I'm writing this because I feel like if I don't, I'm going to explode. Once a day, I'm beaten to death by feeling worthless. Like, run over by it. Pummeled. I can start the day off right: make my bed, brush my teeth, deodorant, go to class, take thorough notes, breakfast and coffee at noon, go downtown to run some errands, plan for an evening that would make teenage me feel like he actually has a future, and isn't destined to be a zombie. My friends and I will bail on some bougie poutine place in favour of faster and cheaper McDonald's, and one of them will say in her signature impenetrable irony, "We should skip Mulholland Dr. and just do this all night. I could do this all night." Then I think about that for the rest of the night, and then I smile, thinking about how much I love these people and how much they love me. Then, out of nowhere, I ruminate on how profoundly ugly I feel. Like, gas giant-sized ugliness; the kind I sometimes hope I'm alone in. An ugliness that just feels like forever, and it's triggered by everything: in your friends telling you about all the cute boys at work, your friends very clearly falling for each other, or just the sight of anything that feels better than you. It kills me every time, and I feel like such a bitch for it, and it seems like it will never stop. I feel like I've felt like this forever, and my brain never shuts up. I wish it would just shut the fuck up. Sometimes, I wish I could just bang my arms against something until they broke or just ceased being conscious somehow. I worry myself because I say shit like to myself, and I'm like, "Am I unwell?"
Every couple of nights, I'll Google "Why can't I fall in love?" I read that BetterHelp article every time, and all my shit leading to the answer of "You need therapy" freaks me out. I don't want anyone to see me like this, but at the same time, I think I'm always trying to make it obvious. I don't think it's obvious, but everyone seems to notice. I don't know why this particular thing has been distressing me to the point of hysterics recently, like the thought that not only can I not love, but that nobody is ever going to love me. I'm told that the minute you want love the least is the minute you get it, so I got a while to go. Why do I suddenly care? I didn't care for 20 years. I started dating when some of my old friends decided to get married and have kids - that embarrasses the fuck out of me. I feel like this is an actual problem for me. I've always been extremely neurotic and self-sabotaging about this stuff, and I don't know if it will get better with time. I feel like I have the potential to be alone forever. The obvious solution would be to get back out there, but I am so, so, so, so scared of that. I don't want anyone else to have to deal with my shut. I just hate myself so much.
I wish I wasn't so fucking strange and fucked up and spazzy. I wish I was as smart and funny and articulate and persuasive as Ewan.
I was perpetually a naked and volatile fuck-up with J---. I was always weirdly emotionally stunted, like a little kid in a big boy body. I was always up to spastic, dangerous shit, like becoming the most unreliable student to ever terrorize RDP and pretty much just that. Looking back, it was horrible. I remember thinking at the time that I'd look back on this and think about how horrible it was. It makes me really sad nobody but me ever got to see it. Not even The Gang got to see it the whole thing. It makes me never want to date again.
J---'s letters are some of the most devastating things I own. I should not be reading them right now, but here I am. Everyone characterizes them as evil. I'm terrified I'm still cucked by the whole thing, but their letters were impossibly considerate and sweet, even if it's apparent we both thought this thing was doomed from the start.
Clearly, I'm bothered by more than just a lack of pussy.
I should just take some time to myself and remind myself constantly that I'm loved by a lot of people.
