Driven by Spite

I have been trying to effect change in my life over the past year or so, particularly in the realm of going out and meeting people, with mixed results. I'm looking for both friends and lovers but seem to only attract the romantic attention of drunk assholes. Keep in mind that Memphis literally only has two gay watering holes and almost no queer social groups, so hanging out at a bar is kinda my only option.

I actually went on a few dates with one guy – the first I've had in almost 20 fucking years – and he was actually rather sweet, though still an alcoholic hot mess. Then after one night when we had some crossed signals about meeting up, he ghosted me, and I even wondered if something had happened to him. Then there was the good looking guy that I went home with one night. He was heavy in both the drunk and a-hole camps, but he was cute! So of course I was all for it. He actually indicated an interest in seeing me again, both that night/morning and in texts in the days after. But again I got ghosted. Then there were many bar near misses, like the guy who was chatting with me, said "I'm going to the bathroom. Be right back." and buggered off out of the establishment. (Hard not to take that personally.) There was also the complete drunken train wreck whose nonsense I fell for not just once, but twice. (Again, cute!) Both times he came on so strong, calling me his "future boyfriend" and generally laying it on thick while making an ass out of himself. And both times he abruptly ran off, leaving me alone.

On a more positive note, I've been doing weekly trivia at the bar I've been haunting, and I've met a really good group of guys – including someone I knew in high school – that coalesced into a team, which led to hangouts outside of a bar setting. So it's been really great having people to do things with. I haven't really had that in decades either.

Anger Is an Energy

Tell me what's my lesson
Look right through me
Look right through me
{Tears for Fears, "Mad World"}

Not too long ago, I actually ran into the guy I had the dates with and the functional one-night stand around the same time. And both of them ignored me completely as if I were a walking mistake and not a person. It made me ... indignant. I don't expect anyone to spend time with me if they've decided they aren't interested. But to refuse to even meet my eye when I never wronged them was dehumanizing.

I've channeled the anger of those moments into a renaissance of self-improvement. I'd been languishing in that department for a long time, ever since a procedure I had done last summer meant I had to pause exercising. For the past several weeks, I've thrown myself into a resurgence of eating better, going to the gym, finally upgrading my condo and generally getting my shit in one sock. I've been remarkably consistent in my efforts – persistence not necessarily being one of my biggest strengths. It's been exhilarating, exhausting, gratifying, disheartening, illuminating and overwhelming.

I Think You're Headed for a Breakdown ... Be Careful Not to Show It

Did you ever dream you had a friend, Alec? Someone to last your whole life and you his. I suppose such a thing can’t really happen outside sleep.

{E.M. Forster, Maurice}

For as long as I can remember, all I wanted was one someone special to share my life with. But other than a few dates here and there, I've only had one relationship and that was thirty fucking years ago. I don't believe that most people can fathom just how soul-destroying the lonely sadness can be if they haven't lived it. Between my struggles with mental illness, my problems with addiction and my non-existent self-esteem (not to mention an uncanny ability to repel people I'm attracted to), I've never been able to put together even a casual dating relationship. Obviously, the problem is me, but I honestly don't know how I'm doing it so wrong. I mean I've always struggle with interpersonal relationships, and there's a really good chance that I'm on the spectrum. (I've never been diagnosed, but when I was growing up, even the experts didn't really know much about autism, let alone routinely test for it.) It's all been a recipe for crushing isolation where almost all of my time is spent alone.

Eventually I just gave up, which probably led me to becoming a full-blown alcoholic. For so long I've been dead inside while at the same time nursing my pathetic fantasies that have ruined my life as fabulist hope blinded me to the reality that was in front of me. I should have been molding that reality into the best possible life I could create for myself instead of deluding myself that "one day" all my dreams would just fall into place until decades of wasted youth just passed by, leaving me shocked at the bitter old man I've become. 

Over the Edge

Every little thing that you say or do
I'm hung up
I'm hung up on you
Waiting for your call, baby, night and day
I'm fed up
I'm tired of waiting on you

Time goes by so slowly for those who wait
No time to hesitate
Those who run seem to have all the fun
I'm caught up, I don't know what to do

{Madonna, "Hung Up"}

During my trip to Atlanta in May, I met a man who (unintentionally) awakened in me a keen awareness of the black hole of emptiness at my core and a longing for something, anything to fill it. It's important to note that this was an amorous, but not romantic, encounter, and I wasn't even thinking about it in potentially romantic terms. It's just that little things that he did and said – like small intimate gestures and telling me that I'm an amazing person, which truthfully weren't intended to be taken on a deeper level – satisfied long-standing emotional needs that I have been craving for a lifetime.

At our last meeting, he explicitly told me (in words that made my heart melt) that he would enjoy seeing me again, albeit within the proscribed nature of our interactions. (Of course, I had just emptied his balls and was filling his stomach at a restaurant, so that may be why he was feeling well-disposed towards me at the time.) A couple of weeks after I returned home, I reached out to him, and he seemed happy to hear from me, even saying that he'd been thinking about me. I broached the subject of seeing him again and thought he was amenable to the idea.

Then of course he ended up ghosting me...

Every little thing that you say or do
I'm hung up
I'm hung up on you
Waiting for your call, baby, night and day
I'm fed up
I'm tired of waiting on you

Time goes by so slowly for those who wait
No time to hesitate
Those who run seem to have all the fun
I'm caught up, I don't know what to do

{Madonna, "Hung Up"}

His ghosting me stirred up so many swirling, conflicted feelings, like having something you've wanted so badly rudely snatched away. Unfortunately, my reaction was more akin to an addict being suddenly cut off more than any semblance of healthy human dynamics. I feel so foolish and disgusted with myself for being hung up over interactions that ultimately didn't really mean anything. For me, our brief time touched me on a profound level – given my past, my lack of relationships and my emotional baggage – whereas for him it was just a fun interlude that I think he honestly enjoyed but which held no further (or future) significance.

The tipping point that caused me to spiral down as indicated by my last entry was making the mistake of stalking his social media. I saw his full, vibrant life and cursed myself for thinking that I could ever fit into even a tiny corner of it. I wasn't trying to be a lover, not even a friend exactly, but it was a naive and frankly unfair for me to think I could even be a "friendly acquaintance," given the nature of our previous interactions. I know social media isn't reality, and that everyone tries to present themselves as having an enviable life. That's why it can be so insidious and toxic, and I completely got off of it years ago because my compulsion to compare made me feel my life was sadder and paler than I already thought it was. But seeing him out there living, surrounded by friends and lovers, pushed me to confront my lack of consistent human connection.

In spite of all the endless, self-created drama described above, I hold no ill will towards this poor man caught in the crossfire of my battle with the nothing at the root of my psyche. I really don't think he did anything at all wrong and wish him nothing but the best. The saving grace is that he's blissfully unaware of my personal turmoil because, to my credit, I didn't continue to message him or seek any type of BS "closure" like some stalking psycho. That's growth for me as I've made the mistake of pursuing people in spite of their obvious lack of interest many, many times in the past. (Another reason why I've been single so long.) Again, that's a function of my struggles with interpersonal relationships. I find it extremely difficult to pick up on subtle social cues and feel the need to have things blatantly explained, taking people's words at face value when their behavior indicates a counter narrative. But I still can't work out why it hurts so much or why I can't shake it off and move on. I'm grieving as if it were meaningful when I logically understand that it wasn't.

A Better Affirmation

My self-flagellating "affirmations" in my last post were a reaction to the fantasies and false hope I once again allowed to cloud my thoughts instead of dealing with the facts on the ground as they were. I really did have a bit of a breakdown. A short, tidy breakdown invisible to everyone else. But a breakdown nonetheless. I was constantly ugly crying and was repeating aloud the words I wrote on my mirror over and over again like a maniac. I've slowly been pulling myself out of it if still unable to rid myself of the hurt.

I've decided that I need to create my own full life instead of being envious of the lives of others and waiting for my dream life to magically appear. For the first time in forever, I've decided to make a concerted effort to get out and meet people. I've had some success socializing with people through MeetUp groups, better than I've managed in years at least, although my attempts to integrate into the local gay community have been fairly disastrous. Time moves inexorably forward, and I can't undo the past. The only option for all of us is to embrace the present as it is and build what we can towards the future.

My New Daily Affirmations

• White Knight IDIOT
• Pick Me Girl FOOL
• NOBODY wants you, not even as a friend
• Nobody will EVER want you
• You have NOTHING to offer
• You are NOTHING

Hope is the enemy. Hope corrodes the soul, disfigures the spirit. I need to remember that I have nothing for anyone, nobody wants anything I have to give. I've been chanting these reminders to keep top of mind that I'm stupid, an idiot, a moron, a fool to think I could offer anyone anything. I'm old, fat and ugly. I'm neurotic, boring and broken. The sooner I accept that and kill all possibility of hope, the better.

Sometimes I wish I had the courage to end myself.

Hello, hello

Let me tell you what it's like to be a zero, zero

Let me show you what it's like to always feel, feel

Like I'm empty and there's nothing really real, real

I'm looking for a way out

Hello, hello

Let me tell you what it's like to be a zero, zero

Let me show you what it's like to never feel, feel

Like I'm good enough for anything that's real, real

I'm looking for a way out

{Imagine Dragons, "Zero"}

I may be having a bit of a

nervous breakdown

One More Brick

I put my armor on, show you how strong I am
I put my armor on, I'll show you that I am
I'm unstoppable

{Sia, "Unstoppable"}

Shit at work. Shit with friends. Shit with family. My reflexive response is to self-isolate, disconnect, turn the anger inward. Build the wall higher and higher while pining inside for connection.

Pushing Through

In my negative self-talk, I tend to beat myself up over things I didn't get done while not acknowledging what I do accomplish. My depression and motivation have been quite low lately, so I want to appreciate how much I was able to a get done over the weekend:

1. Walked 14.2 miles
2. Did my strength training both days
3. Cleaned my place from top to bottom
4. Replaced some shower hardware
   & fixed a broken tile
5. Touched up the groat around my tub
6. Repaired some worn spots on my sofa
7. Got my tattoo re-inked

My Tattoo – Before & After

The Old Saggy Blues

As I've expressed (repeatedly), I've been frustrated that all my effort at exercising and moderating my eating hasn't transformed me. In spite of losing more than a foot around my waist, I still look nine months pregnant. But what also bothers me is how my 50-some-odd skin is going to look, even if I do manage to lose the weight. I'll look better in my clothes, but I won't really look "good" in spite of all the work I'll have put in. And forget about being shirtless or naked. It's just demoralizing.

At my age and the fact that I need to lose about 100 pounds from when I was at my heaviest, I don't think there's anything I could do to address the excess and loose skin short of surgery, which terrifies me (like everything else and life itself, for that matter). I may be able to address a few problem areas with non-surgical skin tightening: the sacks of adipose under my armpits that disgust me, my saggy tits and – even though my lower body is (thanks to genetics alone) not too bad – my upper inner thighs. But the area from my sternum to my junk is probably a lost cause without Mr. Scalpel.

Fantasy Ruined Me

I wish I had someone to talk to. For years, I wore out those closest to me by constantly talking through my unhappiness. My mental illness ebbs and flows, but never actually gets better, should be obvious from looking through almost two decades of my blogging. (I didn't even want to write another whinging post after looking through all the endless complaints of my previous entries, but I needed some outlet.) So I never really talk to my friends and family about what's really going on with me anymore, while (of course) simultaneously being resentful that they aren't there to offer support. I had a therapist so that I had one person to actually "see" behind the façade to what my life actually is, but I've stopped seeing her for a combination of reasons and wasn't able to even get any callbacks when I tried to find another one.

I know it's mostly biochemical, but I don't really have much in my mental arsenal to counter the narrative. Instead I have a lifetime of emotional baggage weighing me down like millstones tied around my psyche. Today it started off with superficial shit: I've been working so hard for so long on my weight – and I've lost 40 pounds and added a little bit of muscle – but I'm still obese and so disgusted by what I see in the mirror. Then I got haircut, but I can't find anyone to cut my hair who will take the time & effort my wonky hair requires. I have so little self-esteem to cling to that a bad haircut pretty much destroys it.

But it was lust, fantasy and a bitter longing for the intimacy I've never been able to achieve that really finished me off. My unfulfilled dreams litter my existence like dead gods in a decaying cosmos, eclipsing the path to making peace with my life of empty mediocrity. It started with my obsessive fixation on an extremely hot man at the gym, trying to force myself not to be a creep and stare with obvious desire. Then there was adorable policeman in the barbershop waiting room. He flashed me a wide smile that I actually managed to return instead of getting stymied by my socially-awkward introvert's reflexive retreat from eye contact. That meaningless exchange of polite acknowledgement completely set me off into achingly fantasizing scenarios where we connected, leaving me bitter and hollow over reality versus the stories I construct in my head. In addition to the pathetic pathos of unbridled, unrequited yearning, what guts me is that I'm about a decade too old for the guy at the gym and probably two decades too old for Officer Hottie. It's all just too late and my time – and hope – has run out. Sorry not a winner. Better luck next life.

Bright Spots

As yesterday's post made clear, I've been all in with the gloom & doom of my depression lately. After the never-ending mind fuck of going off and on medications to try new ones and maybe find one that works better and doesn't chemically castrate me, I have gone back to the two I took for years. Even though it's been five weeks or so, I'm still dealing with a profoundly low mood, lack of any motivation, anxiety constantly bordering on panic and almost total anhedonia. I recall this combo as not being great, but not being terrible, for antidepressant-induced anorgasmia, yet that's been dishearteningly bad as well (even faking my last "orgasm" with someone since I knew it absolutely wasn't going to happen).

In addition to work and life stress I've been dealing with, I was feeling particularly low yesterday (to the point of taking long, lingering looks over the highway overpass on my walk) because I think I ruined a potential friendship with someone I really seem to hit it off with by coming on too strong and needy like I've been doing my whole life. I managed to torpedo that possible connection in less than 24 hours, which is fast even by my standards, leaving me feeling even more lonely and isolated.

But in spite of all that I've been trying to practice gratitude as a strategy against succumbing to the negativity of my mental illness, and there are some bright spots I can appreciate, even as I struggle to cope. For one thing, my employer was kind enough to approve my request to temporarily work from home full-time. The constant changes in medications – while still having to work and produce at my job – had me on edge, and something had to give. A respite from the added stress of commuting to a not-so-great work location has made everything more manageable. Also, while I haven't seen a lot of improvement in my symptoms, I'm so relieved that my constant irritability has all but gone away. I absolutely hate myself when I get that way, getting irrationally angry over meaningless first world problems bullshit and lashing out at the world. So it's been a pleasant change that I'm managing to not overreact and handling things as they come with some measure of equanimity.

How Did I Get Here?

I started out with so many dreams, such promise along with some drive and even some talent. And yet I'm still fighting the same struggles I've been fighting the past 40 years, still making the same mistakes I've been making for four decades. I've learned nothing and gone nowhere. Easter has always been special to me because I'm enamored of the theme of rebirth. But when does it become meaningless in the face of repeated unfulfilled promise? The phoenix tattoo I got on my 30th birthday is now 24 years faded like the hope it was meant to represent – that I'm not too old, too late to achieve anything other than mediocrity and the bare minimum of a functional adult. The life I've constructed is vapor and lies, a brittle veneer of what others expect to see. 

How do you go on when there are no dreams of a better tomorrow, no joy and no purpose? The same way as it's always been, I suppose: inertia and the path of least resistance, ever seeking the grooves of transient pleasure and least unhappiness.

Longing for Belonging

Waiting all day by the telephone
Wondering if you're gonna call
I'll go out to my friend's party
Wondering if I belong
Well do I, boy?
Belong, belong, belong, belong
Do I belong, belong, belong, belong?
{The Hidden Cameras, "Do I Belong?"}

Loneliness, isolation and a profound sense of not belonging are dominant themes running through my life. I have difficulties with social interaction that can make interpersonal relationships particularly challenging, and my severe neurotic symptoms tend to make me want to disconnect from others to reduce the mental and emotional stimuli I have to navigate and process. Conversely, at the same time I long for company and connection. I think this is a systemic problem in our society, exacerbated by social media (which I don't touch), but of course, I can only speak to my experiences.

There are two other gay men in my department. One of them is a good work-only friend where we chat a lot on our in-office days, and we exchange a lot of NSFW text messages after hours. It's nice to have someone I can share tacky, adolescent humor and my lustful thoughts over hot guys I see during my day with, but he has never shown any interest in spending time outside of work. I know the other one well enough to exchange brief pleasantries, but we've only had a few extended conversations. Every week on our team day in the office, the two of them go out for a friends lunch of sassy gay talk together. As the third gay guy who's really friendly with one and friendly enough with the other, I feel hurt that I'm excluded from their lunches, even as I acknowledge how irrational and unfair that is. I wouldn't invite everyone in the office I have a friendly relationship with if I were to go to lunch with a co-worker, and it's egocentric to think they have any reason to consider me. And yet, I'm resentful all the same, mostly borne of my desire to connect and spend time with others.

A Yokel in Athens

The sounds of the May term, the scents of the Cambridge year in flower, floated in through the window and said to Maurice, “You are unworthy of us.” He knew that he was three parts dead, an alien, a yokel in Athens. He had no business here, nor with such a friend.
{E.M. Forster, Maurice}

My hurt feelings at being excluded from the weekly lunch excursions (no matter that it's a case of "benign indifference") reminds me of what happened to me at the Memphis Pride event last June. My company sponsored a booth, and I volunteered for one of the shifts there and to walk in the parade. I started talking to a guy who works in an entirely different part of the company. I was attracted to him, though quickly found out he had a serious partner, but we got on really well in a friendly way. Throughout the day, we continued to talk. I expected him to make polite chit chat and then drift away, which is the norm for me for such interactions, but he made a point to walk with me and continue spending time together. We eventually connected with his partner who was at Pride with a different company, and they continued to want to keep me around. I can't tell you the last time someone I didn't already know well made a point to include me and act as if they wanted me there.

We all got on very well, and I was so pleased with how the day was turning out. They were both very social people and seemed to go out and do things all the time. I started to hope that I could be part of their friend group. Maybe I could get invited out and actually start doing things, more than the once every two or three month I see the straight couple who are my only real friends in town. During the course of the day, they also met and befriended a young hetero couple. The two couples dizzyingly became fast friends. They almost immediately started making plans for a post-Pride event that evening and brunch the next day. In my rapidly devolving status as fifth wheel, I was conspicuously excluded from all of these future activities. As noted above, I understand that no one is obligated to spend time with me, but the way they planned things right in my face while leaving me out just gutted me. Was I not even worthy of common courtesy to not blatantly arrange activities that leaves out someone in the group right in front of them? My hopes for finally finding a friend group were abruptly dashed, and I left Pride feeling absolutely terrible about my self-worth and despairing at ever finding the kind of social interaction I crave.

Dispirited and Dyspeptic

    Since Wednesday of this week, I've been feeling a little discouraged along with spikes in my depression and anxiety. Gray winter mornings and coming back to work after an extended weekend probably contributed a lot to my mood, but in spite of the gains I've made, I look at the state of my body, disheartened by how far I still have to go to even get to "average." I made the mistake of weighing myself Wednesday morning and had gone back to a couple of pounds over 250. I'm trying to convince myself that all the walking I did the previous four days had added some muscle.

    Even if I do get my body somewhat in shape, I'm still worried over loose skin and the inevitable losing battle with aging, sagging and vanishing hair. I haven't been able to generate the same excitement over the carrot of my trip to Atlanta in April lately and have grave concerns about being ready – that is, being in the physical and financial state I want to be in – in time. I wish I had better coping strategies for keeping my dips into depression and anxiety from spiraling into despair and panic. I've abandoned most of my maladaptive copium – which is a good thing, but I don't really have healthy methods to fall back on. The past several days have seen me backslide in my binge eating habits (resulting in morning stomach aches), which only comes back full circle to self-esteem and body image issues. And no matter what, time continues grinding on. Suddenly it's a bright, new year. Then you're immediately back to inexorably ticking the days off. Still, it also shows that moving forward is the only option, so one should embrace it by centering on the present with as hopeful of an eye on the future as one can manage.

Goal Actually Achieved

    I've managed something I haven't managed in a long time: I actually achieved one of my goals. I wanted to get myself under 250 pounds before the new year started, and I was able to get that done. So far I've lost about 25 pounds and 13 inches on my waist. I've been amazingly consistent with my diet and exercise, sustaining them for far longer than I have in years. Yesterday was a holiday, and I've taken today off as a vacation day. During the long four day weekend, I've managed to walk a total of 35 miles in addition to keeping up with my strength training while even adding some new muscle groups. (I was trying for 50 miles, but I decided I shouldn't push my old ass too much.) I've been using my planned trip to Atlanta in April as a north star to keep myself motivated, and I've set a new goal of being under 220 pounds – a weight I haven't achieved since I became obese – by the time my trip comes around.

    Of course, the way I'm wired, all joys are tainted. I can never escape the entropic nature of existence. Age will eventually rob me of the physical gains I may make now. Even if I get into shape, I'll never be young and fit, a key component of the hopeful fantasies that sustained me throughout my life. (And at the same time, robbed me of my present, substituting delusion for reality.) It's too late for my fantasy of attracting a young and fit partner to come true since I have no desire to date someone who isn't age appropriate for me, so I have to reconcile the death of that dream that has been so central to my identity, self-conception and self-worth since I was an adolescent – not an easy ask. Still, as Albert Camus wrote, "The struggle itself towards the heights is enough to fill a man's heart." So I set my sights on pursuing that Sisyphian happiness.

He told me, "I see you rise
"But it always falls
"I see you come, I see you go"
He said, "All things pass into the night"
And I say, "Oh no sir, I must say you're wrong
"I must disagree. Oh no sir, I must say you're wrong
Won't you listen to me?"
{Q Lazzarus, "Goodbye Horses"}

Family Issues

   Recent issues that came up over the weekend in my complicated family dynamic were also making it difficult for me to stay positive towards healthy change. I was sorely tempted to drink Saturday night, or at least fall off the vaping wagon. I ended up limiting myself to eating pizza and a box of cereal as the lesser of evils. I know everyone's family situation is complicated; all family dynamics are messed up in some way. But I'm not exactly emotionally resilient, and I often feel caught in the middle and helpless when family issues arise because you can't control other people's feelings or reactions. Things fortunately seem to have settled down now, and hopefully they'll remain so.

But business is business and business runs in the family
We tend to bruise easily, mad in the blood
I'm telling you 'cause I just want you to know me
Know me and my family, we're wonderful folks
But don't get too close to me
{Amanda Palmer, "Runs in the Family"}

He's an Emotional Man

He's a desperate man in a world so cold
...
Ooh he's emotional
So emotional
He's an emotional man
He's got tears in his eyes
Watch him break down and cry
{Falco, "Emotional"}

    I certainly haven't gotten less curmudgeonly as I'm hurtling through my 50s. For most of the time I've worked at my current job, I've been able to keep an even keel and my emotions under control; however, I've really struggled with it in the last couple of years. I think the toll of the COVID-19 pandemic along with my generalized anxiety disorder morphing into full-blown panic disorder has a lot to do with it. In my past two performance reviews, I've been dinged a point for "not keeping my emotions under control." I, let's say, passionately voiced my frustration with a substantial problem that everyone acknowledges and yet no one in authority will do anything about on a team call that included my new boss. He wasn't upset with me but commented that he was "concerned about my blood pressure." He later printed out a copy of the first part of the Serenity Prayer and gave it to me. He meant it as a joke but the undercurrent of comment on my behavior was there.

    I'm not exactly the poster child for being adaptable and have been dealing with a lot lately, which hasn't improved my emotional volatility, irritability and anger issues. I have ambitious goals to change my current meds and eventually eliminate as many of them as I can. But the mental turbulence this is causing me is fucking me over, including resurgent daily struggles with anxiety symptoms and panic attacks. The day after my last post I decided I couldn't deal with the side effects from Buspar anymore and quit taking it. Even after stopping, I'm still getting episodes of tinnitus, which is disappointing and adding insult to injury. They're not as frequent or severe, so hopefully they'll eventually fade away. I managed to get worked in at my psychiatric provider, and I'm trying yet another medication. Theoretically, it has a lower potential for anorgasmia, but I'll just have to wait and see.

    There is also a serious issue going on with a close family member, and I'm doing my best to be supportive and as helpful as possible. Unfortunately, there is some corollary and (in my humble opinion) entirely unnecessary pedestrian family drama BS going on as well that I am characteristically caught in the middle of. Sometimes I feel – probably unfairly – as if I'm viewed more as a function in the family dynamic than as a whole person, but then no one in my family (by design) really knows what goes on with me. So it's hardly surprising that I don't feel "seen" and not entirely the fault of people left purposely in the dark.

    In addition, work has been uncharacteristically stressful lately. It's the best job I've ever had, and it has rarely been a source of stress in the 7+ years I've been there. But we are in the midst of a period of rapid change and upheaval. The uncertainty – where even the executives in my department don't know how everything is going to shake out – is unnerving to an "individual contributor" like myself when the future of what will happen to my position is unknown. Turbulence in the workforce also means that less people in my department are handling more tasks, and recalibrating the scope of what we're able to offer our internal customers and the need for greater reliance on other departments facing similar issues means navigating the new normal can be taxing on my emotional equilibrium.

    In spite of it all, I've been pushing ahead with daily self-care (frequently a challenge) as well as moving forward with my self-improvement goals. Considering my mental state lately, this is nothing short of astounding. I don't know why I've managed to will myself into motivation while dealing with profound anhedonia and spikes in anxiety. But I'm grateful and have made an effort to practice gratitude, reminding myself of all the many blessings I enjoy to redirect myself from obsessing over the inconsequential inconveniences and annoyances. It can be as small as being grateful for the technology that allows me instant access to music and audiobook entertainment to ease the time as I work on improving my life to as large as reminding myself of how the people in my life show me I am loved instead of just focusing at the disappointments I sometimes feel by the actions of flawed humans with as much going on in their lives as I have in my own.

An Honest Assessment

    I managed to get back to taking my walks this morning, and in the storm of my thoughts, I once again landed on the idea that I would be better off dead. I hate life. I despise everything about it. There is a great quote that I can't seem to find about not being grateful to one's parents for giving you life and how creating life is an act of monument hubris. That's how I feel about it.

    I'm not going to harm myself, but I'm so sick of desperately seeking relief from my mental illness, only to find intolerable side effects. Even after I moved to the bare minimum dosage of 5 mg twice a day, the buspirone has left me with a constant ringing in my ears along with agitation, constipation, headaches, nausea and lightheadedness. The 7.5 mg dosage gave me all that along with extreme irritability and hypersexuality to the point it was interfering with my life. I was only on the 10 mg dose a couple of days, but that made me feel so terrible I felt as if I were dying. I'm going to give the buspirone until the end of January to see if it truly helps and if the side effects lessen. If not, I honestly don't know where I can go from there. I've tried almost every class of psychotropic there is and every other avenue of treatment. They are either not effective and/or have side effects I can't live with.

    I just don't want to be constantly managing depression, anxiety and panic to the point where everything else in my life gets crowded out. But the cure always seems as bad as the symptoms and invariably sets you up for terrible withdrawal when you want to get off things. All while keeping up with the day-to-day demands of holding down a difficult job, all that goes into living independently and dealing with family stressors.

Side Effect Whack-A-Mole

    I'm tapering off one antidepressant and starting another psychotropic. Unfortunately, short-acting SNRIs can be some of the most difficult to quit. Fortunately for me, it hasn't been all that bad. It's called Antidepressant Discontinuation Syndrome, but it's really just a form of withdrawal. Today is day three of halving my dosage of Effexor ER, and – right on schedule – I woke up this morning feeling exhausted and my emotions have been (even more of) a trainwreck. (It doesn't help that everyone else in the world is a complete idiot!) My job is rarely stressful, but it can be demanding. So I'm trying to just take a breath and take care of things one item at a time. Rereading and waiting a few minutes before hitting "Send" is also a critical part of this strategy.

    One major reason I wanted to change medications is that I am tired of being chemically castrated by my antidepressants. In the past decade or longer, I've had maybe three orgasms that weren't caused by my own hand. I've got precious few years left to enjoy my sexuality, and I can't live in constant frustration over everything to do with sex. And I still hold out an anemic hope that I might actually find a partner one day, but sexual intimacy is integral to a romantic relationship for me. Buspar may actually help with antidepressant-induced sexual dysfunction. Of course I can't make an effort to rid myself of one side effect without picking up another: I seem to have developed tinnitus, which I've dealt with before and which can be a side effect of Buspar. So far it's tolerable, thankfully.

    I mainly wanted to switch to Buspar because my anxiety and panic disorder are having the most impact on my life. I've considered in-patient care a number of times over the past year solely because I was not able to deal with my panic attacks. If it can help manage my anxiety, then I'm hoping to be able to stop the medication to lower my heart rate and a tranquilizer that I take daily. (Each with their own side effects, not to mention the counterindication of taking benzodiazepines long term.) One of the longer-term goals I mentioned in the last post is to drastically decrease the number of medications I take – always under the supervision and care of my medical providers, of course – because all medicines have side effects that affect the totality of the person. I even stopped the pill I was taking to preserve my hair for this reason, though I'm already considering topical alternatives. I'm shallow & vain, and I proudly own it.

Rudderless

    I've been in a weird headspace. Hopeful. Emotional. Agitated. Angry over everything and nothing. I've been motivated to stick with small efforts at self-improvement and have been vaguely optimistic about the future, starting to set some longer-term goals for the first time in forever. I've even been generally not unhappy. And yet I'm struggling with a profound malaise and finding pleasure in anything. I've just been constantly running fantasies of indulging my baser passions obsessively through my head. Of course, I've pretty much given up everything that gave me pleasure in the name of health & wellness. I gave up drugs & alcohol. I gave up vaping. And I've recently given up binging on bad-for-me food. I'm on third month of Wegovy, so I'm making the effort not to sabotage that. Unfortunately, the semaglutide may be messing with my mood, as that's a possible side effect. Besides the fact that I simply desperately need to lose weight – for my self-esteem and physical health – I'm calculating (hoping) that a drastic reduction in my abdominal fat will result in a dramatic improvement in my mental health, the theory being that getting rid of all the chemicals the fat pumps out constantly will unstress my system.

    There has been a lot of change and upheaval at work, which is distressing to someone like me who abhors uncertainty. Though I'm not the only one unnerved and wondering when and how everything will finally settle into place. My boss moved to a different part of the company, and I didn't find out until a week before it happened. We worked well together, and with her long experience, she knew the answer to everything. So I'm keenly feeling the knowledge deficit and constantly feeling as if I'm navigating the complexities of my position without guidance and making it all up as I go along.

    I've also taken a long-term pause with my counseling. My therapist also moved to a different practice, one that is difficult for me to get to on a weekly basis. I like my counselor, but my therapy didn't really seem to be going anywhere. I would mostly just tell her what I'm actually feeling and what is really going on in my life, something I no longer share with friends and family. It allowed me to feel "seen" and to have my emotions validated, which was something I didn't get growing up. But I wasn't really moving forward in any way or learning how to handle my emotions and better ways to cope. This blog is one of the aforementioned longer-term goals, but I was additionally motivated to pick it up again to fill that outlet I was getting in therapy.

My Day Today

1. Once again tried to help my mother with her shit. Once again have her move the goalposts on what she wants/needs. Once again have her mistake and misunderstand pretty much everything I tried to say to her. Ended the conversation with her crying inconsolably and ruining her day, once again.
2. Tried to see a new psychiatrist after my previous one suddenly shutters her practice indefinitely. New place – recommended by my primary care provider – is unprofessional and sketchy AF to me in a lot of their practices before they've even treated me. They also drag my ass across town to miss an hour and a half of work to just have me piss in a cup and have some woman take a five minute history in pen in a spiral notebook. I won't actually get to see a "doctor" (nobody in the entire practice is an MD) for two weeks to actually talk to someone about my actual fucking medications. So no help and a waste of my time for the opportunity to waste more time missing work to have someone possibly actually provide me a useful service.
3. In spite of exercising every day and working hard to moderate my eating, my weight just keeps going up. Got to add another four pounds to the tally this afternoon.
4. Went to a Meetup walk at a local park after work instead of getting shitfaced, which was my strong inclination after #1, #2 and #3. Before the walk, someone posted in the group chat about going to dinner after, and I reply that I'd like to. After the walk, no one else seems interested in grabbing dinner, and the guy says to me, "Well, if it's just going to be the two of us, I'm gonna just go home."

After weeks and weeks and weeks of not being able to enjoy anything (vid. blog title), it's getting harder and harder not to just give in and go back to drinking: use alcohol and vaping to smooth into and actually enjoy playing a video game, have a few hours of actual pleasure. When everything – like even brushing your teeth – takes such a monumental effort of will and just keeping your life the bare minimum above water seems monumental, it's so hard not to wonder why I bother with anything at all. I'm just a bitter, angry, perpetually unhappy, broken, empty man hurtling through his 50s whose only positive impression of life is that it isn't permanent.

Realizations

My depression has been particularly weighing on me the past few weeks and is especially bad today. Sometimes the rabbit hole of thinking spurred on by depression causes my sense of self and reality to unravel somewhat, which can lead to existential panic and increasingly disjointed thought patterns. My whole psyche is patched together by self-delusion, and sometimes the cracks start to show. One of the motivating factors for writing this is to focus and seek a semblance of sense.

"I know you don't want to be here forever, even I got things I want to do in my life."

"When?"

{Shaun and Pete, Shaun of the Dead}

After an ill-advised and uninspired encounter last night, I realized simply that none of my dreams are going to come true. I'm fifty-fucking-one years old. I'm never going to have any success with my writing. I'm never going to have a significant other. I'm never even going to have a group of friends, just my usual small cadre of loyalists that I speak to and see only rarely.

I see young people achieve great success as writers, even in poetry, the form of expression most nearest and dearest to my heart. I see writers and other artists living with terrible mental illness, including soul-crushing depression, manage to rise above it enough to have their voices heard. I barely have enough mental energy to hold down a job, pay my bills, live independently and maintain a minimum standard in my self-care and living space. I don't have any extra to complete writing projects; I just endlessly scribble down all my little ideas. For those few things I actually manage to finish, I don't have the wherewithal to scramble and hustle to actually have my voice heard. I feel as if I have talent and something to say and the ability to entertain. But I struggle with finding meaning in anything, and writing something that no one will read is the height of vanity.

I'm desperate for connection, but never seem to have much success in relationships. Family and the few friends I have appreciate the idea of me more than the experience beyond the occasional brief encounters. I want to connect over shared interests so badly that I pointlessly beg my sister to watch a movie series or wheedle my friend into playing a video game franchise (both of them refused). Lately, I've been posting endless comments on "r/" YouTube videos as if anyone reads then or cares or as if they mean anything. Connection can't be forced, so it's all just a waste of time. The physical dysfunction caused by my antidepressants and other factors certainly hasn't improved as I've gotten older, so what hope is there for a relationship with no solid sexual expression and fulfillment, even if I managed to attract and not repulse a potential date.

I live my life in fantasy, and fantasies are more meaningful to me than reality. That's why every once and a while I will spend literal hours lost in a fantasy. I desperately try to make my fantasy world come true, but either fail or end up disappointed with how they look in the cold, harsh light of reality. My fantasy of writing success (specifically for a young adult adventure series) told me I should delete or heavily edit the raw and deeply personal honesty of a previous entry, but why bother? With past as precedent, I know exactly how my life will actually go:

1. I drop dead sooner rather than later. (Given my age, I can hardly call it untimely or too young.) I haven't taken great care of myself over the years, but I also come from a general history of longevity on both sides.
2. I continue to linger like a sleepwalker through a dream or a zombie stumbling through a barely perceived landscape. I'm good at my job (which is in fact my only real source of stability, security and fulfillment), so I will keep it, achieving moderate, perfunctory, unspectacular success until I finally come of age to retire. I haven't saved all that much, but the lucky happenstance of inheritance may keep me from being completely destitute through the hard work and prudence of others. In a dwindling sphere of isolation, I'll spend my time watching TV & movies and playing video games while probably developing into a full-time alcoholic. My days will revolve around drinking, preparing to start drinking and recovering from drinking the day before. Companionship will continue to be short-lived, transactional encounters. I'll write a little bit here and there, perhaps nursing the delusion of "one day." Finally, I'll drop dead later rather than sooner, alone and so quickly forgotten. My siblings' descendants will look upon the writing I leave behind with novel interest before packing it up somewhere until eventually it gets thrown out and even my memory has been obliterated from the world.

Ultimately, like everyone else, I'm just killing time until I die, so none of it matters anyway.

Say It! Say it!

I’ve come to realize that “antici … pation” is one of my chief pleasures in life. I really enjoy anticipating things I think will be pleasurable, and a major driver of my depressive mood is when I think there’s nothing to look forward to. For example, I always experience a major letdown after returning from a trip I enjoyed or when people I like visiting from out of town return home. My thoughts turn back to the drudge of my normal life, and I feel as if there’s nothing on the horizon. In fact, I get the same intense letdown after any instance of pleasure has passed. I stay up most of the night watching a TV series or playing a video game because I’m having fun. I don’t want to stop eating sugary junk – eating it until I’m almost sick – because I don’t want the transient pleasure to stop. I get down when I’m about to finish a movie or TV series or book or video game I’ve been enjoying because I’m left wondering when and if I’ll enjoy something else. In fact, I have often stopped consuming media towards its end and moved on to something else without finishing it because I don’t want the anxiety of finding something new (though that is also driven by an aversion to finality and other fears). All of these patterns are a function of my pervasive anhedonia.

The anticipation of pleasure is itself an intense form of pleasure, often eclipsing the actual experience, and my addict’s brain finds any form of pleasure practically irresistible. I’ve wasted a lot of time and lost a lot of focus on the present and on what I was currently doing by focusing my mental energy on anticipating a future pleasure. Compounding the issue is that the actual pleasures I anticipate almost always disappoint because of my contrary, depressive nature, especially those pleasures that don’t involve base, physical, animalistic desires:  food, alcohol/drugs and sex, hence my particular weakness to those kinds of things. I’m trying to adjust my hamster wheel of pleasure-seeking behavior so I enjoy the moment more, keep myself oriented on the present more and deal with reality as it comes. It’s all right to enjoy anticipation but not to the extent that it totally consumes everything else.

And Another One Gone

A few weeks ago, I decided to part ways with my most recent therapist after only a couple of sessions. She was a decent enough woman from what I could see, but she wasn’t really able to offer me the kind of help I think I need. In her defense, I’m not really sure what I need and was resistant to her suggestions, but I also was put off when she suggested things that were counter to what I was telling her about my situation. When I tell you that I often have to use every ounce of my will to do the bare minimum in my life, sometimes even to just brush my teeth let alone the effort of showing up and producing at work every day, don’t tell me about how I need to take a cooking class and start making home-cooked meals, for example. When I tell you that I have spent decades forcing myself into new behaviors in the hopes my mood would change (but never did), don’t tell me that all I need to do is force myself to do things – some of which I have already tried repeatedly – and somehow my mood will magically fall in line. When I tell you that I have days, weeks, months where I cannot find pleasure in absolutely anything in spite of having the means and time at my disposal, don’t tell me that all I need to do to derail a spiraling mood is find something to enjoy.

And speaking of therapy, I really wonder about the current training on self-disclosure by therapists. The past three therapists I’ve seen have, by my way of thinking, overshared personal information. My understanding is that the conventional wisdom used to be that therapists would rarely, if ever, self-disclose. The benefits of therapy arise from the fact that it is a rigid relationship dynamic where one can talk things out in a safe space where the things you say don’t affect that relationship. You can tell your friend or partner about all of your thoughts and feelings but it will inevitably alter your dynamic because they are actively in your life. U.S. therapists can’t even see patients socially (much less date) until five years after therapy has ended because too much closeness can be damaging to the patient. My therapists’ sharing of personal information altered the therapeutic relationship, putting me in a situation where I was worried about the therapist personally and/or felt as if I was being told “everybody feels that way,” which is another cardinal prohibition when talking to those with mental illness. Therapy is, by definition, an egocentric and one-sided exercise. Complicating the dynamic risks reducing its effectiveness.

Confessions of a Control Freak

Everybody has met control freaks in their life, and they can be a difficult personality type to deal with. My theory of the case is that their behavior is driven by anxiety rather than a need to dominate others or maniacal demands that everything be done their way. Generalized anxiety is an unspecified worry about what might happen and the general unpredictable nature of life. Exerting as much control over your environment – as well as the behavior of others – creates a feeling of security because life seems more predictable with less surprises.

I’m generally not a control freak when it comes to other people’s behavior because it’s impossible to direct others in addition to just being ethically wrong. Sometimes when I want a certain thing or outcome that involves other people, I fret so terribly wondering how to chart the best course to achieve my goal. It’s another reason for my self-isolation. By limiting my life in this way, I can exercise more control on outcomes by not having to deal with the X factor of other people’s behavior. Also, everyone has flaws, and I have more than I can count. But when I meet someone who I might want to spend time with as a friend, I worry that a particular “flaw” might create an uncomfortable situation, especially if the character trait has to do with their interactions with others. But then I miss out on so much by ordering my life this way. The healthier attitude would be to just deal with others on an equal footing, accept that I can’t predict or influence their behavior and be adaptable so that I can enjoy social interaction on its own terms.

I’m rarely a control freak in my work life because I separate that from my personal goals and am pretty good at being adaptable in the workplace (at least since turning 40), but I do try desperately to control every aspect of my personal life. I try to make everything as predictable and calm as possible in a vain effort to leave nothing to chance. I agonize over every little thing and obsessively pursue goals. (The flaw in that is that my goals, the things I value as important and my level of motivation fluctuate so wildly depending on my mood that I rarely actually complete longer-term goals.) I work myself up into an anxious frenzy trying to make everything in my life just so and exhaust myself into unfulfilled unhappiness.

I have actually managed to avoid freaking out too much about what happened to me at the massage appointment the other day, which is frankly a little surprising as I was extremely upset after it happened. I’m now in my 50’s, and I’m trying to make real changes in my life so I might enjoy my existence a little more. I keep reminding myself that none of us can predict how things are going to turn out for us. There’s really nothing better than hoping for the best and being resilient when things go bad. In the past I’ve used my excessive anxiety as a shield in the mistaken belief that I was exerting control:  I was doing something by worrying, and worry would somehow magically protect me from the thing I feared coming true. Conversely and perversely, I believed that if I didn’t worry, the gods of irony would cause the thing to happen as some sort of punishment, the belief locked in by my OCD and the fact that this was a common plot development in stories. I can only really control my attitudes and behavior, so that will have to do for now.