about my experience earlier in the week being ghosted, and then told him that if he wanted me to just leave him alone all he had to do was tell me. I couldn’t have possibly made it any easier for him, but he continued to be evasive and not tell me the whole story, because his behavior was still incredibly strange and I don’t think I understand it completely.

I know what some of you are thinking: stop going on Grindr. It’s probably good advice. But the thing is, dating apps are the ONLY way to meet people, especially if you live in the South and there isn’t a very accessible gay community. I don’t have much choice when it comes to meeting other guys, and after deciding recently that I might even be open the idea of finding a partner, or someone who might become a partner, I can’t very well just delete all ways of doing that from phone.

I don’t know. Right now I feel crappy, and I feel unwanted, and I feel lonely. Like always.

 

Currently listening to…

Lily
Kate Bush
Before The Dawn

Jacob’s Song

Jacob’s Song

The first thing I did when I got out of bed
Was to fall to my knees and put my hands on my head
When the daylight called me I closed the blinds
Cause without you dear I can’t tell time
And without you dear I can’t tell time

And I thirst for you, and I’m hungry too
And I’m calling in the darkness cause your eyes are blue
The first thing I said when they asked my name
Was that I’m lost in the world and I’m tired of this game
Yes I’m lost in the world and I’m tired of this game

Weeks pass by at an angel’s pace
And the statue by the river leaves an empty space
And they wonder I wander in the whispering wilds
But without you dear I’m a helpless child
And without you dear I’m a helpless child

And I thirst for you, and I’m hungry too
And I’m calm in the darkness cause your eyes are blue
The last thing I said when I asked my name
Is that I’m lost in this world and I’m tired of this game
Yes I’m lost in this world and I’m tired of this game

They found me by the railroad tracks
With a star on my head and an ex on my back
And they called my mother and they asked my age
But without you dear I’m an empty page
And without you darling I’m an empty page

And I search for you in the wind at dawn
And I listen for your voice when the daylight’s gone
And I know you’ll come back when I call your name
And I know that this time is an empty pain
And I know if I call you’ll come back to me
But without you my dear I don’t know how to speak
And without my dear I don’t know how to speak

And I thirst for you, and I’m hungry too
Cause the world is missing colors from your eyes so blue
The only thing I said when they asked my name
Is that I’m lost in this world, and I’m tired of this game
Yes I’m lost in this world, and I’m tired of this game

And I thirst for you, and I’m hungry too
And I’m drinking in the desert cause your eyes are blue
And when I lay in bed I whisper your name
Because I miss you dear and I’m tired of this game
Yes I miss you dear and I’m tired of this game
If you listen close you can hear your name

I’m Exhausted

I’m exhausted. I was angry, then a little time went by and I became exhausted. There are so many things on my mind. So many things swirling around in my heart and making me feel sad, and scared, and alone.

I’m angry first and foremost because I haven’t taken my medication today. I can take it and I will, but not until I’ve written this. I’m angry about the medication too. I’m angry that I need it, that I can’t go out in public without being medicated or else I’m overcome by anxiety that simply has no cure.

You can’t think your way out of the anxiety, you can’t be optimistic and hope yourself out, it JUST. DOESN’T. GO. AWAY. You wake up and you do yoga and you exercise and eat a healthy meal and try your best to smile, but still, when you get to work, you start having an anxiety attack and absolutely nothing you do can change that, and the worst part is you know this isn’t just a temporary thing, it’s going to happen again tomorrow, and the day after that and the day after that and there is nothing anyone can do to take away this ghost inside you that makes you terrified every day of your life.

I’m upset because I’ll be out of medication in a month or so, and while that is time to find a new doctor, I don’t have health insurance, I was rejected for Medicaid, I don’t know where to try and find a doctor in this state, and I have no money anyway. I already have to pay out of pocket for my prescriptions and while they used to be about $15 each, they’ve shot up to $100+, meaning that I have to have them filled in increments of fourteen days between paychecks. And on top of that, my meds don’t even DO ANYTHING anymore. One of them is an antidepressant and it works moderately well, but the other one is for me to take when I have panic attacks to relieve them, and it does literally nothing. The worst thing is, I can’t stop taking it, because when I stop taking it I get EXTRA anxiety, so I have to keep taking a useless pill that isn’t good for me just because my body can’t go without it.

I haven’t been under a doctor’s care in a year, and it’s been about a year since I was told I have type 2 diabetes. It’s never been managed by a doctor. Who knows what kind of things could be wrong with me, I’m just screwed because I don’t have a doctor, my job will eventually give me insurance (and god knows how much they’ll charge me), but it might not be for a while, and what do I do in the meantime? Worry is what I do, just worry, nothing else, because there’s not much else I can do.

I don’t make enough money. I work almost every single day, fairly long shifts, seven or eight hours each. I spend all of my time at work, and when I get home I relax for a couple of hours and go to sleep, and go right back to work. And yet I STILL never have any money. I pay my very cheap rent, then my car insurance, my phone, and get groceries and gas and I’m done, that’s the whole paycheck. And I only get paid every two weeks. I make nine dollars an hour, that it just simply not enough money to survive on.

I’m angry because every single day I say I’m going to write and most days I don’t. The reason is because I put so much pressure on myself to do it, but there’s nothing I can do to change that, I can’t make myself write by NOT putting pressure on myself, can I? And I write things that I care about all the time on Facebook, things that I want to say, but once I’ve said them on Facebook I never say them here. And I don’t write my novel either, even though I spend every single day thinking about it, and I have years worth of notes piling up on ideas for the story, and I continue to take more every single day. I have several lists of blog topics that never get written. I have so much to say and I just can’t make myself say it. I get too intimidated, I know sometimes what I have to say is going to be crappy or not well-written, and I choke, and I don’t write it.

I want to write a review of the new Evanescence album, I’ve had notes written down for it for three weeks, and I still haven’t written anything. Every time I take my computer and go to Starbucks and sit down to write, I just end up downloading music and watching Youtube videos, I never do any writing.

I’m mad because I don’t truly understand how to play the piano, even though I’m a really good piano player and I’m mostly self-taught, but I hit so many walls. I study other people’s songs, the way they structure their chords, and I notice more and more that I’ve become stuck in my own style, and everything has became the same when I play it, a unique song loses it’s uniqueness when I play it my way because my way is predictable and I know how I’ll play it. I try and scan the piano for a chord I don’t usually play, but when I try to find a progression it’s just the same thing, the same way of playing, the same thing in a different key. Whenever I try to come up with an original musical idea, I realize I’ve just stolen it from another song.

I’m mad because even though I have mountains of notes, poems, scenes, and outlines written, I still don’t have much to show for all the things I’ve created. It’s all just notes, sitting around. I’m mad because I still don’t have anything decent to record with, just using my phone or my old USB mic. I’m mad because I’m twenty seven, almost twenty eight, and I’ve still done nothing with my life. I’m not a writer or a musician yet. I’m still just some kid living in his mom’s house.

But now that I’m getting older, certain aspects of my personality are disturbing to me. I’m incredibly sexual, and that used to make me think I was cute and kinky, now it makes me think I’m turning into an old perverted creep. I’m somewhat contrarian, and I used to think I had a fresh perspective because I tried to see different sides of an issue, but now it makes me think that I’m just an attention seeking troublemaker who doesn’t have anything valuable to say. I used to be able to deal with my guilt and shame over my kinks and my fears and my trauma, and now I feel so weighed down by it all that I don’t know how to keep living.

I am still stuck. I am still in a bedroom in my mom’s house, playing Final Fantasy VII and eating chips. That’s what I did when I was eleven, and it’s what I’m doing now.

I’ve gotten so fat. I have diabetes now because of it. I have two chins, I have stretch marks all over my body, I get exhausted just from walking. I can’t fucking stand it when people tell me I should just accept myself and love my body, because the fact that I’m fat and unhealthy is a PROBLEM, and I wish my friends would say something like “I believe you can get healthy and get in shape,” rather than acting like I have actually done something offensive by feeling guilty for mistreating my body. I’m angry that I can’t lose weight. I’m angry that I don’t know where to begin. I feel so stupid that I’m almost thirty and I don’t really know how to cook or what to make for food.

I feel so unprepared for everything. I feel like such a failure.

I’m scared because I live in a country that gets more and more terrifying every day. I’ve never even wanted to be in America, I always wanted to be in Canada or England, but I’m stuck here, and I’m afraid. I hate this country in so many ways. I hate it’s culture, I hate it’s politics, I hate it’s education system, I hate the way it treats people, I hate it’s religiosity and Christianity and homophobia and racism. I don’t want to be here. I also don’t want to be in a worse place, like a third-world country, but still I feel I have the right to be honest and say I’m terrified of this country and I wish I lived in a better one. I do not for one moment believe this is the greatest country in the world, far from it.

Above all else, I feel alone. So alone. I’ve felt alone for so long now. So long it’s unbearable, it’s excruciating to be so alone. I remember when I was fourteen and laying in bed, and all I wanted in the world was a boy next to me, someone to kiss and fuck and hold and feel safe and happy with. And I still don’t have that. I don’t even have friends who can fill in the gap by being my fuck buddies. I’m still alone. My long-distance boyfriend in England broke up with a couple of weeks ago. I understand why he did it and I felt relieved in some ways, but sad too, and now I’m just reminded of how alone I am, and it makes me feel bitter and disappointed.

So now I’m going to take my medicine, I’m going to play Final Fantasy VII, and I guess soon after I’ll go to bed. Maybe tomorrow I won’t be so mad. Maybe tomorrow I’ll do something that makes me feel proud. Tonight this is all I can do.