Tag Archives: alone

On setting goals–

Do people actually think about what their life is going to be like? 5 years from now? 10? Do people actually make life plans and set goals? I’ve heard this all my life and yet I’ve failed to make any plans at all. I have zero expectations, except for maybe a few bad expectations. Planning is such a farce to me. I feel so unsupported and so incapable.

I just finished talking with my mom on the phone. We talk often enough, but every few months I feel so synonymously overwhelmed and underwhelmed with my life that I need to vent to her. Honestly? Trying to vent to her is just self-sabotaging, but I really have no one else.

Today’s stressor: Money. Finances. Moolah. And how I have none of it.

It all started 4 years ago. I think that I had maybe anticipated having high expectations moving to the city to attend post-secondary, but I was just going through the motions. You graduate high school, you take a year off to “find yourself”. You go to university, you meets someone special, you graduate, you get a real job, you get married, you make real money, you have a real life. I just couldn’t follow through. I wasn’t there yet. I’m not there now. And between being gay and dropping out of university, I’ve become my parent’s number 1 disappointment in life. They’ll never admit it to my face (actually that’s a lie, they’ve basically already admitted it in so many words), but I am disappointing. Even to myself.

They seem to think it’s appropriate to always, always respond to my fears about finances with an unsympathetic head tilt and a “well, you know what you have to do”. *Cough, cough* *wink, wink* *nudge, nudge* SCHOOL.

I can’t go back to school. Not now, maybe not ever. I can’t make myself pick a career or pick some courses out of a hat and just go for it. My heart will never be in it.

I tried communicating that to my mom on the phone today, and it didn’t work. It never does. I tried telling her that it’s hard for me to predict what my life will look like in 10 years, because my heart truly isn’t even invested in myself. I told her that it’s easiest for me to think I won’t be around in 10 years, because when I try to imagine what life would be like, I’m entirely disappointed.

All she had to say to me was that I’m just having a bad day and then asked if I watched last night’s episode of Big Brother.

She always does that, changes the subject. I try and confront her about it, tell her that I feel unloved and unsupported, and she says that I’ve ranted and there’s nothing else she can do about it. Then she swiftly changes the subject again before I can engage her at all. I mean yea, maybe she’s vastly under-equipped for my state of mind these past few years, but the fact that there’s just such a huge wall between my feelings and her is so utterly despairing to me. I feel like I have nobody. I feel like of all the people in the world, my own mother, I shouldn’t have to feel ashamed of my feelings or embarrassed that she may not take them seriously.

Now I try and put on a brave face for a few months until I need to release, only to have my feelings rejected all over again.

I’m tired of feeling like all I have to offer people are blank stares and empty smiles and remedial laughter. I’m tired of going unnoticed for who I actually am and how I actually feel.   I’m tired of people expecting me to be somebody in their lives in 10 years, in any capacity, when I already feel like I’m so immeasurably separate. I don’t want to be here in 10 years. I’ve made my first life plan.

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Searching for a way to find a way

It’s been a couple months since I wrote here, and as usual, I came into this feeling like I had a pretty good idea what I wanted to write about. I don’t think it’s going to work out that way though. My life feels pretty ambiguous lately, and I think my scatterbrained thoughts here won’t deny that.

It’s literally been over 3 years now since I was last in a relationship. And if you think that’s absurd, perhaps even more depressing is that I haven’t even been on a date in over 2 years. “You need to put yourself out there more”, people say. Well, duh. Working 8 hours a day, sleeping 7 hours a day, tending to my cats like 1-2 hours a day and grooming my own personal need to recharge and be alone for all other hours unaccounted for doesn’t necessarily leave a lot of time for love, sex, and friendship.

I am alone. And I think I’m okay with that. But I’m not always so certain. I feel like I put so much pressure on myself to feel like I should be giving myself to the universe and… well, in effect I’m trying to induce feelings that I’ve been coming to recognize as unnatural for me.

“What?” You say?

I love being alone. I really fucking do. Sometimes the world tricks me into thinking otherwise, but in the end I always seem to understand my version of happiness as exploring life and exploring myself all by myself. Maybe I used to dream of getting married someday and having children, maybe I used to think you can’t make it in this life without having someone to depend on 100%, and maybe I understand that these things are totally subject to interest me again someday in the future, but right now I just feel like it’s all a hindrance. It’s all keeping me from really knowing myself.

To be honest, I mourn this as well. I regret that I’m wasting my youth and beauty on being isolative. And this regret contributes to how much I isolate myself in other regards. I’m not pursuing hobbies or interests. In truth, I’m literally doing nothing to explore myself. WHAT A WASTE.

This is why I just feel so damned sad all the time. My lack of confidence in myself holds me back from understanding myself better, and my lack of understanding for myself holds me back from pursuing interpersonal relationships. I feel like I missed a pivotal chapter in my life where I should have been embracing things just for the sake of fulfilling myself and my own expectations. I missed a chapter of mistakes and learning and growing as a result. Holding myself back and feeling undeserving has always come natural to me.

So where do I go from here? How do I discover what I am and become who I am supposed to be?  It sounds silly, but for so long I’ve been searching for a way to find a way to be happy.  And if you think that sounds like I spend a lot of time thinking instead of doing, you’d be right.  I need to do away with the rhetoric.  I need to do.

Quiet homebody seeks LTR

About Me:

ASL?  23, male, my apartment (indefinitely)

I find myself wishing I had the nerve to pursue the dating game again.  I’ve been randomly browsing dating websites and finding myself yearning to reach through my screen to pull the geekiest, kindest looking boys right into my living room.  (Which makes me realize how much my idea of an ideal boyfriend has changed over the years)

Of course I still like a bad boy with a bod as much as anyone else, but I think I’ve come to realize that I would never be able to feel totally at ease with someone who’s going to put in the effort it takes to look like the douche that everybody envies when I’m purely running on youthful metabolism at this time (and hopefully for a long time!)

I get told time and time again that I’m “literally beautiful” “one of the best looking people [I] know” “like model pretty”.  I’ve been approached to do modeling 4 or 5 times (once was local alternative, once was a small artsy/modern kinda business, once by a Holt Renfrew rep., and a couple times online by people wanting me to do a few local runways for their aspiring fashion lines).  And I’m humble enough about this that I either reject or ignore every offer.

Beauty is honestly, truly, skin deep.  I don’t feel beautiful at all.  I don’t feel worthwhile at all.

I have a very long, slender, thin frame.  One of the things I love most about my body is my tiny waist and beautiful bone structure.  I have broad shoulders, my limbs are long, my cheekbones out of this world, but slathered all over it is this skin that I writhe under.  And that’s not to say I have bad skin, I just… I sometimes feel like I am a fat skinny person.  Like everyone who sees me sees all the things I would love about myself, but underneath my clothes I see the things that deter me (am I being literal or metaphorical?).  My chest for starters–inherited via my father, and his father before him.  The largest point of contention in my life.  I have never stood proud, shoulders back.  I have never taken my shirt off since beginning puberty.

Especially now that I live alone, this affects my life daily.  Trying to find clothes to wear that make me feel comfortable enough to brave going outside can be an hour long process.  Sometimes longer.  Sometimes I decide not to go out at all.  Even buying groceries is hard for me.  I have a lot of anxiety about people seeing me.  I’ve spent so much of my life stocking up on carbs and snack foods, frozen foods, foods with artificial ingredients and a longer shelf life.  Why?  Because it allows me to stay home for longer.  My skin feels like elastic and I’ve never had a lean tight body.  I feed myself garbage, how could I expect to have that body?  I am the skinny fat person, for as long as my metabolism allows.

I pick apart every little thing about myself and use it as fuel for being alone.  My breath reeks–cryptic tonsils.  I have awful sebaceous dermatitis–my hair gets so waxy if I’m not diligent and I shed skin cells from my scalp like my cats shed in the spring.  My teeth could be whiter, my nose could be more elegant (and it runs a lot because I broke it in kindergarten, which also makes me a mouth breather, yuck), my eyebrows never quite look like they belong.

Even non-physical things.

My mom still does my banking–I’m not frivolous I just don’t know anything about finances.  I’m pretty lazy when it comes to doing laundry.  My cats are welcome to walk, sit, or lay wherever they please (counter tops and dining tables included).  I am incredibly habitual and follow a daily routine, anything out of the ordinary is indelibly stressful.  If you’re with me for the long haul you better be prepared to re-watch my favourite movies and replay my favourite video games on a yearly (or so) basis.  I’m pretty ambitionless and am rarely motivated to do anything other than sit on my ass (my version of “homebody” for all you online dating folks).  I like to think I’d be into adventures and cute dates of laser tag or skating or going to the movies or walking through the park, but I’ll probably wind up passing because it’s too hot to wear a sweater to blanket my insecurities within.

Oh yea, and if we eat too close to bed time or I haven’t had a number 2 in a while (also thanks to my dad’s genetics), you can forget about cuddling with me much less doing ANYTHING ELSE.

So if any of this makes me your idea of a perfect partner, hit me up!

Dear Diary,

I saw on t.v. or a movie (or some kind of media) recently that someone had the ambition of exchanging journals with another someone they liked.  Which made me think of the Nintendo series “Harvest Moon” where, at least in some titles, you have to read your love interest’s journal to get a vibe of where they’re at in your budding romance.  Which made me wish I were keeping a journal or a diary of sorts in the event of cute guys.

I mean, I suppose this whole blog is more or less a journal.  It’s all about my feelings, after all.  But everything here is so depressing.  If I had a prospective love interest, this blog is where I would send him before I make nookie with him and then eat him alive like a black widow, baby.

This place is sad.  And repetitive.  Endlessly so.

I hate feeling so invalid.  What I have to say isn’t important to anyone.  It’s unimportant to even myself.  So much so that I oft times have nothing to say at all.

Being younger was so much easier.  I miss high school a lot these days.  Sure, I felt I was depressed in high school too, but there was so much more going on then.  So much more to look forward to and to have feelings about.  Dinner at the café and then movies or video games with a couple friends on Thursdays.  Procrastinating homework to the bitter end on Sunday.  (Hey, it made dicking around on my own feel a lot more productive than it ever does these days).  Even school itself made things feel more acceptable.

School was an ego boost.  Teachers loved me.  Getting good grades gave me purpose.  There were tons of people my age at my disposal for friendship or comradery. Other people who were feeling low.  Other people who were feeling rebellious.  Other people who were feeling studious.  Other people who were feeling mediocre.  Other people digging art, or video games, or anything under the sun.  There was always someone for me to relate myself too.  I miss that.

If I were keeping a day to day journal in present time, and I shared it with someone I valued, it would go something like this:

“Deary Diary,

Today was pretty average.  I showered last night so I could sleep in a little extra this morning.  It wasn’t especially helpful though because I stayed up late waiting for my hair to dry.  I guess either way I got my standard 6 hours…

I watched a few more episodes of Fullmetal Alchemist Brotherhood before work as well.  It was good, but I had trouble focusing.  Then I was almost made late for work trying to decide which method for hiding my chest would be best today.  I ended up just wearing my baggiest hoodie over top of a tank top. Thank goodness for winter!

Work was okay.  I had a lot of trouble today and asked a lot of questions.  Even though I’m still pretty new, no one I work with has any patience with me at all. Everyone is very aggressive and the way they answer my questions makes me feel lesser of myself every time I ask… I don’t like these people, and even though I do like this job, I don’t know how long I can put up with the same few people everyday who have nothing in common with me. I spend my breaks in the bathroom stall just to escape the noise and the hostility.

The walk home after work was nice, however. It was very cold, and I wore my really short ankle socks. My scarf kept my face warm but I loved how cold my feet were. Sometimes I feel like the cold biting at my feet as I walk home is the only sensational part of my day. Everything else is forgettable.

The cats ate good for me when I got home, thankfully! Not a day goes by that I don’t worry about them getting sick again. I rinsed their bowls and kissed their noses before deciding to eat dinner myself. As usual, I really don’t have much to eat so I settled for baked perogies again.

I thought I would try and pick up A Link to the Past after dinner, because I really just want to beat it and move on to A Link Between Worlds, but I didn’t have the motivation. I watched some recordings from last night instead and accidentally fell asleep. Luckily, the girls woke me up when it was time to feed them again, so I did just that and then crawled in to bed.

I thought about crying tonight, but I just didn’t feel like I had it in me. Maybe tomorrow night will be a better night for it, since I won’t have to be up early for work the next morning.

Until then,

Blue”

And the saddest part of all of this? I don’t have any love interests. I don’t know anybody. There’s no boy in my Science class who sits next to me so I can do his homework in exchange for subtely smelling his beautiful being. And there’s no homeroom teacher from the house down the street to crush on and pretend he has a vested interest in my life when in reality its just his job to keep track of me and the other kids appointed to him.

It’s just me. I don’t even know any boys. What are those anyways?

Dear Diary, help me.

By the stars (I am obliged)

Beyond the looming stain of day, afar

is where one’s body lies frozen–gilded by stars

and the wisps of cold that tease down thy breasts,

cooing bursts of dew from within lost breath.


I speak for the one, but should you query

whom, your insistence does leave me quite leery.

‘Speak for the one who knows not what to say,

and regards boundless confinement as the only such way.


By the stars soaked through one’s cloth,

I am obliged to shed light on flesh; a moth’s

flame to guide the forgotten back from wence

it came–no measure, no morsel of penance.


Starved of immortality and weak under

wings of war, I too feel my flesh torn asunder

by the seeds of humanity that grow about

my oneness; the stars bearing life I am without.


Perhaps I am the one; the gilded expanse,

a folly of the stars in line with the romance

of tranquility and dawn.  The irony of a dawn

that is broken but will not break.  Where has it gone?

I wake up.

I wake up to a quintessential morning light bursting through the blinds of my window.  I can see the dark shape of the rain barrel outside and the long spidery leaves of the shrub besides it blowing in the breeze.

I lay in bed for a few minutes.  My sheets have begun to slide off my bed and are folding against the floor.  I pull them up to my chest and stare at the light fixture on my ceiling.  Its glass is stressed in lines and breaks.  I raise my hand so that it rests just above it in my line of vision.

Bored with my myself, I clench my hand into a fist and throw both arms back, resigning myself from my bed with a content yawn.  I am not still sleepy, just relaxed.  Yesterday’s shirt is draped over my chair until I decidedly drape it over myself once again.

My day has just begun.  I am faced with a number of ways I could begin to spend it, and not one way seems any more befitting than the last.

-I could run the elliptical while watching Ellen or The Talk.  Maybe Roseanne reruns are on t.v. still.  Pokémon at 8:30.  I sweat and pant and choke back a tall glass of water, before dancing in unison with my shadowed silhouette to the bathroom to observe my body in the mirror.  My skin is flushed and my waist, tight.  My chest feels even the slightest bit more taught and my butt a little perkier.  The shower washes away my filth and I sit beneath the warm stream of water with my eyes closed, dreaming about love, contemplating life, indulging in happiness.

-I could make myself a feast of a breakfast.  Pancakes, eggs, anything I wanted.  I lounge in the light exploding through the bay windows, watching t.v. with Friday dreaming on his neatly folded blanket on the couch.  Every time I move nearer he growls and expresses his discontent.  But he’s happy to be with me, and I’m happier to be with him.  I kiss his poufy head and rub his ears just as he perks his head at the sight of my plate.  We spend our morning eating breakfast, as I save every final corner of pancake or toast for his whimpering, wagging self.

-I could crawl into my dungeon, the game room, and close myself off from everything.  There are no windows, and the lights are turned off to keep the room from overheating.  Occasionally I’ll turn my favourite lamp on so I can see the keyboard of my computer incase I need to look up walkthroughs for whatever I’m playing.  The blanket my mom and dad got when they married is my blanket of choice and is sprawled across the bed, inviting me to find myself amidst its grasp where I can let my thoughts fade away and dissolve into a different world.  Harvest Moon, Okami, Mario Galaxy, Tales of…

Anything.  Everything I am content with.  My dreams and carefree self lift my mundaneness into ritual and glory.  I have myself, and for the times that I am lacking, my brother is sure to enjoy my company as he watches a movie or a new series or is eager to catch me up on the latest game he’s playing.  My sister always has the family channel on or needs to watch a movie or show mom recorded.  My dog is always itching to run around and play.  My mom is always upstairs in her lazy boy, playing on her computer, napping, knitting.  My best friend is always only a phone call away and eager to go on Gaia or talk about the latest news in gaming, anime, or k-pop.  There is always someone for me to keep myself occupied until I am ready to be alone again.  I am never alone indefinitely.

But today I am alone indefinitely.  And yesterday.  And tomorrow.

Today I am not enough.

Something of a realization.

Tomorrow will have been one year since I came back to the city.

I thought I would be a different person by now–a better person.  I thought that I would find peace with myself, be happy with the kind of life that I lead, make friends and be outgoing, maybe even have someone new who could love me the way I have known myself to love.  I thought this year would be different; not that I’ve invested a lot it making it that way.

I know I have changed in some respects, and maybe I am a lot more outgoing because of working at Starbucks, but whatever self-affirmation I carry myself with in front of a stranger is something I know all too intimately to not be true at all.

I do not love myself.

It’s something I have always known, but the weight that this understanding bears becomes more and more significant with every passing memory.  I indulge far too much in what I hate about myself, and I acknowledge far too often the reasons I will never see myself fit enough to truly be loved by myself, much less someone else.

The other day a friend jokingly told me in passing that no one would ever want to date me… and it was then that I knew there really was no façade.  I wasn’t fooling anybody.  I’m not worth the attention and the love from someone who has learned to embrace their own faults and love themselves first and foremost.  I am not capable of sustaining myself and appreciating my means of doing so.

I find myself to be useless.  Unattractive.  Incapable.  Unlovable…

And so I finally deleted all of my online dating profiles.  What is the point of having them, really?  Finding someone to acknowledge me has consumed me this past year.  And only once every few months I actually go on a date with someone.  Every other one of those dates I meet someone I generally regard myself to be interested in.  And after the first, sometimes the second date, I become sad and insecure and never talk to them again.

And all the time in between?  I observe other’s profiles and picture what my life with them would be like.  I look at their pictures and read about them and insert them into memories of my ex.  Because they are memories I don’t want to change.  They are memories I want to relive.  And ultimately it doesn’t matter what any of these men have to offer, because I only want them to offer one thing.  I want them to offer me my past.

That is disgusting.  I am disgusted with myself, and it is over.  I am willfully choosing to be alone, like the way it should be.  If I can do one thing good for myself, it will be this.  To be alone by my own volition, and spare myself the agony of feeling abandoned by anybody else.  I am so sad.