God Bless the Internet

Why haven’t I written a new post.

Because there’s too much to cover. I don’t know where to begin. Do I cover past, present or future? There’s so much shit going on in my life right now, to try and right some half-funny half-asspained blog post covering it all would be impossible.

Closure

So I get back from NY. I land Wednesday night; it’s 6-hour time zone change. Two weeks of unprotected sex, drug use, neuropsychoanalysis lectures and trying to figure out how the fuck the subway works. It was spectacular. Considering I nearly attempted suicide three days before I left, this kind of experience is supposed to turn my life around. Give me a new perspective. Show me what’s out there. And it did.

Well, kind of.

Friday afternoon I’m opening the door to the IT lab I always go to. I used to go there to fuck around: mindless internet surfing, video game binges. The electronic numbness before I’d drive home and get high and eat shittons of McDonalds. Not this time, though. I’m a changed man. I’m going to work.

This door has this little sensor where you have to hold your student card so it authenticates you and briefly unlocks the door. I pull out my wallet and hold it against it. Blue light, flashes, flashes, flashes, green light. I grab the handle and look up. Robyn is standing right in front of me, looking me in the eye. Out of fucking nowhere. She’s kind of smiling, gives me this half expectant look of ‘are you going to take out your earphones and say hi’. My knee-jerk reaction is to briefly plaster on a fake smile and open the door for her. She enters, walks to her desk, I walk to mine. I’m stuck thinking of her for the next hour.

What the fuck, I think.

NY in a Nutshell

NoFap and the Finish Line

So I stopped masturbating just over a week ago.

I wanted to cut out one of my escapes. You know, so I can get back to real life. I sit with screens and play video games or fuck around on the internet or watch porn so I can forget just how empty my days are. The despair peaks right at the end of the day when I get back to my flat. I’m tired. My adrenal glands are pumped dry by stimulants. I guilt-trip myself for having done nothing productive that day, that I effectively extended my stay in hell for another twenty-four hours. So I let my sober-self press the eject button. I roll a joint and get into bed. I watch a DotA cast while chowing down on a shitload of McDonalds I picked up on the way home. I feel like masturbating, so I do. I keep watching videos until I pass out.

What’s great about this routine is that, for the most part, there’s no pain. I breathe in the smoke and let the cannabinoids punch through my alveolar walls into my bloodstream. A few seconds later, bam, I’m gone. No more angst, no more despair, no more hopelessness. Just a space where I feel no guilt indulging in impulsive gratification. On the other hand, it’s a sad fucking way to live.

Facebook

So I see she unfriended me. She did it recently, too. Somewhere in the last week, perhaps. I know because every time I went on Facebook I did my best to ever hide or disable the chat pane, which is the only place (besides the fucking group pane) where her name would show up. Now, when I used Tinder, I recognized a friend of hers, and the mutual friend counter sat at zero. I searched for my ex in my friends list, she wasn’t there. With growing trepidation I visited her profile. ‘Add Friend’. She did unfriend me.

The first thing that I felt was the familiar pain of rejection. It blossomed behind my sternum and radiated waves of despair. Then, the rational defense mechanisms kicked in. She doesn’t matter, she’s not special, you neither want nor need anything to do with her, seriously who gives a shit etc etc. It didn’t help much.

I was outside when it happened. It was already dark. I was on campus, smoking on a cement bench under the trees where there’s wifi, having left the rest of my things inside on the desk. I was about halfway through my rolley when I realized what had transpired. I stood up and started walking. I took longer drags, sucked it in deeper, and held it in longer. High levels of nicotine have a sedative effect. I finished it quickly, threw it on the ground, snuffed it, and kept walking. I could feel the numbing sensation kicking in, but it couldn’t come soon enough. I had to stop and put my hands on my knees to steady myself. When I feel things, I feel them. For better or worse. Or perhaps I’m so far in the deep end of social isolation that my psyche has no choice but to kick my ass for every social loss I accrue. Humans are herd animals, and my evolutionary instincts are going apeshit to compel me to just fucking find someone.

After I came back inside and sat my desk I tried my best to stem the tide of pain and angst. I urgently needed to think up a way out.

I could message her asking what prompted the unfriending. No, moron, it doesn’t work that way. She did it because she doesn’t want to have contact with you. Or has she got a new, jealous, paranoid boyfriend who demands that she erase any connections to past lovers? Who knows. Does it matter? Fuck no.

Thoughts: Cycles

I haven’t posted anything in weeks because I’ve felt there’s nothing new to write about.

I’m still struggling to care enough about my academics to actually study. I replace study time with DotA 2.

Approaching and engaging with women has become exceedingly easy. When I recall the shit I’ve pulled off over the course of approximately the last year I’m hit by the sudden realization that chicks like me and they want to fuck me.

Angela Part 1, Women in General

This is the continuation of this post – my first genuine attempt to meet and connect with girls on campus.

The outcome of the first approach exceeded expectations in every regard. I simply went up to the glass door, knocked, opened, and said “Hey, excuse me, but I thought you’re the cutest girl I’ve seen all day, and I had to come and meet you.” She smiled, we talked, discovered shared passions for psychology and neuroscience, laughed a bit, good shit. The great thing about opening with direct honesty is that there’s zero ambiguity. I’m here because I intend on eventually having sex with you. Naturally, it’s all tact and subtext: I’m not going to say ‘I want to bang you’ right out the gate because any quality self-respecting girl would blow me out instantly. Euphemisms like I think you’re cute and let’s get coffee, balanced with the non-platonic touch on the arm here and a brush against the thigh there, pave the way for the eventual consummation.

This was Thursday last week. We had sex Saturday night. I was hella fucking impressed with myself.

Oasis – End of Week 12 – 3rd of February 2014

Holy shit am I mad right now.

Or I was mad, thirty minutes ago. Now I’m hammering this out on my phone in the gym in-between sets of squats.

My ex got into fucking medicine.

My ex, who cried over the phone when she was failing high-school physics. Whose sense of humor was so painfully mundane I died a little bit more inside every time she didn’t get one of my jokes. Whose most insightful comment into any interpersonal problem was ‘everything happens for a reason’.

She is now studying Bachelor of motherfucking Medicine, Bachelor of motherfucking Surgery.

Thoughts: Approach Anxiety

So I go and sit down in the library and I see this girl.

She’s sitting alone to my left, in a glass-walled ‘discussion room’ that’s usually used when two or more people want to fuck around under the guise of ‘studying’.

Sitting cross-legged on the chair, she intently pores over the pages strewn in front of her. A black dress that with hangs with strings from her shoulder reveals her tanned skin that glows with a healthy hue. Her dark hair is tied back in a bun, with a fringe still perched across her forehead.

She leans on one arm, then the next, then back again, shuffling and re-shuffling collections of pages. She seems frustrated, stressed. I can’t approach now. I’d be interrupting.

Or would I?