FUDGE015

What a start to July, huh. Urgh.

To be fair, I've had a whole slew of dreams today. Too many for my groggy consciousness to hold onto out of bed, and they aren't all necessarily sad. By that I mean, all but one was about my darkest emotions and deepest fears, HA!

It's about ----, again. I wonder if I can not type that name every month. Bleak reminders are awash in my life, not the least of which is my phone, which suggests "----" when I want to type in stuff like "Camera", or "Camshaft". Reminds me always of how big a piece of my life I'm attempting to live without, and in being reminded, I'm drawn back to square one of distancing myself from it.

Two weeks. That's the general guideline for seeking professional help. If you experience symptoms of depression for more than two weeks, it's recommended that you seek counselling, psychiatry, etc.. That seems to be the general consensus to the professionally uninitiated me, anyway. Anything, from breakups, to death, etc., has a two week "get over it" period. It's always blown my mind when I do my skin deep Google searches. Two weeks?

Why is it then that bad memories and experiences in my life always cling onto and haunt me for the better part of a year, at least? It's not even just unrequited love; I still get nightmares about my last last job at ----, the colleagues I had there, my last job at ----, the people and experiences there, etc.. Dreams of acceptance and belonging, dreams of "what if this happened differently". Nightmares of the humiliation, the ire I stirred up, and an uncanny tendency to be in just my underwear in public settings with a crowd of people.

So then, what does it say about me that experiences like that haunt me for life? Do... people, well adjusted people, get over these setbacks in just two weeks? Am I too fragile? Too sensitive? Am I expecting too much? Am I too emotional? Do I need more drugs? More power? More control?

Am I sick?

How'd I even turn out like this?

Why is it so oxymoronically difficult to be normal?

It's so difficult. So difficult for me to connect with people and make friends any more, let alone love someone the way I loved ----, the way I loved ----. Everybody feels like they have a mask on. I can't see them, I can't feel them. And even in group therapy, when I do see and feel people finally, I feel like a preachy asshole. I feel like a hypocrite, being able to say all the best things to them, yet being unable to do so for myself. I get scared and I run away. I immediately distance myself from them. I skipped a session last Tuesday because of that.

And so I try to patch up the holes in my heart with porn, with psychotherapy. I think porn stars and psychotherapists are actual friends. I think they can save me. I think I know them. I genuinely feel happy to see them come back to see me time and again. But at the end of each day I know that I know nothing about them. They aren't friends. They'll always have that very concrete and purposeful wall between me and them. They aren't meant to be a crutch like I'm using them to be. They feel like they're here for me, like they'll comfort me, like they'll make me feel better about myself, but they're just paid services, a luxury.

They're surrogate friends because I don't have many. Because I don't have enough. Because I'm lonely and I don't know what to do.

I want to talk. I want to have heart to hearts. I want to rely and be relied on. I want to trust and be trusted. I want someone to share my vulnerabilities with, and have them massaged, and I want to do the same for her. I want to smile, I want to laugh, I want to be happy, I want to make others happy.

But why does it always feel like I'm trapped in the prison of my own head, six feet underground? Why do I feel so ashamed of myself?

Oh, that's right. Because I never bother to do my hair. And I don't dress up enough for events. Because I never buy her the things she wants on her birthdays. Because I don't make the 4k a month to feed her, to make her happy, for her to rely on me. Because I'm fat and ugly. Because I'm too needy. Because I'm too proud and too immature. Because I have a short temper. Because I'm too horny and too pervy. Because I want dinners together. Because I want hugs. Because I want hour long talks in the dead of night. Because I love taking unflattering photos. Because I want to know about your past relationships.

Because I'm just not good enough for you, I'm ashamed. I'm unwanted. I'm worthless. I'm an awful person to be around. An awful burden with his depression, anxiety, and loneliness to have to baby. And I will forever be lonely because of this.

I want to talk with a friend.