I dug deep, and cranked out ~17,000 words in three days.
I’m 43 today. I’m not excited about that. At all.
Where to start here:
- It’s my birthday, and all I can think about is where I was a year ago
- I sent some pretty upset texts around 2AM last night.
- I was fired from the cushiest of jobs two weeks ago Tuesday because of technical issues and personal issues, and I don’t want to own the personal and solely want to shift blame to the technical and the people who don’t want to recognize that to buy myself more time to attempt to ‘fix’ the absolute shit-show of personal issues I have
- I was broken up with two weeks ago Tuesday because I can’t pick up my phone sometimes
- I’m drowning financially – the roulette of deciding which bills to pay and which to wait on are destroying me mentally and emotionally
- My child’s car is sitting in front of Starbucks, broken down, and
- My house is a complete and utter mess.
- I’m embarrassed of my (lack of) teeth
- I don’t think myself worthy of sympathy or empathy.
- I’m starting at ground zero in my creative, expressive endeavors – again
- I’ve burned down or wasted romantic relationships because I keep thinking and comparing and wishing they were my ex-wife
- My ex-wife does not, and would not give a shit about how I feel.
- I’m failing my children
- I’m failing my dogs – just like my father
- I’m an embarrassment and a burden to my neighbors
- The external of my home is an embarrassment to the neighborhood
- I kept my house for my kids, but in reality I kept the house in some crazy, hopeless romantic notion that she would come back and see that I am capable and worthy
- I’m addicted to and derive a great amount of self-worth in limerence, but when it comes to actually doing the work of a relationship, I don’t want to have to bother because it gets in the way of what I want to do.
- When it comes to romantic interests, I both want them around, but don’t want them to bother me unless I’m interested
- I’m probably not the mechanic I think I am
- I’m torturing my mother, as she doesn’t know how to help because of her own insecurities
- I’m sitting around, smoking myself to death, waiting for something to either happen or to die
- The only person I have any real interest in, I specifically friend-zoned myself as were in two totally different places in our lives, given they weren’t even in double-digits when my first child was born
- I just… can’t… right now, and need to probably get stronger medication and more regimented therapy
- My insurance ends tomorrow until I find new employment, and I’m on a number of medications I’ll be unable to afford – some being controlled substances I can’t get at least 90-day supplies of
- I needed to cancel my old phone service… two weeks ago, and can’t bring myself to pick up the phone or walk into the office less than two miles directly up the road from me, and I can’t process why I am this way
- I don’t eat, then binge; rinse, repeat
- I can’t sleep without drugging myself with sleeping pills
- I’m a terrible friend, and don’t put in the time necessary to maintain the work, unless I need something
- I hated everything my father was as a person, and yet find myself repeating those patterns because it’s what I saw and fundamentally know
- I am showing my kids those same worn paths
- I think about eating a bullet on the daily, and worry, one day in a moment of compulsion, I probably will, some place far, far away from here as to not subject my family and friends to any of the horrors of physically dealing with it
- I feel guilt even thinking that, knowing the absolute mess of things people will need to deal with should I take an early exit
- I have ideas, but no idea what to do with them
- I am fat, bald, over forty, and greying everywhere, but the person I see inside of me is still the cherub-faced boy-of-a-man I was at twenty one to twenty five
- I want someone I love and respect to tell me what to do, or better yet, do it for me
- I am a walking cliché of sadness and apathy, and it’s my own damn fault all this is the way it is
- I long for so much more, but I don’t know what that is
- I’m going blind and deaf, and no one knows this
- I’m glued to my phone
- I’ve traded addictions to opiates for addictions to porn, buying stupid shit, cigarettes, kratom, and the affection of unavailable and damaged women
- I covet things I can’t have, but I have them, I’m not satisfied
- I can barely get out of bed some days
- Sometimes I feel things in my body that excite me to think it might be something terminal that will give me a finite, quantifiable amount of time left on this planet
- I’m terrified of being a published author
- I logically know how to fix my problems, but the words I use to logic away the responsibility and make excuses for my behavior is ‘the logical side of me knows what to do, but it’s not the logical side of me I’m dealing with,”
…and that’s off the top of my head.
Positives(?):
- I am everything to people who know me
- I believe, fundamentally, I am a writer of above average skill and possess a vocabulary that is far and beyond anything anyone around me has
- My creativity is off the charts
- My kids are wonderful and well on their way to a better launch than I had
- I am wildly attractive to women with my words, and do quite well in garnering their attention on the dating apps
- I’ve come so far, mentally and emotionally, learning to let things go, not take anything so personally, and move forward no matter what
- I’m alive…
- The people that love me, LOVE me
- For the moment, I have everything I need to live: I have a beautiful home, food, gas, and I won’t lose it all tomorrow
- I’m highly gifted in my field
- I can learn anything quickly
Now what?
‘Happy birthday‘ just hits different this year.
