It’s Monday?

Up all night last night. Robert begged me to stay up with him because he couldn’t sleep. He eventually went down around 3 am. It’s currently 7:30 and I’m still awake. I think I’m going to try to stay up the rest of the day and hopefully crash some time this evening. I need to put my foot down with Robert and get my sleeping back in order. What better time than tonight? The last night of the year leading into 2019. That can be a resolution for me, to get my sleeping back on track so I can function during the day. It’s not fun when the twitching hits me from lack of sleep. Not fun at all. Robert is literally snoring behind me. One of these days I’m going to take a pillow and… fluff it up for him. *Sigh*… I need to learn to be more ruthless.

New Years Eve it is. What are my plans? The same as they are every other day. I was supposed to see the chiropractor today but with my foot I had to call off as I would have had to have taken an Uber or Lift and we really can’t afford that right now. I was planning to walk, until I discovered the break. By then it was too late to schedule a ride through my insurance as they require five business days in advance. I would have only been able to give them three. All of my other appointments are set up though, right through the 16th I believe. I’ll call and schedule more soon. I didn’t want to completely overwhelm the poor woman who ended up helping me.

Monday is usually the beginning of the work week for most people. For me, it’s simply another day. In fact, it tends to feel more like an extension of the weekend. Around these parts a lot of places aren’t open on Monday for some reason. Instead, they tend to be open on Saturday and then close on Sunday and Monday. Why? I have no idea. All the libraries around here are closed on Monday as are many small shops. There’s a bee store and an antique shop a few blocks away that are also closed on Monday. It’s definitely not a universal situation but it’s often enough to draw interest in the peculiarity of it. I really should look into why that is. Not today though. Maybe tomorrow when the new year starts, along with the new me.

I’m trying to decide if I want to wait until after my birthday to renew my ID. I mean, it’s already been like two and a half years since I lost my last one. With my birthday being in less than a month and the number of years it remaining valid being based on your birth date and not when you renew it, waiting until after my birthday would give me an extra year before I’d have to renew it again. I think that’s just an excuse to put it off for a few more weeks but it’s an excuse that at least makes some sense. Not much, but some.

My body feels like it’s vibrating. That’s one of the symptoms I get from lack of sleep. I get twitchy and I feel like I’m vibrating inside. It’s a weird feeling, and it’s all throughout my body. I can especially feel it whenever I close my eyes. There’s this feeling of pressure forcing them out against my eyelids as they vibrate wildly. Any kind of loud noise tends to make me jump or shudder as well. If I’m going to actually stay up today, it’s going to be a long, hard trial. And I’m going to have to deal with Robert as well.

I emailed a friend of mine today for the first time in months. That reminds me, I have another friend I need to email as well. I think it’s been more than a year since I emailed him. I’m absolutely terrible at maintaining relationships. I just forget about people unless they’re in the forefront of my mind, such as I’m doing something for them (like computer work) or they’re coming over and inserting themselves into my life. I don’t mean to lose track of them, it just sort of happens. Days blend together and become weeks then months then years. Honestly, I really don’t see it happening until it already has. If that sounds selfish and self-absorbed then guilty as charged. It doesn’t seem to be anything I can help though as it just happens. What I need to do is figure out how to keep it from just happening, whatever that means.

We’re going to start keeping receipts as well. We’re always broke and never seem to know where our money goes. I’m going to look for some money management software and, failing that, I’ll build a spreadsheet and deal with it by hand. I still remember some of how to do that from a class I took in high school. Shouldn’t be too hard to brush up on the basics and then go from there. Money is a huge issue with both of us and we really need to get our spending under control. A month of keeping track of our fast food receipts alone will probably give us a heart attack.

It’s cold this morning. I’m cold. Another symptom of my lack of sleep. So we have twitching, sensitivity to sound, vibrating, sensitivity to cold, and I’m also starting to feel a stress headache coming on. Wow is today going to be hard. I just talked to Robert about setting a curfew, as in at 10 pm all electronics go off and both of us get in bed. He reacted less than favorably to the idea. Actually, he sounded rather angry at the mere mention of it. It’s going to be hard getting myself to do this at all but if Robert is going to be actively fighting me on it I’m not sure what I’m going to do.

I should eat something and take my morning meds. It’s a little after 8 and that’s when I want to start waking up. Might as well start acting today like I’m on my new schedule. It’ll make it easier tomorrow when it (hopefully) really begins. But first I have to sort my meds, as I didn’t do that yesterday, the smarty smart that I am.

This already has disaster written all over it and it’s not even New Years until tomorrow. Oh well, that’s not much different from my life every other day of the year.

It’s Sunday!

You know, I realized I make my life sound absolutely terrible when the reality is, it isn’t. spend much of my time doing nothing. I wander the internet reading. I rarely engage as, and I know I’ve said this before, it’s simply not safe unless you’re willing to compromise your integrity and say what everyone else wants you to say. I’m not going on another internet tirade, though I easily could, just stating a fact.

Here’s how a usual day for me goes:

Of course we all start by waking up. For me, that depends on how late I was up the night before. Often, Robert will insist that I stay up with him for company. He sleeps really irregular hours and I get dragged into that more often than I’d prefer. So by morning I’m either waking up, or just getting to bed. We’ll pretend that I’m waking up, as that’s what’s happening today.

I wake up and then… Well, usually I spend several hours on the internet doing next to nothing. Read a few sites I follow, do some searches, feel betrayed by myself and the world when I inevitably see other people with actual lives actually doing things. And I’m in bed the whole time still. The bedroom is our main social area. We have a living room but don’t really have anything in it. A coffee table with a record player and our fake Christmas tree we bought at Walmart on it and a broken futon comprise the furnishings.

After waking up and playing on the internet for hours, Robert then wakes up. This will usually be around noon or even as late as 3 or 4 in the afternoon depending on when we went to bed the previous night. This is when we’ll talk about getting something to eat. I’m trying to break myself of eating late at night but it’s really hard and Robert keeps snacks by his bed so I’ll often hear him snacking away in the middle of the night when we’re both supposed to be sleeping. Now then, we’ll talk about food but may or may not actually eat anything. Either way, the TV goes on at this point and much garbage is watched.

Chores are then decided upon for the day. These may consist of dishes, vacuuming, sometimes laundry, sweeping, mopping, the usual. I despise dishes so Robert usually does those. Laundry is my chore. I vacuum most days, as Robert gets really O.C.D. if I don’t. He sweeps outside and we take turns sweeping and mopping inside. I do all of the food preparation but getting Robert to help clean up afterwards is like pulling teeth.

Whether we eat or not, much garbage TV is watched from Netflix to our cable DVR to, ahem, downloaded videos. We spend most of the time more talking over the shows than actually watching them. Rewind is a godsend, especially when one of us is talking and we miss something important or especially funny. We’ve been watching Soap recently. It’s an amazingly hilarious show from the late 70s/early 80s. We both agree it’s the Drawn Together of its time. Saw a huge amount of protests and backlash as well. People are so dumb and never learn.

More TV, lots of chatting, food is gotten at some point, Robert continually asks me to do simple things that he could easily do for himself, I whine then usually do them anyway. After we eat a nap is often taken. This would be around 2 or 3 in the afternoon on a day when we wake up around 10 or 11 in the morning. We lay down. Robert sleeps. I play online. I finally start to get sleepy and Robert wakes up ready to watch more trash TV. I get up annoyed that I didn’t get to sleep myself, but relent and watch crap with him.

Leading into the early evening there is talk about showers or brushing teeth. Sometimes they happen. Sometimes not. Sometimes I shower in the morning instead. Either way it’s discussed but no definites are decided upon. Then one or both of us decide to do something and that will often interfere with whatever the other wants to do. I want to take a shower, Robert decides he wants to brush his teeth or use the bathroom for some other purpose. That kind of thing.

This is also when we’re deciding if we’re going to eat again, or at all if we haven’t eaten yet. Sometimes we will have come up with an idea for something earlier or the day before, but that often will get thrown out for something easier or quicker. Usually Robert will decide he doesn’t want to have to deal with a lot of dishes so will tell me to throw something in the oven or run around the corner to Taco Bell, even though he knows it gives me terrible gas.

Then we eat, or eat several hours later. Anywhere between 5 and midnight. Sometimes even later. More trash TV is watched. More complaining about chores is done. More begging me to do simple things occurs as well, which I eventually capitulate to if only to get him to shut up. And of course sleep is often completely ignored until one of us actually feels like doing it. Then the negotiations begin.

If it’s Robert ready to sleep I just roll over and get on my laptop until I can fall asleep as well. If it’s me ready to sleep… Since Robert sleeps very odd hours and can actually operate on as little as two hours a night, it becomes an issue for me. I need several hours, eight or nine in a straight line, in order to feel awake. Robert, not liking that, will complain and beg. He really gets lonely even if it’s only to keep me up on my computer while we’re doing completely different things. He always wants me to stay up with him. Sometimes I get to sleep when I want. Often I’m up half or the whole night with him. Snacks will be consumed during this time as well.

Then we go to sleep (or not) and the cycle begins anew.

More recent breaks involve doctor’s appointments and Robert’s group that he attends every Monday, Wednesday, and Friday in the afternoon. I’m usually at home getting things done that I can’t while he’s around. You know, “things”. They shall not be named in specifics.

I suppose you could call this a “charmed life” as I have little want and little worries outside of bills and rent and, you know, not dying. Either way, I’m simply not happy. I’m not happy with it and I’m not happy with myself. Especially now with my foot keeping me down. I’m supposed to be going to the YMCA while Robert is at group. Instead, I’m still stuck at home, but this time not by choice. And I still haven’t heard anything from either of my doctors of what they think I should do.

I think I’m going to roll over and try to get some more sleep before Robert wakes up. Gotta remember to sort my meds for the week when I get up as well.

I hate my life.

And myself.

And my life.

Did I mention myself?


I am regret incarnate. I am regret given purpose. Given need. Desire. I regret so much. Do I regret existence?

When I was six maybe, one of our cats had kittens. I don’t know why our mother let us but she let us each pick one and play with them. We were far too young to be doing this and they were far too small to be handled. I remember me and my brother were playing a game with them sliding them down inside a blanket. My brother said something about his being better than mine. I grabbed his kitten and threw it against a table leg. It cried and cried. The sound of it still haunts me to this day. I could never purposefully hurt another animal again.

Sometime during third grade I believe, me and my brother were out playing with some other boys. I didn’t have any friends my own age so we were always playing with his friends who were a good two years younger than me. I don’t recall what exactly led to it but one of the boys picked up a rock and threw it at my brother. It struck him on the side of his head near his temple. My brother went straight down like a marionette with its strings unexpectedly cut. I went into uncontrollable rage mode. I ran across the street toward the boy who had hurt my brother and simply wailed on him. I probably punched him a good few dozen times screaming all the while. Then I ran to a car, threw myself against the hood, and sobbed.

In sixth grade I stepped on a kitten. Another one of our cats had had a litter. We always had some kind of animal around the house when we were kids. At least a cat if nothing more. So our cat at this time had gotten pregnant and had a litter. They were all up on the top bed of me and my brother’s bunk bed. I went in to check on them and realized that one was missing. While looking for it on the ground I stepped back and immediately felt it under my foot. It mewed and mewed. Wouldn’t stop. I quickly picked it up and put it back with the others, making sure it had a nipple, then left the room in such shame. I came back a few hours later to find it dead, it’s bowels released on the bed where I had laid it. It still makes me want to cry just thinking about it.

Junior high and high school were pretty much nothing but regret for me. I regret going at all. I regret not being able to confide in anyone what I was going through. I regret having friends, the few that I did. I regret not having friends. I regret letting people down. I regret that my one high school English teacher actually believed in me. I regret that I never stood up to the kids at school that tormented me, to the one school counselor that screwed up my classes over and over again, to my family that treated me like dirt and a slave and little more than a welfare check.

Worst of all, I regret not standing up to myself. I could have been someone, been something, instead of the useless, pointless lump of sad that I am today. I could have graduated college, I could have gotten a job, had friends, had a real life.

Work. I did work, twice. The first time I was very young and it was a stupid security job at a strip mall after I had failed out of college. The second time…

I was going to a program deigned to help people like me (crazy folk) find and keep jobs. One of the first things they do is test you to see what you would be best suited for. My results were off the chart on everything. It wasn’t a difficult series of tests. I think it was designed for lower functioning individuals as it consisted of things like completing lines and finding word matches in groups in a set period of time. Things you would do in elementary school. My scores being so high, they had no idea what to do with me. So they offered me a job.

This company was contracted with the state and actually had two positions that they specifically kept open for clients. They decided to offer me one of those positions and I took it. This was in my mid twenties and I wanted to work. I really, really did. We filled out all the paperwork, got me all set up. I went to a consignment store and picked up a couple nice outfits that I could wear to the office. Shirts and shorts weren’t going to cut it here. This job was supposed to be a stepping stone. I was supposed to work here for a year and a half gaining enough experience to move on to a permanent office position somewhere else. I was so excited.

I didn’t show up the first day.

I tried. I tried so hard. I got up, got dressed, got all of my things together. Got on the train and road down to the office. Got off the train and walked the few blocks remaining. Got in front of the office and then… I just couldn’t go in. I paced on the sidewalk out front. I’m sure someone could see me from inside but no one actually came out. I paced and stood, sweating and absolutely terrified. After what seemed like an eternity I simply turned and went back home. I didn’t call out or anything. How could I? What excuse could I give? I got there but was too afraid to go inside? The scary little office building chased me away?

After a few days of anguish and self-hated I eventually did show up. But that first day. That day when I was right there. Right at the front door but simply couldn’t bring myself to open it and walk inside. That really sticks with me. The regret. Knowing how things could have been instead of what they are.

I regret this fear that has controlled me all of my life. How it’s tormented me. How I let it torment me. There’s simply no other way to say it no matter what anyone else thinks or says:

I regret me.

Why Am I?

I’ve been posting a lot recently, huh? I don’t know why. Actually, that’s not true. I know why. I get this way when my headspace is all clogged up, like it’s been for the past two, three months.

Keeping a journal or blog or whatever has always been very hard for me as often I can’t see the need for such a thing. Of course there have been plenty of times when I’ve looked back at some specific event or time in my life and wished I had kept a journal or log but in the moment it’s never felt necessary to me.

For decades I’ve been starting blogs, keeping them for a while, to better or worse standards, and then simply dropping them. I had (have?) one on Blogger that I was keeping rather well in regards to my diet, exercise, and overall health. I stopped posting to it about a decade ago. Not for lack of interest but because certain events in my life made it impossible to continue. My last post made mention of some of them and I’m sure sounded rather bleak. The eventual outcome turned out to be as bad as I had feared. I should really look and see if I can find that blog again.

Eh… Tried to find my old Blogger blog but had to do an account reset. Now I have to wait a few days to see if they’ll give me access back. Gah! I hate when I lose login info like that but it’s completely my own fault.

Now I’m just laying here. I’ve been rather cold recently. I usually like the cold but I just feel so run down and exhausted all the time now that I can’t enjoy it. It seems to be seeping into my bones. Making me feel achy and just not comfortable at all. I’m wrapped up in two blankets and I’m still not feeling warm enough. Maybe I’ll crawl into my comforter. I’ll be much warmer in there.

Speaking of bones, I have a broken one in my left foot. I know exactly when and where it happened (December 4th while walking home from my appointment with the chiropractor) even though I didn’t know about it until Christmas day. I went in for x-rays on the 14th, of which the office gave me a copy of the images on a disc. I didn’t think to look at them as I was sure I wouldn’t have a clue as to what I was looking at anyway, let alone whether I could even view them.

Finally, Christmas day I decided to try to boot them up and have a look out of some sort of macabre interest. Lo and behold there was an image viewing program on the disc as well. After a bit of experimenting to figure out how the program worked (hint: not well) I noticed something in one of the pictures that caught my eye. A little bit of zooming and the fracture was plain to see. It wasn’t a crack. It was an out right break.

I don’t think I’ve ever broken a bone before, and for three weeks I literally didn’t realize that I had. Sure my foot had hurt and swelled up majorly (still is swollen somewhat to this day) but it never really occurred to me that I had broken anything inside of it.

Now I’m waiting to hear from my doctor as to what to do about it. I’m supposed to stay off it of course, but what else should I do? I messaged them Christmas day knowing that I wouldn’t hear from anyone until the following day. That next morning I got a message from a nurse confirming the fracture in the x-ray and told me that I would be hearing from the podiatrist shortly. It has now been about two and a half days since I received that message and no one has contacted me back about it. I’m beginning to wonder if I should go back to the emergency room again. I just don’t want this to get any worse than it already is and walking for three weeks on a broken bone must not be a good idea.

Just one more thing to add to the growing pile of issues that have been holding me back from doing pretty much anything as of late. My anxiety and depression have been flourishing and now I have to stay in bed for fear of doing irreparable damage to my already screwed up foot. This has got to be a joke. It really does. I’ve only been able to visit the YMCA a handful of times in the past almost two months that we’ve been signed up there, and the membership fee ain’t all that cheap. Something literally does not want me going there right now and it definitely isn’t my imagination.

Anxiety and depression are one thing, they come and go constantly with me. More coming than going though. But then I started having low blood pressure issues. Now that those seem to have been solved (looks like it was that medication after all) I break a bone in my foot and then spend three weeks walking on it without knowing about it causing god only knows what all kind of damage. I’m sure I sound hokey but come on. Really? What else has to happen before I accept it? Do I need to be hit by a truck?

Either way I’m laid up for a while now and… I still need someone to get in contact with me to tell me what I should be doing about it. I don’t know if it needs to be set or if I need a cast or screws or plates or whatever. I just don’t want to end up making my foot any worse than it already is. Someone needs to get back to me like now already!

Feeling pretty tired. I’ve been trying to fix my sleeping schedule but it’s been being rather difficult. I wanna take a nap right now real bad. It’s probably because I’m laying down under a warm blanket but that really can’t be helped. A nap wouldn’t be that big of an issue, right? I’ll just sleep a little and see how I feel when I wake up. Maybe I’ll eat something then too as I’ve yet to eat anything at all today. Maybe I won’t though. It’s going to be super hard dealing with my weight while I’m convalescing.

Things just can never be easy for me, can they

There’s Always More

Lying in bed, trying to sleep, when what comes to mind?

It was my freshman year of high school. Specifically the first month of my freshman year of high school. I had been, inexplicably, placed into a class dealing with electricity. The best part was it was a hands on class. We were actually building circuits with real wiring and real tubing affixed to large wooden boards. It was one of the few classes that I really remember enjoying, for the month I was in it anyway.

One day when class was letting out one of the other students approached me from out of the blue. I guess he must have been watching me for a while and wanted to ask me a question. He was shorter than me, as most everyone was by this point, but had a thicker more muscular build that he didn’t seem the slightest bit interested in hiding, wearing tight shirts and the like. He was wearing a white undershirt that was at least a size too small for him this day. And then he asked:

“How’d you get your chest so big?”

I freaked when I realized what he had asked me. He was asking me for tips on working out and getting bigger. The getting bigger thing came naturally to me but the working out thing? I stuttered and stammered and eventually managed to extradite myself from the situation without actually saying anything. I don’t remember him approaching me again but I also don’t remember how long after that that we moved. The damage had already been done though. His innocuous question had set in motion a series of events that would change my life.

I was already incredibly body conscious. Incredibly. To know that someone was looking at me, that someone actually saw me–and worst of all that they had seen something that wasn’t there, something that they might have even admired in me–made me sick and terrified. If there was one thing you didn’t want it was to be like me. In any way, shape, or form.

We could have maybe even become friends if I had been a different person who wasn’t absolutely terrified of existing. Instead I ran and did what I always do: I hid. He had taken notice of me because I had been walking upright. I have a very wide but fatty chest. With puberty came man boobs. No matter what my weight I’ve always had them. I’m sure it’s genetic.

Point being though was that he had noticed them. Miss-interpreted what they were, had taken fat for muscle, but had noticed them none the less. A part of my body, my horrible disgusting body, had been made visible and that had to be fixed.

So, completely on purpose, I actually forced myself to develop hunched shoulders. I simply rolled them forward and kept them there. I did my best to crumple myself up into a ball and hide. No one would notice if there was nothing to notice. I was not to be seen. I couldn’t be seen. Don’t look at me. Don’t see me… Please.

I developed a pretty good hunch from that and I’m still dealing with the fallout from it today. I try to stand straight now but I have a mild case of scoliosis that makes it difficult. I still greatly struggle with body issues as well. I only really feel comfortable when I’m wearing a coat or a sweater. Something that hides any real detail of my form. Basic outlines are fine but detail, can’t deal with that.

There are so many things wrong with my body today and even though I know most of them can’t be traced back to that simple, friendly question, I’m sure that a lot of my back issues began there.

I wish I could have been what you thought I was. I wish I could be anything like that for myself today. Don’t think you hurt me though, because you didn’t. I know that wasn’t your intent and I bare no malice towards you. If you ever read this and wonder… Don’t.


Been thinkin’

I just want to lay here and be sad. It’s okay if I cry, right? They can’t see. They don’t want to see.

I’m so tired all the time. So tired and… uninterested? That’s not the word. I can’t think of the word right now. It’s like uninterested but even more uninterested than that. It’s what I am right now in regards to looking up that word that means more uninterested than uninterested.


See! It just came to me. And now I don’t even care to go back and correct my original statement and add it in where I intended it to be originally, if I had been able to think of it or hadn’t been too apathetic to look up what word means more uninterested than uninterested.

I hate myself. I really do. This isn’t teen angst crap. This is full on adult self loathing. I’m laying here rubbing tears from my eyes as I type this. I truly and honest-to-god despise the person that I am. I’m garbage. Trash. Is it any wonder society threw me away? I tend to get this way when I think about my (horrific) past or my (non-existent) future or even my (completely bullshit) present. Pretty much I get this way when I think.

When I think…

GODDAMN IT WHY COULDN’T I JUST BE AN ALCOHOLIC OR A DRUG ADDICT?! I’ve seen it work for so many people, especially in my family. I think some times that I could do it. I could be an alcoholic easily. It runs in my family. I’ve been told my father was one. I know for sure my mother is. In my mid twenties my sister actually called me an alcoholic-in-training because I can drink so much before it effects me. Strangely enough I have a high tolerance for alcohol but nothing else.

I could see myself doing it, I really could. Almost did. But no… I have to be the adult. I have to be the, apparently, ONE MOTHERFUCKING PERSON ON THIS PLANET who refuses to use substance abuse to hide from my problems. The worst drugs I do come from McDonald’s and Taco Bell. Terrible for you, sure. But really…

I don’t want to have to be the adult any more. I want to run and jump and feel free and if it takes downing a six pack or a few shots, why shouldn’t I? What is really stopping me? I know alcohol makes me feel better, lowers my inhibitions, greases my sociability wheels. It would be perfect. Robert used to be an alcoholic. We could drink together. Would be better for him than the meth he’s been dabbling in lately, that’s for sure.

How to start though, I wouldn’t know. Just go to the store and buy something I guess. Start small, a few drinks at home maybe, before working up to sitting on a park bench drinking out of a paper bag. Hobo city here I come! Find me some new friends to drink with. We could split a bottle of whatever terrible tasting crap just… just take it away. Take the thoughts away.

Fuck! I’m crying again.

I’m not going to do it. I know I’m not. It’s just not in my personality. My mother could do it. My siblings could do it. Even Robert could do it. But I can’t do it. Not because I’m better or stronger than any of them. But because, at the heart of it all, I’m weaker and I deserve to feel all of this. I don’t have the right to hide from this pain and anguish. I’m not a man. I’m a boy. A failure. A terrified child unable to do or deal with even the smallest of things. I am to be punished. I am to be beaten and flogged. And I am to feel every lash.

This is the me that I am.

This is the me that I chose to be.

I hurt myself because I deserve to be hurt. I did something or nothing wrong at some point to someone or no one and I need to be punished until I learn my lesson. Then I can stop. Then the pain with end.

It will never end, will it.


College sucked. The end.

Oh. You want more. Okay. Um…

I spent the time between graduating from high school and starting college doing nothing in particular. Really, I don’t remember. It must not have been a big deal. I was probably locked in my room playing video games the whole time. What else would I be doing? The real world was a terrible place. My room wasn’t.

Got my grants together and finally it was time to begin a new chapter in my life. Orientation was interesting. They tested us for placement. I was never strong in math so I ended up starting with basic Algebra but I nearly screwed myself with the English test. I was one question off from required Honors English. By this point I was lazy. I wanted to avoid extra effort if at all possible. They also wanted me to sign up to be an English tutor, something that I avoided like the plague as well. More personal interaction with strangers? No thanks!

The personality test that they had us take was really, really strange though. It was based on that letter system. I think it’s called Myers-Briggs? Anyway, my test came back 80, 20, 80, 20, based INFJ? I can’t really remember the last letter. Though the main reason I remember it is because they singled it out. They pretty much held it up in front of the group as such a strange result that they were going to have to actually look into how it happened. No one got such even results. The numbers were always different. Mine though, being exactly the same across scores like that, was apparently amazingly rare.

I didn’t have the heart to tell them that I purposefully threw some of the questions, specifically asking about social situations, because I didn’t want to look like a complete weirdo. And yet here I was being held up before my entire orientation group as some kind of weirdo. Did that backfire on me or what.

After that we got the chance to, briefly, chat with a counselor about our classes and major. We didn’t really go over anything other than to state the fact that I would be taking a lot of math and computer classes. What really sucked was that I had to take an introductory class my first semester so I wasn’t even going to be able to take anything towards my major until the second semester. All the other required classes seemed to be ensuring that I was never going to be able to actually study anything having to do with computers.

Classes started shortly after that and I very quickly realized something: College is high school but where the teachers care even less about their students. I can’t stress that enough. Outside of my Algebra teacher (who’s class I got an “A” in) none of my other teachers seemed to give a damn about anything. Did you show up? Some cared, most didn’t. PoliSci was basically daily lectures completely ignoring the $70 book we were required to purchase with three quarterly tests and a final. I passed with a “B”. The intro to computers class was such bull I don’t remember what grade I got in that class. And they let you take bowling for your PE credit, which I took happily as it meant less physical activity. I don’t remember my grade for that class either but the teacher literally looked like a bodybuilder and seemed very uninterested in the class, as if he was being forced to do it, much like the rest of us. He was terrible at teaching as well as my bowling skills seemed to degrade over the course.

I had some other classes that semester as well. I took acting hoping it would help break me out of my shell. It didn’t. For our midterms we were required to do a monologue for the class. I don’t know what happened but I actually volunteered to go first. I think I was hoping to get the terror out of the way as quickly as possible. Backfired again as we were required to perform our monologues a second time on video in the same order. Ugh…

Our final involved me having to do a love scene with a girl. I don’t know how to approach this but I’m not sure… Okay, I’m gay. Period. I have zero attraction to women. Add in the fact that I’m absolutely terrified of sex and interpersonal relationships and things went down hill very quickly. I spent weeks avoiding going to class so I wouldn’t have to work with my scene partner directly. I learned my lines and there wasn’t really any blocking but there was a kiss, something that simply wasn’t going to happen. Somehow I had walked myself into a situation that I had spent the better part of my life trying to avoid at all costs. Sure, this was an elective class but it was still college. This was the real world now. I couldn’t just avoid it, right? My future was at stake here.

We managed to pull off our scene without actually kissing. The teacher kept telling us how it was this innocent little scene, the most innocent he had ever given out. I just wanted to vomit constantly. I got a “C” in that class.

Now what else did I take that semester… Algebra, PoliSci, Bowling, Intro to Computers, Acting. Ah! Speech. Another required class. Why, I don’t know. I think I got a “C” in that class as well. I’m actually amazed that I passed it at all. We lost our teacher a few weeks into class (cancer) and ended up with a replacement who pretty much changed the rules. The original teacher required you to perform, I think it was four speeches in class and one final. The new teacher passed me even though I think I only ever performed three in class and the final. I was even given extra credit for performing unprepared when another student didn’t show, hence why I think I got a “C” rather than outright failing.

I had a strange incident with my first Speech teacher, the one who developed cancer. We were performing an activity in class, something that I think was supposed to increase our self-esteem. He was trying to teach us how to juggle using handkerchiefs when he suddenly asked who else was left handed. In a class of nearly forty students no one else but me was. It was very strange and kind of surreal. I mean, I know left handed people comprise a much smaller subset of the population than right handed people but really, only myself and the teacher? I ran into another similar oddity during the next summer when I started (but dropped) another computer class in an attempt to try to get a bit further toward my major.

So that was my first semester. I think it was the fall of ’97. Jesus did I hate writing that number. Twenty-one years ago and I still feel trapped in the same place. In the same cage. In the… I’m the same. That’s all I can really say. I’m the same person. I’m just the same.

I’m just…

I can’t deal with this right now.






My doctor really, really wants me to see a cardiologist. I’ve had a referral since, I think she said April. I actually went in and had my first consultation and they wanted to do a stress test on me but I ended up being sick that morning and unable to go so…

Okay, let me explain how this all went down in my head. This was before my short stent with being competent but for some reason it’s something that stuck through it, probably because it got pushed onto the back burner as I was busy dealing with other things that I felt were more important at the time.

Anyway, the morning of my stress test I hadn’t slept at all the night before. I mean, not a single wink. I was trying really, really hard not to miss my appointments but this one, being at 7:00 AM, was a lost cause. Problem was, the office didn’t open until 8:00 AM so there was no way to call and tell them that I wasn’t going to be able to make it in. At around 6 or so though I did try to call and got an answering machine. I left my information, told them I wasn’t going to be able to make it in, and asked them to call me back to reschedule. I hadn’t slept in more than 24 hours at that point and now I had anxiety to top it off.

They never called back.

My anxiety grew.

I know I should have been the one to call them and leaving it in their hands was unfair but, well, I’m simply unbelievably horrible with confrontation. So months and months pass. I saw my doctor yesterday and she asked me about the cardiologist and I explained my predicament.

She offered to call for me.

I felt like an even bigger failure than usual.

Who in the hell needs their doctor to call and make appointments for them because they’re too afraid to do it for themselves? Me apparently. But… not as well since I told her no. That I would be the one to deal with it. It was my issue and I needed to confront it. She told me to email her when I did and to let her know if they gave me any trouble.

I really like where I am now. I really like my doctor. They’re very kind there. Sympathetic. They really have no idea what they’ve gotten themselves into by taking me on as a patient.

Other than that, everything else was great. Blood work came back almost perfect. The issue with my kidneys is gone. Cholesterol is very good, though my HDL is still lower than it should be. Only other issue was my hemoglobin was a bit low but she didn’t seem worried about it. And my A1C was a 6.4. That’s more than a full point lower than it was the last time it was checked. I think it was a 7.6 then. Should have been lower still but I had a few weeks there where I was bad and even stopped checking regularly.

I’m still dreading making this call. Why am I doing that? I don’t know. Nothing about me makes any sense. Never has, never will. Now then, it’s almost 5:00 AM and I’ve been up since 3 yesterday afternoon… That sounds terrible but I can assure you it’s even worse. I’m going to get some rest and hope my nerve holds out.


I really, really hate me.

They’re wrong.

There is no better. No hiding. No running. The darkness. It follows. It slinks. It slithers. Chases you. Endlessly.

I burn inside but I fear as well. Fear myself. Fear others. I need to touch. To be touched. There has to be something out there. Utterly alone. Always. Is suffering the only true vestige of existence? I leave my mark. Black as black. The endless past swallows it among countless others.

Why? Why am I alone? Why am I angry? Why do I hate? Why do I empathize? Why do I FEEL? It hurts so much. The prickling in my skin becomes screams in my mind. Forever. Forever. It holds me hostage. Afraid to move. I just want a moment. Any moment. Let me rest. Let the tenseness pass. Even if only once.

Smothering fear and sadness. Mother and Father. The beginning and the end. I have always been, Mother. A billion endings await my inevitable arrival. Over and over again, Father. Why do you hurt me? Why do I let you hurt me? I desire this. I desire this suffering.

It skips across my consciousness. I’ve lost everything. I have nothing. A fleeting shadow on the wall of far less substance.

Flesh shakes and quivers. Quietly. Silently. Waiting for the pain to cease. Waiting for someone to save me? To listen? To hear? To feel? To understand? To comfort? To hold? To love? STOP!

There are no others. There is only the darkness. The void. They’re wrong. They’re always so, so wrong. No matter how much I beat. No matter how much I thrash. The grip is too strong. The teachings too ingrained. You can’t escape what you are. What other have chosen for you. Wish with all your might. Wish until the stars themselves die. You will be you. I will be me. Pain will be pain. Suffering will be suffering. Alone will be alone.

The plan is laid bare.

The truth is maddening.



Yeah, I was going to continue my terrible life story but I’m just not in the mood right now. I don’t know why but I’m feeling really sad. I mean, I almost always feel sad but I feel sadder? I’m not sure how to explain it. It’s a sadness that’s oppressive and controlling. You want to move. You want to escape. You want to live. But it’s shadow just holds you down.

I decided to wait on getting my feet x-rayed and I’m going in tomorrow morning to finally do it. I made a new appointment with the podiatrist for early/mid January. Hopefully something good will come of this but she told me she really needs an MRI of my feet and that’ll be the next step.

That felt like a pun. It wasn’t.

Low blood pressure weirdness continues still. Most people have the opposite problem. The weirdest shit always happens to me. Like when I had to take my wife (I’ve never been married) to Florid and have her institutionalized. Yeah, I should wait on that one. It’s a really, really weird story and I’m not going to tell it right now. Think of that as a teaser. Or not.

My blood sugar has not been the best recently. I have an app that can predict your A1C based on your past 15 days of readings. I was around a 5.6 to a 5.8. And then I started stress and depression eating. I finally entered enough readings for it to predict again and it’s up to 6.6. I wouldn’t really be surprised if it was. The way that I pork when a depressive episode really hits me is insane. I actually have two levels of eating when depressed: Everything and nothing. Everything is fine. When I hit nothing is when I need to go to the hospital. I once spent two weeks in bed and lost nearly twenty pounds. I was still living with my family at the time. No one even came to check on me.

Goddamn it I shouldn’t be thinking about that. I already feel like I’m being crushed. Adding the weight of my family and their bullshit will reduce me to dust. Let the wind blow. Blow me away. I can fly… I can fly.

I can feel it. It’s there, always, just beneath the surface. The ugly, scared surface of the persona. The empty void where shadows of shadows dwell and remnants of souls retreat to die. A noisy place of stretching and aching, desire and wanting, loathing and contempt. Bones crack and slide. Teeth gnash and shatter. Marrow, lapped up by half starved wild dogs longing for something or… just longing.

It burns there.

I burn there.