The most depressing post ever...it really is

I don’t know how much longer I can go on. I’m a very sick person and I need help, but there’s none forthcoming. Not from any external source and I’m not able to help myself. I hate myself and I want to die. I am an abject failure on every imaginable level. I’m a joke and my mind doesn’t function properly anymore. Just now trying to write that last sentence, I had another one of those terrible feelings I have that I can’t put into words. I don’t know what the emotion is, I really don’t. It might be anger and frustration at a level that I can barely handle. Helplessness. I tense up and I sort of grit my teeth. I hate myself so much during these moments and I don’t know what to do. I do know that it hurts, unlike anything else. And I hate it.

I don’t know what to do at this point, I really don’t. Right now I have this awful feeling in my stomach. I’m so afraid. I feel like this more and more often. Like this and the frustration I mentioned before. And I hate it. I HATE it. Please don’t think that I like feeling this way, that I want to. I don’t, okay? I fucking HATE it. That anger is happening again. And again. I sort of grab my face as well.

The other day at work, I almost started crying. I was crying. It didn’t last long but it’s the first time that I can recall it manifesting itself at work. I hate myself is what I hate. I can’t fucking stop feeling this way, FUCK. The suggestion that I enjoy it or am comfortable with it causes even more pain. I just felt so lonely, it overcame me. Not having any friends or a girl or the possibility of either probably contributed.

I don’t have any friends, I don’t. I tell myself that all the time, I’m telling myself that right now. So I am a terrible, ungrateful person. People who say that are my friend, people who probably are my friends. Thinking the way I do is such a shitty thing to do to these people. I am a sack of shit. People who truly say they care and give every indication that they mean it, I still say that I have no friends. I can only hope and pray that they can forgive me. I’m sick. Please forgive me. But I don’t know if they will. People hate me, they fucking hate me. I ask for forgiveness and I turn right around and say that they hate me. I am a sack of shit.

According to facebook I have 232 friends at present. Facebook lies or at least that number does. I look at all of those people on my list and compare them to myself. Check out the number of photos I have. Very few compared to everyone else and many of those I do have are ones that I posted myself and tagged myself. I have no friends. Look at other people’s ‘wall’. Then look at mine. I have no friends. The event invitations are the worst part of it. I get them periodically but very rarely attend. Why? Because I’m simply included on a large list of people and aren’t actually welcome. No one wants me. I have no friends.

I did attend one today or yesterday or both I guess. I was ‘invited’ to a birthday party of a co-worker, who just happens to be one of the most beautiful women I’ve ever seen and someone I’ve been in love with pretty much since I began working at this job. I don’t think I was really invited or wanted. I did hear about it and was ‘invited’ before I received the facebook thing, but this was because I was intruding upon a conversation she was having with someone else at work. It was probably a “yeah, you should come” or something. I don’t remember. I was probably half asleep. No one wants me anywhere. I’m no fun at all. So I can’t blame them. But I wanted to go or at least I think I did. I don’t get out much or at all really. I really don’t. In 2009:

-Once out for a drink with a friend.
-Twice with another friend (once to a movie, then to a minor league hockey game)
-Watched the Super Bowl with Marcin.
-Saw a friend perform at a comedy club. Another facebook invite.

This was another one. I told myself that it would not go well and sure enough, it did not. Because I convinced myself that it wouldn’t? Very likely. But that’s all that I’m able to tell myself. Positive thoughts are gone and have been for a while now. I hate to belabour this but I would LOVE to change my thinking. The frustrated feeling hit again. I can’t. And because I believe that I can’t, I won’t be able to. Yes, I get it. I’m not a fucking idiot. I am sick though. Beyond help probably.

I felt so nervous going there. Driving there, making my way into the bar or whatever it is. But I did force myself to go. I couldn’t force myself to have a good time, to change the way I think. Again that awful feeling is creeping up. Actually it’s the awful feeling in the stomach. Either one is pretty common. The other one just hit. Because I want to change this. I want to change my negative thoughts, the way I feel about myself and my perception of how other people see me.

I arrived, found the table. There were a decent number of people I knew (from work) and more would arrive. So that wasn’t a problem, not knowing anyone (it’s happened before). I ordered food (I was hungry). Wait, back up. I had a gift, yes I brought one. I wanted to give one and I felt I should. But I wanted to, I really did. I got a hug and thanks. Did she and others seem happy to see me? Indifferent? Or nonplussed? I think people were reasonably happy to see me. I think. I thought that at the time and was probably right. But it was in the back of my sick mind and even though I knew it to be true, I couldn’t feel that I was wanted. So I sat. Ordered my food. Ate. Drinks didn’t help. Neither did the drugs. I did as much as I could. I sat there or hovered around with this glum look on my face. I’m sure that turns people off, that sort of behaviour. My moping doesn’t exactly attract people to be around me. Again, I’m aware of this. I am also powerless to stop this unattractive behaviour. God, how I wish I could though.

So I guess people seemed less thrilled that I was there and it was my own fault. I am sick. I’m a failure and a loser and deserve my unhappiness. My mind didn’t stop and it was horrible. The angry feeling was really coming up a lot, something that hasn’t happened in public so far as I can remember. I hated the fact that everyone else was capable of having a good time and I wasn’t. Fuck. I really do want to die, that just entered my head. Many beautiful women there, my host (I guess) not least among them. I am powerless to talk to them. They hate me. I have nothing to offer anyways. Still, in the back of my mind I see guys that appear to be less attractive than I am, not as well dressed having fun and beautiful women talking to them. Not to me. Yes, I know it’s how I present myself.

FUCK. The angry feeling really hit there. I am so lonely, my God. No woman will want someone like this. I wouldn’t if I were in their place. I want to change. I can’t though. Every time it’s the same thing though. Just like tonight. I do nothing. I do fucking nothing. I am also a coward of course. I think too much. I have all these thoughts in my head and I just think too much. Right now I’m thinking about how I would do things differently if I had another chance or for next time. But I can’t relive this. And there will be no ‘next time’. If there is, it’ll be the same story anyways. It always has been and always will be. Anytime I do make progress or someone pushes me into action, I don’t learn from it or gain confidence. I go back to the gutless piece of shit that I was and always will be.

This....well, I blew it. I don’t think I’ll even be getting a facebook invite next year. I turn people off with my behaviour and I’m so sorry for it. I apologize a lot, I know. But I do feel sorry. Sorry for ‘ruining your party’ or something like that is affording myself far too much importance but I am sorry that I certainly made it worse and not better with my presence. Even when I’m given a chance (or another chance) following some of morbid behaviour, I squander that. Why can’t I just have fun? I was actually saying this to myself on this occasion and asked it of a few people. One person in particular said that I should just go and dance, what’s the worst that can happen? I didn’t have a good answer yet still I was unable to act. I’m a coward, I really am.

I was angry, yes. But I don’t think it means there was any progress. I was still not able to try and have fun. I have to change all my thoughts for that to happen or at least shut them off. The excuse of being an introvert or not a party person or anything akin to that is a weak excuse. For 3 or 4 hours I can’t pretend? Just have FUN? Yes, I tell myself that I won’t have fun and so I don’t. I know I’m belabouring this but I can’t emphasize enough that I am aware of this issue and still am unable to do anything about it. As for the anger, it may have been the drugs. I don’t know. It’s not important.

I’m sure I didn’t leave anyone with a good impression of me and I could have, in theory. I’m intelligent, well read and can be an excellent conversationalist were I not gripped with fear. In the back of my mind I don’t think I’m that bad looking but that matters little. My lack of confidence nullifies that. Today when getting ready to run some errands earlier in the day, I obsessed for quite a long while (at least 10 minutes) over my hair and didn’t leave until it was satisfactory (I still worried about it). Mind you this was to go to the store where no one I knew would see me. This is a sickness, no doubt about it.

Of course I don’t know how I look most of the day and my opinion isn’t the one that counts. Of course projecting the right attitude can shape others’ opinions for sure. I’ve never felt attractive. I’m terrified to bring this up here but I will. Sexual frustration. There’s lots. What there isn’t is experience in those matters. Some but not lots. For someone who is almost 28 years old an embarrassingly small amount. This is a painful Catch-22. The less confidence I have, the less experience I’m likely to gain but the less experience I have the lower my confidence. If I weren’t numb now from drugs (sedatives now, as opposed to stimulants before) I’d probably feel that angry sensation.

So I blew it as I always do. This makes me feel worse of course. There really isn’t much I can do. Not like I’ll get a do-over. I fucked up this chance to have fun. A chance to perhaps make friends out of acquaintances? I never had a chance, did I? It’s a moot point. Nothing is working, nothing that will change me and help me turn all this around. Seeing a therapist is good in that I have someone to talk to every couple of weeks but it’s not a cure. Various anti-depressants haven’t seemed to have helped. I do get advice from different people, some of it very sound. I don’t take it though. I don’t act, I no longer have the strength to do so. I do want to and will state this as much as I need to. But I just can’t and I don’t know why I can’t. I need help and more importantly I want help. But where, what, who? I’m beyond help and if not it’s likely too late. This sickness isn’t going away.

Even now I’m thinking about how I blew it. These people who were perhaps slightly happy to see me won’t be happy to see me the next time (which there won’t be). They’ve seen the real me, the one who hates every fibre of his own being and won’t likely forget it. Any positives will be cast aside, if there were any to begin with. Even I think that there are. They aren’t remarkable by any stretch but they should still count for something. Mostly having to do with how I treat people. I’d rather other people got a lunch before I did. If there are 4 cookies and 5 people, I don’t mind going without. Helping someone else with someone at the expense of whatever I might need to do. Making an effort to smile at someone even if I feel like I’m about to cry inside. Little things, like acknowledging people or helping them in small ways. None of this makes me a saint nor do mean to imply that I’m a better person than anyone else. There are people who really DO spend their lives helping build churches and such. I just try to be decent and kind to everyone I meet. I don’t know if it’s because I feel an obligation or guilt or anything else. I just try to be nice and surely I don’t always succeed at that. But my effort counts for little I guess. If there is such a thing as karma, it has ignored me. My reward is sadness and awful thoughts filling my mind. Not to mention a feeling of loneliness and worthlessness that grows every day.

I’m so tired all the time as well. I used to at least enjoy sleep. I don’t sleep much anymore. It’s nearly 7:00 AM and I haven’t slept. My sad thoughts occupy the time that I used to devote to rest. I feel dreadful as a result. The drugs surely don’t help.

I look back on this experience and I’ll obsess over it. How I am a failure, a coward, a loser. I’m a miserable person to be around and to listen to. Unattractive in any sense. Not to mention rather ill and probably best suited to life in an institution. How I am a total fuck up, plain and simple. I want to change who I am and I need help doing so. But after being around me or reading this why would anyone care? I wouldn’t.

I want to escape from this. No one is free from these thoughts entirely but I just want to function at a reasonable level. To be able to go to a bar and not feel a panic. To block out all thought and dance for 30 seconds. To think that perhaps these people actually like me, enjoy my company and might want to be my friends. That an attractive woman might be interested in talking to me at the very least. To wake up and have something other than “I wish I were dead” be the first thing I think of. I just want a chance at all these things.

But it’s now 7:30 AM and I’m still typing this (or at least trying to) rather than just waking up. If not a failed person, I’m at least broken, damaged or defective. When all you ever do is fuck things up it’s hard not to think otherwise or to not think about it at all. I’m thinking that there probably won’t be any new pictures of me on facebook in the next day or two. For most people having someone ‘tag’ you in a photo will likely mean nothing but for me, it just might make me feel wanted for the half second I first look at the photo.

But I don’t feel wanted, I don’t feel as though I was a part of something. I could have been but I wasn’t. Instead I’ll continue to beat myself up over yet another incident in my life marked by inaction, cowardice and failure. I’ll worry about work on Monday and how perception of me has changed (for the worse). I’ll worry that this was my chance and I blew it. These failures stack up and when they grow as high as mine, the pain is excruciating. I think that having to live with my pathetic cowardice might be worse still. But not being able to visualize any possible success has to be the greatest pain. The knowledge that it’s quite likely that I won’t get another shot on this front is the worst feeling. I’m probably right and even if I had other options, I still know the most probable outcome. Nothing changes and my crippling loneliness remains, eating away at me, though there is very little left these days.