Tuesday, March 03, 2015

Delusion: An epiphany at Appomattox, or I am a work of art. I will not allow you to fat shame me. Even though I be male. I am worthy. I am something. Consider me. Love Me.

My best friend is leaving town.  Not that it matters as we hardly see each other anymore since she moved back in with her parents a few months ago.  She only lives about 40 minutes away, but it might was well be on the other side of the country.  But now I won't be able to say,  "I could always go visit."

I am all alone.  I guess I will be alone for a long time.  My brother may someday move close to me, or I to him.  We are both 40 and single.  Something is wrong with him though,  I think he has real problems getting close to people.  Sometimes I think of him as a person with Asperger's disease.  He doesn't.  But I haven't been able to diagnose his problems.

My problems are easy to diagnose.  I hate myself.  I hate my life.  I have no energy, no meaning.  I would hate to put that out there and actually expose a woman to that.  Also, I'm quite bad looking.  So no woman will have me.  Currently I am entertaining a neck beard.  Also, I refuse to bathe.  I have forgotten to brush my teeth,  change clothes, or wash my sheets.

Truly, things have gotten quite nasty lately.  I have only myself to blame. Not that my initial impulse isn't to blame others.  I'm a lot like all the women on Tumblr...I have expectations that don't match reality.  300 pound women don't get Ryan Phillipe.  Just like 239 pound fat guys don't get wispy photog models who read Proust and explain his connection to Marx to you.

It just doesn't happen that way.  I know I need to change the way I think.   I have been lowering my expectations.  Two years ago I dated a homeless girl who was beaten by her ex boyfriends.  She had several children that she often couldn't take care of.  I couldn't keep her interested.  Basically she knew she could do better than me, and she was right.

At least I have stopped feeling sorry for myself.  I don't waste time crying over my situation anymore. Instead I cry because television makes me sad, commercials and prime time TV is really great at manipulating my emotions.  Six, seven times a day I tear up. Then I pop a anti anxiety pill and forget.


I'm in denial a lot.  Like Cancer.  I eat like a pig.  I drink soda again.  I eat at McDonald's. I don't get my blood tests.  I can't afford some of the medications I am on.  I am skipping treatments.  I have to borrow money soon.  I'll have to borrow from my mother.  I have never done that.  Not in my life.  Either that or accept my brother's generosity (charity.)  I hate doing this.  I hate my job.  But I need to get back soon.  I need to pay back my landlord.  I owe them 2,000.  Jesus.  I am an asshole. Just go back to work and make some fucking money.  These people are allowing me to sit here and type.  Why?

I have no idea why anyone would help me live.  I have never done a thing, never lifted a finger for anyone else in my life.  I am broke human being.  I barely qualify as a moral being.  I should at least kill for money.  Then at least my life would have meaning.  Then the evil that sits in my heart could be released,  At least the world would make more sense.

People could say things like, "That guy was dirtbag."  And it would be true,  Instead, everyone has to donate money to my cancer fund because I'm just some sad sack that got cancer too early in life.  When we all know that the Cancer has been there all along.  Eating away at me from the inside.  Destroying my will to live, causing me to sit here pondering death.  Waiting for it all to end. God gave me this chance.  HE said/ Romius/ He's your real chance now. Fuck it and give up.  Let me take care of this.  Stop being a coward.

 Come home to me.  

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