My brain hates me

So last night, I had a dream (as do most people).  And to anybody who is in the same area code as normal, the dream would probably have been pleasant, although confusing to many.  Me?  I woke up more depressed than I have been in a very long time.  In fact, I started crying three times on the drive to work, that’s how bad I felt.

 

You need to know a couple of things about me for this to make any sense at all:

 

  • I have had a grand total of one sort-of girlfriend in my life.  This was back in high school.  Since then (30+ years): nothing.  Because…
  • I’ve been shy all my life.  But, ever since the end of my first year in college, it has been much, much worse.  I describe myself as “pathologically shy”, and I wouldn’t be a bit surprised if I appeared somewhere on the social anxiety scale.  Because of this, I have an almost impossible time getting to know people.  I don’t do well in crowds of strangers.
  • And, not to put too fine a point on it, I hate myself.  I hate the way I look, I have no confidence in myself, and most times, I feel like I don’t deserve anything good.

So, on to the dream.

 

I dreamed that I was in a large office–something much bigger than where I work now, basically a cubicle farm.  Two beautiful ladies (because everybody in TV, movies, books and dreams are beautiful, aren’t they?) in the office whom I worked with found out how shy I am and began to help me to come out of my shell and meet people.  They would role-play with me, talk with me, take me out into social situations and so on.  This went on for months.  And of course, it being a dream and me being male, it went further, but I don’t need to get into that.

 

Sounds pleasant, no?  Sounds helpful and maybe even hopeful?

 

The effect it had on me was to remind me how lonely I have been for all of these years.  (Dammit, here I go again.)  It makes me think about all the things (good and bad) that I have missed out on by not having someone in my life.  It reminds me how disconnected I am from the everyday world.  It has made me feel like a giant failure–which is a feeling that is usually reserved only for December.

 

I should probably talk to somebody about these feelings (cuz I sure as hell can’t close the door at work so that I can cry in peace), but because I live in Murica, I have a health insurance plan that my employer and I pay almost $400 a month for that pays for approximately jack shit, so I cannot afford to seek help.  Besides, I live in a cow town and I’m not sure if there even are counselors close by.  And, because of the shyness (social anxiety, whatever you want to call it), I have no close friends in the area that I can talk to.  I could talk to my mom, but she’s got enough on her plate.  All I can do is swallow it all, take my pills, write my feelings down in a blog that nobody reads and pretend that everything is okay.  I can’t talk about it on Facebook or Twitter because I have learned that nobody wants to hear from me when I’m down, so I put up my coded phrase on both of those saying “Hi!  Everything’s great!” and I’m just going to disappear for a while.  And, when I last looked, it appears I have completely fooled four people (they “liked” my post on Facebook)–including my mom, which makes me feel even worse.

 

This is my scream for help into the darkness that nobody will hear.

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I’m not Emo

So I had started this originally as a forum where I could discuss whatever I felt like, whatever was on my mind: news events, writing, reading, whatever.  Instead it turned into an emo’s journal.  I only wrote in it when I was depressed.  I don’t think that’s necessarily a bad thing–not having anybody near to hand that I could talk to, sometimes it helped to write my feelings down.  But those writings took over.

I’m hoping to maybe turn over a new leaf.  I’m going to try to write a post a week.  As some of you may have seen, earlier tonight I wrote an entry about my thoughts on the shootings in Orlando.  Maybe the next one will be about books I read this week.  Or design ideas for a website that I’ll build someday.  It may be about depression, the ‘Muhrican health case system, Tupperware bowls or shit I haven’t even thought about yet.

If you are reading it, thank you.  If you read it and get offended…such is life–I won’t apologize for believing what I do.  If nobody’s reading it, that’s fine, too.  At least I’m writing something.

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102 Pawns in a specious argument

Yesterday morning, I heard the news of what had happened at the Pulse nightclub in Orlando earlier that morning.  I read the news and was shocked, then I waited.

And I didn’t have to wait long.

Soon the tweets and posts started appearing:

  • “We need gun control now.”
  • “No, we need to give everybody a gun.”

You know, the argument that happens every time there is a mass shooting in ‘Muhrica.  This time, however, there was a third contingent, one saying “Ban all Muslims”, echoing Donald Trump.

As I see it, all three of these are stupid and naive.

  • “We need gun control now.” – If some asshat wants to go shoot up a nightclub, he or she will find a way to get a hold of weapons to do it with.
  • “No, we need to give everybody a gun.” – That’s good; then instead of one or two gun-wielding assclowns shooting randomly, there will be forty or fifty.  What could go wrong?
  • “Ban all Muslims” – Really?  There are supposedly 11 million + illegal immigrants in ‘Muhrica that couldn’t be stopped.  How will Muslims who want to get into this country for good or ill be stopped.  And what about the ones who are already here, like this small-dicked fuckwad (who was born in New York)–are we going to Executive Order 9066 them (look it up)?

The type of posts that I saw precious few of?  “102 people were shot.  This is a horrific tragedy.”  An incredible number of people immediately worked on trying to score points off of people who believe differently  rather than expressing grief for the 49 dead and 53 injured.

I am embarrassed by the people that I share a “country” with.

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Dammit.

I think the title says it all.

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Please let me die tonight

I have a simple request of whatever is in charge: please let me die tonight.

Today started out okay.  Then it got bad.  Then it got worse.  Finally, it ended up as pretty much of a horror show.

I’ve deactivated my Facebook account just in case (which is something I’ve been thinking about for a while, anyway–too much of a time suck plus I found myself getting angry every time I logged on and read posts).

So can a guy get one break?  Please let me die tonight.

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The Sin of Eating Alone

I actually meant to write this last week, when the idea first occurred to me, but I was too down and didn’t have the mental energy.

A few weeks ago, I went to Hooters after I failed my certification exam.  I don’t go to Hooters that often for two reasons: the closest restaurant is about fifty miles away, and; I tend to leave the restaurant depressed because it tends to remind me how utterly alone and bereft of female companionship I am (which is a whole long story of itself).  The exam was near the closest Hooters, and I was really in the mood for their buffalo shrimp, so I had decided to go there regardless of how I did on the exam.  I was seated at a table near the back corner of the restaurant.  My waitress was very nice (and obviously pretty), but I noticed that, except for when she brought my food, I didn’t see her.  In looking around, I noticed that tables that had three or four people (especially all men), the waitress would hang around the table, talk with the guests, sort of flirt with the guys and so on.  When I left after that lunch, I felt even more depressed than usual.

A couple of weeks ago, my brain started to think about this, and at first, it made me think I was too fat and ugly, and that was why the waitress did not hang around to talk to me.  But then, it started making other connections.

Like those few times I’d been to Bonefish Grill by myself.  Every time I ate there, I would order an appetizer, a salad and an entree.  Invariably, the salad would come before I had finished the appetizer, then the entree would come just as I was starting to eat my salad.  Or, once, the salad came after the entree.  And once, the salad and entree came at the same time.

Like those times that I went into Red Robin (yum!) by myself and the first choice offered was in the bar and not at a table like everybody else.

Like those times I’ve been to Applebee’s by myself and the waiter or waitress would be there every two or three minutes, asking if everything was okay and seemingly trying to hurry me along.

And it hit me: restaurants don’t like to waste tables on people who are alone.  I can see the economic reason–one person at a table is not going to generate as much revenue as a party of four, so it makes sense to get parties of one rotated out as quickly as possible.  But still, it doesn’t feel right to me; it feels discriminatory (insert your own Indiana joke here).  I’m there to eat, just like everybody else, so why should I not have the same experience as those other customers?

Am I suggesting this is a conspiracy among restaurants?  No, I’m not that paranoid.  But given the fact that it happens at this many places kinda makes me wonder.  Should I just not eat out?  Should I hire somebody to go with me so I can be treated like everybody else?

Now, it’s not all bad.  Since I usually have a book with me wherever I go, sometimes I can get some reading done (unless I’m in a place like Applebee’s that is overt in trying to get me out by having the server at my table every couple of minutes).

But sometimes, I want to take my time, eat slowly. look around, maybe even try to talk to the beautiful woman who happens to be bringing me food or refills on my drink.  You know, just like everybody else.  I don’t want to feel like I need to apologize for being there alone, or at all, or that somehow, my presence there is hurting the establishment.  But more and more, it feels like that.

So tonight, before bowling, I will probably go to Red Robin (yum) for dinner.  And I will probably end up in the bar, because that’s where single people are encouraged to sit, away from the tables with the normal people.  And I will probably feel like apologizing to either the person who guides me to the bar or maybe the server.  I hope not, though, because I’m tired of eating my own guilt.

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My idea for a business

I’ve had an idea for a business that I think would make money and that would help a lot of people. But, I also figure that nobody will take it seriously, so while I teased it on Facebook, I didn’t explain it there. And since nobody reads this, I can explain it here and nobody can steal it.

My idea is to have a set of locations. At each location are small rooms. At each location, a person who needs the services can either walk in or set an appointment for ten- or fifteen-minute sessions with a person of their preferred gender. The sessions would be low in cost. During these sessions, a client who is feeling lonely or overwhelmed can meet with another person and talk about how they’re feeling. The listener will listen carefully and talk with the client. At the end of the session, the associate will give the client a hug and words of encouragement. A client cannot block out more than one session at a time and there will be no hanky-panky or anything like that–it’s not a brothel or one of those massage parlors. It will be a place where a person can have someone listen to them and also get a hug to help ground them to help them feel that maybe they’re not alone. I would make sure that clients know that this is not a psychological counseling center: no medications are available, no diagnoses are possible.

Or maybe it’s just something I wish would exist for me to use.

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