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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