A letter to the editor.

Well here it is; 2010 ( a space odyssey ).

It's January the second at about 9:30 at night and I'm sitting on the left side of my couch with my lap top, well, in my lap. I'm wearing a white button down shirt with a loosely worn blue tie, old jeans and some black etnies with lime green laces. I haven't shaved in over a week. I'm in a weird state of anxiety so I decided to write about my mood in no particular order.

As of now I feel very anxious as stated before and for some reason I also feel very un-optimistic about my future. I still can't seem to get a proper diagnosis of my
" mental condition " which means that there still is no hope of a proper treatment which means at the moment ( or ATM for you " others " ) there is no hope.

I feel like everything I try ends in failure. Well it has all ended in failure. I'm 36 years old and can't seem to hold on to one single friend. I have never even began to have a healthy relationship with a girl and every time a girl shows any signs of interest I instinctively run away as fast as I can.

I don't trust people and always feel as though they are " up to something " or that they hold unknown motives for showing interest in me or my friendship. Maybe part of the reason is because I give so much to others ( time, money, etc. ) that I dream of others returning the same sort of help and friendship. I know that these hopes are unrealistic, but still this is how I feel. Every time I've tried to give someone the benefit of the doubt they have let me down.

My work history has been unstable as well. I've had a few good jobs, but always lacked esteem towards myself, like it's never good enough ( what I do ) or I wish I could do better. Once I even got fired from a job for reasons I will never know, but coincidentally enough it was about a week after having an anxiety attack on the job. They told me I wasn't praying enough and to spend more time in the bible.

Deep inside I know it's me, but I also know it's everyone else too. No one is good enough or fair enough and everyone is all about themselves. I feel like my whole life I've just been a stepping stone for others. A free meal or someone to use. I have never earned a fair wage for my work except when I worked for HiFi Buys and the machine shop ( where I was fired from ).

Another thing that frustrates me about myself is that I am unable to cry. I haven't cried since around the age of 13. I'm not sure what the psychological reason behind this fact is.

I've achieved many of the goals I've striven for in my life and every time I've
" reached the top " it has meant nothing to me. I can remember a time in my life when I was so tired of being alone and fat that I set out to get in shape. I knew that people, especially women, are a very superficial breed and my only chance of even being noticed was to build my body to perfection. I did just that. I spent well over a year trimming from 280 plus pounds to a solid, muscular 155. Still hardly anyone noticed. I gave up and let myself go again. Misery weighs the same no matter what the individual weighs.

I also think it's funny how I write to get things off my chest, but these words will never be read or understood by anyone but me. I mean who really takes enough interest in someone else to read their thoughts unless that someone is maybe Justin Beiber or Madonna or Michael Jackson. Still here I am; getting it off my chest.

I've had vast swings of faith with God as well. I mean I've always believed in God and have been close enough to him to know without a doubt that he is real and did create me, but I've also been so angry at him that I've cursed his name. I guess the reason for those emotions are pure selfishness. I have spent too much time worrying about me instead of God. The funny thing is I've almost become dependent on my own misery.

I've tried to kill myself before and here lately there hasn't been a single day where I don't think about it. I've even sat down and researched ways of ending my life and come up with an easy, painless way. Sometimes it scares me to know that I could do it right this very minute. Still I'm hanging on, maybe with a false sense of hope.

I've been abusing my body a lot more than usual lately with binge eating and tobacco. There are times when I don't even shower. Sometimes I barely sleep at all because I can't and other times I'll sleep ten or more hours. I don't want to work anymore. Things have gotten really slow at work therefore my hours have been nonexistent which has made me completely apathetic towards work. Besides the fact that I'm not good at what I do and to this day have no idea why my boss would even want to keep me around. In fact I've only really been good at a few things in my life, but I've never been the best at anything.

I am so afraid of sex that I find it almost impossible to become aroused. I have no idea why. Maybe it's my weird attractions that hinder me.

I feel as though there are very few people alive or dead for that matter whom have ever seen the world the way I do and that is very discouraging to me. I desperately search for an equal, but fear that none will ever cross my existence.
I've always felt trapped in me; in my life. Along with feeling trapped in myself I feel destined to be alone and that scares me.

There is no one else in this world that angers me as much as my Father, but there is also no one else in this world that loves me more than him and I've lived with him my entire life and when he's gone I don't think I'll be able to make it without him; especially not alone. I really feel as though if I don't have someone close to me at the time of his death that I may also die out of sheer anxiety and depression. I'm sure I will have so many regrets to live with that it will be overwhelming. I've always told him that you can't take back words and that is just as true to all of us, he and I.

People anger me. I sit here alone like this very, very often and wonder constantly, " What is wrong with me? ", " Why doesn't anyone like me? " I feel like I'm slowly falling out of my prime and that my talents and loves are not only unseen, but unwanted.

I wish someone would stumble upon this blog and reach out to me. I wish someone would sincerely show me that they care about me; that they're interested in me and what I have to say.

If I had money I would almost be willing to pay someone to love me because that may be the only way someone would slow down enough to look.

Sometimes I think that if I killed myself my blog would become popular and people would say things like, " It was so obvious. " or " He was such a beautiful person; I wish I would have known him. " or maybe even something like, " What a great mind, he is the kind of guy I can only dream about. ", but alas I doubt even if I did take my own life that anyone would even sit through the news report if there even was one.

Sometimes I think I could be so significant and yet I know that I'm truly insignificant. I don't know if that makes sense, but nobody will ever see this but God and I and we both know what it means.

Look at this, it's after ten O'clock and still I'm alone on a Saturday night like so many Saturday nights before. I'm dressed and anxiously waiting for something to do, but I know that in a few hours I'll be miserably crawling under the cover in silence and despair.

I know I'm a good person, but I also know that something is wrong and it is literally killing me having destroyed my life to date. My childhood was stolen from me and my teen years were a blur. My twenties were consumed with alcohol and rage and now in my thirties all I can recall is sadness and disappointment.

In the end I wonder if I'm responsible for how I feel today. I wonder if it's my view of the world that keeps me from living in it or am I really so boring that I'm truly a waste of effort to even know.

I guess it really doesn't matter because here I am having wasted over a half of an hour blogging to myself only to feel worse than when I began in the first place.

Maybe I'll get mad. I do that often. Sometimes the smallest thing will sent me into a fit of rage. Something so insignificant as dropping a pill bottle on the floor will have me spewing words that could waken the devil. Sometimes I spend hours looking in the mirror, changing clothes and yelling at my reflection. My reflection is a truth and truth, however sharp and revealing is nothing more than fact and fact is rarely painless. Even when I was very fit I still had the face of an ogre.

Oh well at least I've spent time tonight doing something. I can't say it beats the alternative because what alternatives do I really have? Surf the internet? Commit suicide? All viable options and still equally harmless to the world around me.
Sometimes I think about the impact my death would have on my Father, but then I'm reminded of the fact that he's 65 years old and in bad health so he will not have a lot of years to suffer. He also has his sister to console in as she too lost a child to mental illness. I just don't want him to blame himself even though he is part of the " big picture " I forgive him because he is somewhat ignorant and oblivious to my emotions and also how to deal with them or his owns for that matter.

I only hold hatred for a few in this world, but none more that the hatred I hold towards myself. I've created a monster piece by piece and day by day since early childhood. Struggling sexuality, confiding in the wrong people as I reached out for help and giving to those who only take are are faults in my existence. I've searched all over the internet for theories on how God sees my life and how he would react to my death and according to my results it seems that God would not have me. I don't like to believe that, but if it's true then why would I want to to wait to die? If it's true that God does not see me or hear me ( which I believe he does ) then what is the reason for long suffering? I see none, but still I pause and hope. I hesitate to ask God for help sometimes. It's not that I doubt him because I don't, but I also know that even though at times he can bring me great joy the world still has to knock me down to reality and the reality is that this is where I live. This is where we all live.

I'm so jealous of the happy ones. Even now as I write this I can see those guys at the bar smiling, smoking a cigarette. They are all drunk and cursing and talking about girls and who they want to fuck and who they fucked and how much money they have and how crazy I am and the girls; The girls talk about how ugly I am.

I'm not stupid in that respect. I know how the one-eyed world sees me. I'm nothing more than the butt of a joke. Someone to talk about and spread rumors.

Even when I lost all that weight the rumor around town was that I " snorted : my way to a lighter stature. HA! I guess the truth is boring. Oh no, wait! The truth is here in the letter. The proof is right here! You have to dig for the truth and let's face it, you need a mighty big shovel to get to the bottom of this page let alone to the bottom of the " truth ".

Maybe I'm just a confused smart ass. Maybe I'm just a self-centered bastard. Maybe I really am crazy. Maybe no one will ever know or even care to do so.