I’ve had a shit week.
That’s not entirely true. In many ways it’s been an average week and in the grand overarching scheme of my entire life, it’s been a extraordinarily good week because I didn’t get blackout drunk and tell a relative stranger on social media that I wanted to pound her brains out.
Today I’ve decided to write some raw, honest feelings that I have about my life. I don’t know if I’m doing it for cheap sympathy or if I feel that getting it out there will give me something to reflect upon later. One can’t write feelings like this without sounding like something of a self-pitying little bitch, so bare with me. Perhaps that’s a good place to start? I’ve always had an issue with sharing my deepest, truest feelings with people because I know that we all hate that sort of whiny tirade, even as we post on social media about how people should be more loving and compassionate. My own parents shut me down whenever I’d try to open up and I imagine that’s where it all began.
One of my biggest fears is that I’m too late for everything. Sober at 38, living with mom, barely making an income. There’s a very real chance that I will never have a relationship with the kind of woman I’d like, raise a family, work in a successful career, and so on. People keep telling me that “it’s not too late” but they’re so fucking full of shit, aren’t they? You know the type of person who says that. Hell, a lot of you reading this are probably in a similar boat as I.
I almost went on three dates this weekend and I am so glad that I didn’t because after I purposefully blew up all of those budding relationships, I realized that I almost went on dates with three morbidly obese alcoholics just because I’m lonely. I’ve used dating apps pretty much since they were invented and every year I age there are fewer and fewer intelligent attractive women in my age range and more and more shattered, disgusting women who can’t even have a conversation without “a glass of wine”. I know it’s uncouth these days to say that you’re not attracted to fat women, but God damn am I ever not.
So the alternative is to stay alone for the rest of my life. Might not be that bad as long as I have friends, I suppose. Even the friendship department is drying up, though. My married friends all have lives of their own they’re engaged in and the other single people I meet are complete losers.
Am I a complete loser too? The possibility isn’t lost upon me. I certainly was for most of my life. Maybe it’s a genetic trait? We all can list the good things we’ve done and continue to do in our own lives but does anybody else care? No, not really. I used to live in one of the most successful towns in America in an expensive apartment making close to 6 figures. So what? I now live with my mother and make less than a McDonalds manager. All that proves is that I am phenomenal at making horrible life decisions. I continue to, in all honesty.
It does feel better to get that out. I guess knowing where you sit has some value.