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"}