I’m sad. I’m really sad. So here I sit drowning my sorrows. I won’t do anything tonight, nor will I do anything tomorrow night, nor the night after that, because that would just be too healthy, or too well-adjusted.

I want the abuse of every person who will blame it on me, who will tell me to get off my ass, make a change, take control, grab the reins. I want to be abused. I want to be abused, and I want it purely out of spite.

I want everyone to hate how much I whine and I want everyone to be tired of hearing me. I want to blame the world for never understanding and I want to blame myself for understanding about complaining about the world never understanding.

I want to break the rules, get evicted, fail to turn up, get fired, not make my bills, end up homeless, commit a senseless murder-mugging in broad daylight, get convicted, start a fight with the biggest, meanest person in prison, get beaten to within an inch of my life, leave a hateful note to everyone that ever loved me, and disappear into the ground, hated.

I am underground, underground, underground, underground,

underground.

I know why people get wrapped up in their careers. It’s because everyone starts out by the time they’re old enough to think like an adult building a hundred things from scratch, knowing that you have to keep a lot of logs on the fire, a lot of plates spinning in the air, because most of them will turn to shit, painfully, no matter what you do. If you get lucky, one or two things won’t. For some people, the thing that doesn’t is the career.

Once you reach a certain age and you’ve started a lot of fires and thrown on a lot of logs and put yourself out there a lot of times and nearly everything has failed to bloom and you can see that half of your life is gone and starting all over again yet again will take half as long again, you decide quickly to stick to what you’ve got — to the things that seem to have worked. You lament the rest of it — a lot — and drink some, but then you go back to what you still have and work on it.

Once you pass that point where you say “there’s a good chance that this is halfway,” you don’t waste your time anymore. You try to maximize your winnings and minimize your failures.

when showing me how small i am
please take care to close the door after you
because i am really cold, too
and am on the verge of

disappearing

🙁

Do I have low self esteem? I never thought I did. I know I have a brilliant analytical mind. I’m one of the foremost computing and technology experts out there, even if I’m not always recognized for it. I’m very well read and very literate. I’m reasonably decent looking — not a model or anything — but reasonably decent looking. I’ve always thought I was overconfident.

But maybe she was a little bit right. I do let people walk all over me. I know that I wouldn’t have a lot of the relationships that I have in my life right now if I didn’t forgive people for things that they wouldn’t forgive me for, and I stick with people when they wouldn’t have stuck with me.

What’s the alternative? To be alone? I do hate being alone. Badly. Why do I think I’ll end up alone? I don’t know, I just always have when I’ve stood up for myself. And I don’t recover well from it.

But I also hate being treated like shit, and it seems that a lot of people have treated me like shit over the years, and it took me a long time to stand up for myself.

But I still don’t want to be alone and friendless.

I just don’t know. I wish I still knew how to cry like a baby, because I could use it right now, but I just don’t.

I hate life and I wish I wasn’t here.

That the older you get while on your own, the less and less you like afternoons and evenings. They are just empty and they don’t love you at all. If you try to fill them with something, it feels forced and artificial, like you’re trying to have a life but are really just making it all up. If you don’t try to fill them with anything, it’s just you… very conspicuously just you.

—

Work is asking me if I want overtime. And here I sit actually considering it. Look at me. I live alone in Southern California working in a cubicle all day and coming home to a laptop at night. I’m everything I most fear becoming. The world has raped me.