Of course, shit ain’t that easy. I’ve spent my entire life discovering and habituating methods of escape; they’re probably hiding in every thing I do from dawn till dusk.
I stopped inundating my psyche with gold and levels and kill-to-death ratios, and inadvertently used information instead.
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. Continue reading
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. Continue reading
You hit motherfucking paragraphs like these:
So I had two tests scheduled on the 29th of April. Big ones. The first was an anatomy test on the majority of the musculoskeletal system; this entailed memorizing the origin, attachment, innervation, action, orientation and associated structures of a hundred muscles or so. Refer to here to see the scale of this undertaking. The second test was an analytical biochemistry test: I was relieved to discover on the day that it was all multiple choice. Regardless, for the entire weekend beforehand, I did my best to try and cover everything. Continue reading
Loneliness. It’s my goddamn Achilles heel.
No matter what I do on campus, no matter what I get right while studying or working out or whatever, the need to just converse with someone is always there. I could be dominating my academics, going from strength to strength in the gym, have all other areas of my life going swimmingly, but it don’t mean shit for my general mental well-being if I don’t like, you know, interact with people.