But is this it?
I’ve been dreaming of escape from this dead end life for a long long time, and I have definitely been assuming it will happen eventually, but the brutal truth is that I do precious little to actually make that happen so I have to face the very real possibility that it never will.
That I will die without ever making it to adulthood and actually living the kind of life that most people take for granted – one with a romantic partner, a job, a car, and the ability to earn a living – and instead I will die in a hospital room with tubes everywhere gasping out my last knowing that life completely passed me by.
And I have so much that I could contribute to the world if I could just get over myself. I’m a brilliant and phenomenally talented dude and I would love to be able to share my thoughts and my creations with the world and make a name for myself, but fear and indecision and anxiety keep me caged up inside instead.
I’m just too damned crazy to make it.
I think the only solution is to make myself earn the right to think it will all turn out okay eventually. Almost like I am renting it. Earn it by progressing towards that goal by taking actual concrete steps towards my desired ends.
And that means shaking off my usual sleepwalking state of semi-unconsciousness and waking fully up so I can actually pay attention to life instead of merely making it through each day with minimal exposure to reality.
That’s a sensible enough reaction to mental illness in the short term, but in the long term it is positively toxic to any hope of actually getting to grow up.
And I am 51. With the way things are going, I might not even make it to 60. A lot of us fat people – especially fat men – do not.
So the clock is ticking for me and every day it ticks a little louder and I know that deep inside I am desperate to escape this mausoleum of a fricking life and yet I also know that my insanity will continue to trap me here with nothing better to do than while my life away playing video games and waiting for death.
Because those are my grim choices : either get myself an actual life or just keep letting the days go by until I die without ever learning to fly.
Thank God I have my friends. They are my lifeline to reality. They help ground me and keep me from completely falling into myself and disappearing.
I remember what it was like on Duchess Avenue when I first moved to this area and I had made a sincere but doomed attempt to get a job (too much anxiety) and so all I saw all day was my tiny little bachelor apartment.
It was like solitary confinement. And like with solitary confinement, my world became dangerously unreal. The internet was my entire life, and that’s no good.
So I am eternally very grateful to my friends – Joe, Julian, and Felicity – for giving me a way and a reason to get out of my own head and experience things despite being arguably quite crazy.
Not barking at the moon crazy, though that seems like it could be fun.
But crazy nevertheless. I try to be merciful and forgiving with myself about that but that’s so hard to do when I am so god damned frustrated all the time.
It’s maddening to be caught between my very real urge to get out of this befouled nest of mine and finally fly and the hard and unyielding surface of my insanity.
Something, somewhere has to give. The sooner the better.
And that means I need to keep pushing myself whenever I can.
Because I gotta get out of this place.
More after the break.
Speaking of being squished in between
Right now. I am super sleepy but the caffeine in the Diet Coke I had with my McD’s is propping me up so I am bother tired and wired at the same time
Normally I hate that state of mind but in this case I am not so tired that I can’t think straight (so to speak) so it’s just mildly stressful.
The moment I am done blogging, though, I am diving under the covers for a snooze.
Tonight is New Year’s Eve, so my friends and I will be getting together via Zoom at 11:45 pm so we can watch the ball drop and do the countdown for midnight.
Time to start a new year and say goodbye to the old one.
Farewell, 2024. 5/6 of you was really great.
But you um, kind of faceplanted at the end there. And seeing as 2025 will be the beginning of the world world having to pay for that, you will, sadly, not be remembered fondly by the global community.
You were so close.
Had an “incident” last night. You know, the “change the sheets” kind. And while those are always dismaying (to put it mildly), I am proud of the fact that I just handled it without any of my usual dithering and hand-wringing and wanting rescue.
I just got to the bathroom, went through a hell of a lot of TP cleaning myself up in both body and linoleum, and then went back to sleep.
Dunno what caused it. Too much fecal matter backed up in my colon, perhaps. At least that’s kind of what it felt like.
Stack overflow, dude.
And of course, if it happens again, I’ll go to the ER or UC, blah blah blah.
I am going to try to take a proactive approach in the future. Instead of only pooping when I feel the need strongly, I intend to just check myself – run an internal diagnostic, if you will – to see if maybe I need to empty myself right then.
Perhaps that will help prevent future incidents. Perhaps not.
But I’ve got to do SOMETHING, god damn it!
I will talk to you nice people again tomorrow.