Oh my Gash!

I’ve come to the realization that I’m tired of feeling guilty for feeling the way I feel.

I’ve been thinking a lot about my negative attitude lately and wondering if it’s justified.  I’ve said before that I’ve never had anything too traumatic happen to me.  I’ve never had to deal with a car crash or cancer.  I’ve pretty much never wanted for much of anything and yet I’m depressed and defeated.  Sure, college didn’t work out how I had hoped but that happens to a lot of people.  Get over it.  Sure, I can’t be an animator straight from college but a lot of people have to work to get to their desired job.  Get over it.  Sure, I’m stuck in a job I hate but so are a lot of other people.  Get over it.  Sure, all the special people in my life have left me over time.  It’s called moving on.  Make new friends and get over it.  Sure, after all these years of yo-yo dieting, I’m fatter than I’ve been in years.  Get in the gym and just get over it already.  All these things are easy to tackle if they came as separate situations, few and far between but when you take all these problems, smash them together and then drop them on someone like me who already has a depressive personality, it equals disease and disaster.

I’ve been fortunate in many aspects of my life but I’ve also had the misfortune of missing out on a lot of things that others have not.  You can look at me and tell that I’ve been well taken care of.  I have clothing and plenty of food and I’ve never been without supplies for school or a place to sleep.  All in all, my family is healthy despite all of our bad habits and while we are all dysfunctional, no one is so bad that it creates an intolerable tension.  Yet, there is something so profound that is missing within me.  It’s God.  It’s relationships.  It’s connections with people.  I don’t have anyone significant in my life.  As much as I’ve gone on about being single and how there’s nothing wrong with it, it still sucks to be lonely.  And I think being single is just fine if you have other strong relationships in your life.  Someone once told me that humans are social creatures and not meant to be alone.  I agree with that wholeheartedly but I don’t think you have to be in a romantic relationship with someone to ease the loneliness.  I think you can find satisfaction in friends or family.  Yet, I’m so different from my family and can’t seem to find stability in friendships.  I wake up every day and can find no reason to stay conscious.  I have nothing to look forward to, no one that I want to see, no job that I can feel good about, no purpose in this afterlife.  No meaning. 

Some people might think it’s inappropriate for me to complain because of all the things that I have in my life and in some ways they might be right.  But, it’s just things.  I’ll never deny that I am more fortunate than a lot of people but it’s all on the outside.  I do have things but I have no genuine joy.  I’m empty where it counts.  I’m just a sad person and I have material things to get me through the day but I have no real relationships to carry me further than that.  And as far as who’s to blame, I don’t know.  I won’t say that it’s all everyone else’s fault because I realize that I have many problems of my own.  I’m jealous and impatient and easily irritated.  I’m a mess and not easy to get along with sometimes.  Yet, it just seems like someone should be able to handle me.  I wouldn’t say I’m that terrible of a person, although I’m slowly getting there.  So, for me, I think I have every right to complain because I might seem fine on the outside but I am actually torn apart internally.  I don’t have a best friend like most people do or a special relationship with my family like a lot of people do.  I’ve never had a true, genuine connection with anyone.  No romance.  Nothing physical.  Nothing emotional.  I am more alone that most people can even comprehend and the fact that school didn’t work out or the fact that I can’t get a decent job just makes everything worse.  So, while people might think I complain about petty things, I think people don’t understand how much stock I put into these “petty” things.  I wasn’t just hoping school would be a fun time.  I truly hoped it would change my life, that I would be surrounded by like-minded people and that I would forge lifelong friendships.  Yet, when I graduated I left college with nothing but a one hundred thousand dollar diploma.  I had hoped I could find a good job that would give me purpose, a reason for waking up and that didn’t happen, either.

While I’ve never had my hand chopped off, I’ve had many a paper cut.  You know how that pain is more of an irritation than a hurt?  It’s not something that stops your breath but it stays in your head.  Now, imagine multiple paper cuts, thousands of miniature slices that stem from your wrist to the tips of your fingers, that irritating pain multiplied a million times over.  The pain increases slowly, a hurt that builds upon itself, an agony that eventually surpasses soothing, an affliction that intensifies to the point of insanity.  The hand becomes swollen and useless and in time infection sets in until it amputation is the only option.  Whether things go down hard and fast or slow and methodically, either way something ends up missing. 

I don’t feel bad about complaining anymore because while I might be fortunate in some areas, I suffer in others.  My life is just a series of paper cuts, small gashes that never heal, only spread and sicken me.  It’s one event after another, stacked on top of each other and never dissipating, only growing and magnifying and weighing me down.  And really, complaining is just another form of expression after all, just like crying or laughing.  It’s just a way to vent and I don’t think it’s immature or selfish for me to have my own set of complaints.  Everyone has a legitimate struggle that they have the right to express.  I will not be made to feel bad about the bad stuff in my life.  You don’t know me and you don’t know what I’ve been through so don’t tell me I am not fit to fuss.

Frankly, all I have left is coffee and complaining.  I can’t help how I feel and I don’t choose to be gloomy, at least not consciously, and I know people are tired of this barrage of negativity that’s blooming forth but this is the situation I find myself in right now and the only thing I can do is what I’ve always done: write my way through it.  Does it suck?  Surely.  But what other choice do I have?  Food hasn’t been able to fix my fumbles.  Prayer hasn’t penetrated my problems.  Movies haven’t worked their magic and so now I just sit here and try to purge this poison from my head.  It doesn’t necessarily work but I suppose there’s worse ways to spend my time.  So, I complain.  At least I’m not out getting drunk almost every single night like some people.  At least I’m not going from one sexual partner to another like some people.  At least I’m not getting high and pushing my pain on others.  I’m just simply trying to bandage my cuts the best way I know how.

And I just can’t apologize for that.