Sick Of It All

I'm fighting off a cold, and it's really been doing a number on my mood. I'm already feeling drained by working seven days a week and being overwhelmed by all of the things I need to do (such as keep up with this blog) to get my life "back on track." It's to the point that, whenever the least little thing goes wrong, I get passively suicidal; that is, I sincerely wish I were dead (or never been born, closer to the mark), though I'm not in any actual danger of self-destruction.

The tiniest setbacks set me off. Last Friday night, I went to the apartment warming at an acquaintance and his husband's new place. When you've been alone as long as I have and you don't get out and see different people very often, every time you do go to a party or a club or whatever, you're hoping against hope that this is the time you'll meet the Love of Your Life, even if you hate to admit it, even to yourself. So the fact that the one guy I was attracted to was there with someone else (not to mention about a decade too young for) spiraled me into wallowing in loneliness and despair.

Tonight when I got to my apartment, I actually thought I might get myself to the gym and run a couple of errands, and I even changed into my workout clothes. Then I called the masseur I've been sort of hanging out with about our plans to see Dame Edna in a couple of weeks. I dunno, he's just so odd. He's so incredibly hard to talk to. After I hung up, my phantom energy evaporated, and I started feeling extremely low. I finally figured that the best thing for it was to masturbate and go to bed. (In hindsight, this would have been ideal.) But then the idea came into my head to go to a sex club, which I haven't done in quite a while. But then I didn't feel like going to all the bother for a quicky blow job. But then I got the bright idea to get another semi-legitimate massage from another masseur, which is so stupid and fucked-up on so many different levels that I literally don't want to think about it, let alone explain it. The massage started off all right, but then it got weird at the end. I don't know why, unless it was just because I couldn't cum thanks to the full dose of my obsessive-compulsive medicine Luvox that I had taken an hour before. But who knows? Whatever... So I left there once again feeling better off dead.

Speaking of my OCD, my mind is so perverse that whenever I have any kind of physical pleasure, I feel that I'm going to be, deserve to be, punished. So although I was as careful tonight as two guys can be and still be fooling around, the encounter has awakened my HIV panic. Personally I blame all the bigotry and bullshit about homosexuality that I was exposed to growing up ("God hates fags!"), which I internalized, knowing as I have, my orientation for as long as I can remember. It's like a poison that saturates my brain, and no amount of rationality or enlightened emotion about being gay can ever withdraw it.

Not the Only One with Problems

When I came home from work this evening, my neighbor across the hall was crying in loud, wailing sobs for the second time in a week. This time I gave a tentative knock to see if there was anything I could do for her, but she didn't answer. I was afraid to force the issue 'cuz I don't know if she'd like a sympathetic ear or would just prefer to be left alone. As it is, I can only pray that God gives comfort to those who are suffering.