I don’t know what it is. Could it be the season, the low temperatures? Could it be life under fascism and big brother? Perhaps it’s the realization that I might begin to have an inkling — just a tiny, tiny one — of what other marginalized and discriminated-against groups went through? Or am I just an unhappy guy all around?
I really don’t think that I have ever felt as down as I do now. And I just don’t know why, nor how to get out of it. Sadly, I don’t even have the motivation nor the inclination for any solutions as drastic or ridiculous as suicide or anything. It’s my lot in life to simply sit around and alternately fume and sob.
It really doesn’t make any sense, this depression thing. Why should I be unhappy? I have a good job. I own a house. I have no debts (well, other than the house) and don’t owe anything on my credit cards. I have nice things, and give money and time to charity. My pets gather around me and love me. I have a 7-11 only a few hundred feet from my kitchen that sells Ben & Jerry’s.
I think that one problem is that I haven’t felt so lonely in a long time. The approach of Valentine’s Day certainly doesn’t help in this regard. Add into that mix the idea that my own government wants to amend our constitution in such a way that the pursuit of happiness no longer is legal for me. If the possibility of a life-long relationship with someone that’s recognized as love by the rest of the world is no longer available to me, why shouldn’t I just become one of those guys who goes out every night having anonymous sex and generally reinforcing stereotypes? How is that going to make the world better? Everything that happens these days makes me cringe and puzzle.
This is gonna go on and on and on. Read on if you can stomach it. (Make sure you’re in a comfy chair before you begin.)
I’m lonely. Alone is not so bad, especially if it means that I don’t have to always pick up the clothes on my bedroom floor or immediately put the dishes in the dishwasher. But lonely seems bad. For the last year, I’ve been using my blog as a substitute for some kind of human interaction, having imaginary conversations with someone who usually agrees with me.
The odd thing is that almost none of my friends actually reads the blog. My cousin and a co-worker are the only people that actually read it regularly. And if I didn’t cross the hall for impromptu conversations with that co-worker about a dozen times every day, I’d likely lose my tenuous grasp on sanity here in the office.
Now I’m just rambling. Didyanotice?
So, there are days when I’m driving home and start crying for one reason or another, more often than not triggered by some story on the radio about the latest outrage from the religious right or something. And then I get home and spend the next 17 hours alone. Maybe I’ll sit forlornly at the Powerbook and hang out in a chat room or something, where the trend continues — waiting for someone to talk to me, but usually fending off really creepy people who introduce themselves by asking “what are you into?” Who in the hell do I think I’m gonna actually connect with in there? And since I’m just debilitated enough by all this to keep me from going out anywhere and actually meeting other human beings, it’s a self-reinforcing thing.
I often feel both jealous and annoyed by other people’s happiness these days, especially couples. I’m finding myself really tired of reading one particular couple’s comments about their happy new life together on their respective blogs, yet I still keep reading — probably just so I can seethe a little bit. I gave up putting anything like that on my blog after last year’s bizarre non-appearance at a date by a guy. I just figure that vilifying people after bad dating experiences is not gonna help. Anyway, what you’ve missed: I’ve met a couple other guys since then, one-date-wonders that I didn’t bother to tell you about. And I met up with a guy I’d had one date with before and we both mentioned that we should try again… but then the communication stopped last week, so… nothing new there.
The upshot of all that kind of thing is that I’m obviously just not the right guy for anyone, nor are they right for me. I’m come to the realization that I may end up being one of those really sad old gay men that Armistead Maupin’s “Mouse” talked about — the uncle who died alone, and was never touched by another human.
I guess that’s a but of hyperbole, but I really feel that sometimes. I’ll be 38 this year, and having been single and alone for about 10 years now, it doesn’t seem like that’s gonna change. Happy Valentine’s Day, indeed.
I’m a very isolated person, both emotionally and physically. No one really knows who I am, the people that meet me are only aware of what facets I choose to display. This makes me hard to figure out — different people who know me probably wouldn’t recognize me from other people’s descriptions. It’s like a carefully calculated, man-made version of multiple personality syndrome. You can tell, can’t you? I mean, it’s not like I post up a lot of personal feelings or anything. I wonder what casual readers here think my life is like?
This entry is going nowhere, and not particularly fast, either.
I have, really, only two close friends. The first is someone I met way back in high school. We’ve been close, kind of, since 1982 — close enough that I’ve taken him to the bathroom (he’s wheelchair bound) but not close enough that he wants to really hear about my feelings or anything. But I almost never see him or hear from him anymore since he got married. I haven’t heard from my other high school friends in a very long time. The other is my ex, who I hear from quite often… but it’s hard to get close to him because of the emotions involved. So I rarely talk to him about anything more substantial than what kind of memory to put in my computer. My newest friend is very special and kind to me, but she has a family and very busy life, and I’m not sure yet what the parameters of our friendship are. My neighbor, my co-workers… they make up the rest. And my family is not what you might call a cozy, loving, emotional bunch.
So, frankly, it’s me and my pets.
I also feel guilty. There are far too many people in this world who live in horrifying conditions, have nothing, are ravaged by disease, etc… and I have the temerity to be unhappy. I’m ashamed of myself for it.
Maybe it’s just the weather. You think so?
