Random Musings - 3 geeks on life, the universe and everything.

Fuck my life.

Written on September 7, 2008 at 4:59 am about Life by Tom

The title of this post seems to be my motto nowadays. As much as I hate to admit this, even online, I think I’m fighting the big D. There’s no logical reason for it — things are going better than ever for me to anyone looking in from the outside. I’m back at school, my classes are all good — fuck, my family’s even putting a nice addition on the house. I have squat to bitch about compared to plenty of other people.

And yet…and yet, I’m not happy.  I feel lonelier than ever, in fact. As much as I deride people who act ‘emo,’ I find myself slipping into a funk. And it’s all centered around one thing — my utter failure to find that perfect girl. Yeah, I know, people who measure their happiness by having a girlfriend are losers. Well fuck you, whoever said that, cause this isn’t about status or peer pressure or society. This is human loneliness, plain and simple. Hell, the only reason I can even write this here is because no one reads this blog; it might as well be a journal.

I mean, for fuck’s sake, I meet the perfect kind of girl that I’ve been holding out for for literally years, and still I strike out. And this shouldn’t bother me because I have 18 years of striking out under my belt. I should be a pro at letting go and moving on. But I can’t. I’ve slowly over time lost that ability to go “Oh well, plenty others out there.” Because guess what? There aren’t.

Oh, sure, there’s a lot of females out there, but that’s just statistics. What I mean is similar personalities. Common souls, if you want to get philisophical about it. There’s next to zero people out there like me, it seems, or at least not here in New England. You know what a big stumbling block is? Smart girls. Yep, call me sexist, but I have a real hell of a time finding a girl I can actually talk to about geeky things I find interesting. I’m telling you, they don’t freaking exist.

Part of it might be normal hormones and shit, freaking out and telling me I’ve gotta pass on the ol’ genes, but part of it’s just the fact that, aside from a couple of friendly hugs here and there, I don’t get any kind of real physical intimacy with anybody. And I don’t mean intimacy in the adult sense, either. I’m talking basic human contact here. I might as well be in a biohazard suit. It sounds stupid even to type it, but…I just want to be held. I want someone to hold hands with and hug and caress. And it’s just getting harder to go on without that.

If this makes me some kind of unmasculine girly-man, so be it. If you’re going to accuse me of being hypocritical and emo, go ahead and get it out of your system. All I can say is that I can’t keep living like this. I’ll go crazy. It’s really only a matter of time. The hair-trigger temper that I’ve managed to subdue for so many years is resurging again. The propensity to get pissed off at the drop of a hat, the sudden loss of all reason and desire to just break something or someone, the barely held back crying jag…It’s all stuff no one ever sees, I think, because I’ve grown very good at hiding it over the years.

As I said earlier, I don’t like admitting that I’m an unhappy person. I used to think that denying it would keep it from getting worse, and keep me from wallowing in unhappiness. Now I hope that acknowledging it will help me fight it off. Because I can’t deny it any more. Normal people don’t wake up and immediately try to fall back asleep, because they prefer the dream they were having to reality. Normal people don’t wonder if it’d be better to get hit by a bus crossing the street. Normal people don’t sit in their car, alone, and scream, because if they don’t they’d explode from all the repressed anger and sadness and tears. I’ve crossed that line, the point of no return, where I have to admit that something is seriously wrong here.

I don’t want to seem melodramatic. I’m not doing this to look for sympathy — if I was, I wouldn’t be posting this to an unread blog. This is meant to be more catharsis for me. It’s a free shrink, a stranger to listen to my problems, where I don’t have to worry about them being a part of them. It’s an electronic Freud, putting me on the couch. I don’t want your “it’ll get better” and “You’re a great guy, just be patient” and “Someday you’ll find the right person.” I just need to get this off my chest, before I haul off and start smashing up my car with a tire iron or something.

And that’s the thing, that maybe I want to break stuff and hit things, because at least then you’d notice me. At least then you’d see that I’m here. You’d know I exist, I could prove it. I broke that window, see! I’m here, I’ve always been here. That’s what it seems to come down to. That’s why I’m ‘that guy’ in class, the one with the bad jokes and the snarky comments. Because any attention is better than no attention. Because maybe if I’m clever enough you’ll love me. Because maybe if I make you laugh you’ll see I’m better than the rest of those guys.

That’ll never happen though, because it seems to me, and some of my mates as well, that as much as women complain about chivalry being dead, us nice guys still finish last. As much as you tell us you’re looking for a sweet, sensitive, intelligent guy, you keep on going for the football captain and prom king. As much as you complain about the latest jerk move your boyfriend pulled, you never see us as anything outside the friend zone.

Anyways, I really hope this funk of mine ends sooner rather than later, or at the very least I can stay busy enough to stay ahead of it.