sugarrush-77

I've been reading for the past two weeks a book called Dear Dickhead by Virginie Despentes. It discusses addiction in depth, particularly in relation to alcohol and drugs, and the nature of addiction shown in the story is quite disgusting, leaving me wondering if I should even touch the thing that is alcohol. Even the good properties of alcohol discussed in the book, that it makes you more tolerant of everyone’s bullshit and your own, and how it gets you to open up to people, gets you to wind down, and be more kind at times – if you need alcohol at all to do those things, is it not just a crutch for deeper problems? And the horrible ways that “using” eats up your life, and the harrowing path to freedom from addiction. Why go through that at all when you can just not start it? I drink, but pretty casually, and I don’t really feel a great need to drink all the time, although I sometimes do when I feel like I need to blow off steam. Wondering if I should even continue to do that, because I don’t want it to lead into anything bad. In the past, I have had brief periods of time in my life where I was definitely drinking too much, but nowadays, I can genuinely do without it, and I kind of use it as a mood booster, or a way to get myself more social when I don’t feel up for it. I’ll keep it for now I guess.

Nowadays at church when I listen to sermons, I drift in and out of concentration. I don’t sit in rapt attention as I used to. Mostly because I’m wondering if I have any hope in this life. My nonexistent love life has been leading me down darker and darker thoughts, making me wonder if I’ve any chance at all at finding someone with mutual attraction. It’s not like I’ve not tried at all either. It’s just chains of rejection all the way through. It’s the kind of misery and desperation that one experiences when you begin to think that nobody could possibly desire you for who you are. I wonder if women think I’m brutally unattractive, and can smell the desperation on me you can smell death on a limping, one-eyed dog that’s gotten it’s guts blown out by a shotgun slug.

Thoughts like “When will this all end?” or “I’ve been assigned a terrible fate, and all there is left to do is live it out till the bitter end”, or “How much longer can I live like this until I’m overtaken by misery and die bitterly alone?” These filled my head, until halfway through the service, I decided that I would soon kill myself. “I’m off on vacation during April, and I’m soon going to be off, and that’ll be a swell time, meaning that I don’t want to kill myself then. I’ll wait until May, I’ll give it more time.” Is what I thought in my head.

Today’s sermon was about what it meant to be a church that was alive. I don’t remember how he got there, but at the end of the sermon, the pastor told us that we were going to sing a last song of worship, and hold hands while doing so. There was one guy sitting in my row, and I thought it was awkward, and I wasn’t going to hold hands with him, but he held his hand out and I obliged. As soon as our hands touched, I realized I hadn’t been held by, or even really touched by another person in God knows how long. Physical touch is a human need, I’m realizing, and I don’t have any avenues to experience it in my life. And I think it’d be weird to request the people I know for a hug. I don’t know why, but listening to the song made me cry bitterly. And while I’m writing this, I’m listening to it again, and it is again making me cry bitterly. And I don’t know why. My ears are barely registering the lyrics while I type.

Sometimes, you need a good cry to heal. But I don’t understand why God wouldn’t just let me die. I think I’ve done my time. Nothing has changed materially in my life, and until it does, I’m still going to suffer. There are moments during every week where my heart physically hurts because I feel alone in the world. Is it cruelty if God gives me a second wind to continue while nothing changes in my life? I’ve not decided if I really want to kill myself again. I’m delaying the decision. It’s not a decision I need to make fast, really, because I’ll die eventually anyways. There are enough real-world geopolitical tensions brewing that the chance of me dying on a battlefield in the next 20 years is not a small one.

I’m embarassed that this is the kind of person I am. Self-defeating, self-pitying, and unable to change. Unable to find their place in the world, fit in inside any kind of community without feeling ultimately alone. The embarassment is also coincidentally the reason I find it difficult to confess this to anyone in my life.

I’ve listened to the worship song a couple times now, and I now understand why it made me cry. I find the picture of togetherness and community it paints rather beautiful, and I wish it were real for me. The song to me feels like being held by another person. I’m probably just manifesting something I desperately need and want in the song. I’d rather die than admit that to anyone in my life though.

Fuck my chud life.

Afterword:

Apparently cell groups / small groups at church are supposed to be a place where you can be honest about the deep shit dragging you down in your life. I feel like it’s always me that has to expose themselves in these discussions, because I have nowhere else to talk about my life in this capacity, and everyone else does. I talk about these things, then maybe someone else will follow with things in their life, but rarely. I feel like I’m always the one losing out, and I feel like it ain’t fair sometimes. But life ain’t fair?

Afterword 2:

I bitch about my life a lot, but don’t you ever think that I don’t know that I’m also to blame for my problems.