Sunday, July 30, 2006

Fuck It All

I fucking hate being alive! The reason I would never reproduce isn't because I'm gay. It's because I would never have the fucking hubris to bring a consciousness into existence so that it can deal with this life that I despise. I wouldn't be responsible for bringing anything—not even a cat or a dog—into such a world of suffering.

After a maddening fifty minutes of fighting traffic on the fucking freeway Friday afternoon and almost having a conniption, I got to my therapist appointment thirty minutes late. In the little time we have left, she tells me that most other people are unhappy (which any fucking first year psych student could tell you is one of the worst fucking things you can tell a depressed person, particularly one in crisis). Fucking hell! Then why do all these breeders and half the queers have kids? To share the fucking joy?

I was in college before I finally realized that other people were actually glad that they were born and were alive, not thoroughly pissed off about it like I was. I never understood why someone would actually thank their parents for the "gift" of life! (I've always looked at it as kind of a curse myself.) I can even remember exactly where and when I had this realization. I was in the Central Campus swimming pool my freshman year, and my friend said to me, "I can't imagine ever being so depressed that I would even think about killing myself." And I thought, "Well shit! It takes most of my energy most of the time to keep from blowing my fucking brains out."

"Fuck this and fuck that!
Fuck it all and fuck a fucking brat!
She don't wanna baby that looks like that!
I don't wanna baby that looks like that!
—The Sex Pistols, "Bodies"
Romance Is Just Another Narcotics Fix

I've been playing this computer game called Fable. It's your standard fantasy, sword-and-sorcery RPG. But in it your character can get married, and the rather inclusive designers even let your character (a man) marry another man. I was at a point in the game recently where I could do this. I courted one of the student's from Hero Academy and flirted with him and gave him gifts. He responded and said sweet things, "I'd like to get to know you better...if you know what I mean" and "We're good mates, aren't we?" I gave him a ring and then led him across the game map (protecting him from enemies and monsters all the while) to a house I'd bought for us. We even had a wedding night (with sound, but no video). After all of this, I realized that this is absolutely the most fucking romance I've had in years!

But you know what else I realized? I'm not looking for love to round out my existence. My life is an empty hole. No one could fill it up. I could only drag them down in there with me. (Just ask my ex.) I only want romance and tender gallantries as one more dopamine-producing physical pleasure to get me through the day. Love—real love, not infatuation (a lot of people confuse the two)—is a great deal of work, which is why a lot of people "fear intimacy." What they really fear is working at love and find it easier to move on once the buzz is gone. Personally, I doubt I'm up to the challenge, seeing how I've failed every challenge I've ever attempted in my life.

"Glad you're on an upswing"

That's a quote from a sweet comment from a lovely woman whom I'm lucky to call a friend (if this entry doesn't alienate her). But it also comes right to the point, doesn't it? I'm always on an upswing. Or a downswing. But I never get anything sorted out, do I? To quote another friend: "I've heard it all before." I'm always going round and round in circles as if I've got one foot staked in the ground. I'm never going to be settled! I've been working, pushing, struggling uphill all the way for over twenty years just to finally reach a point where I feel leveled out. And it hasn't happened yet. It will never fucking happen!

"I know, Charlie Brown. You want to be happy."
"Oh no! I just don't want to be unhappy."
—Linus & Charlie Brown, Peanuts
I'm pretty sure I'd be dead by now if it weren't for my fucking family. I can't die by my own hand. In November of 2002 I took thirty Zanax and thirty Restoril. I lost four days of my life. (I literally have no memory of them and pieced everything together after the fact.) I lost my job, went into convulsions and got into a car accident, but I didn't die. (Or hurt anyone else, thank God!) The stupid thing is how bad I feel about attempting to take my own life, especially since I came so damn close to pulling it off. I will never be self-destructive again. I do it for my family, primarily because it would destroy my mother and sister. So I have to struggle and maintain and keep together some semblance of self-sufficiency all alone, only so that I can continue as a two-dimensional backdrop in other people's lives. And yet people have the fucking gall to be exasperated with me because I'm still an addict? Fuck you!

"now that i know that i'm breaking to pieces i'll pull out my heart and i'll feed it to's easier for me to get closer to heaven than ever feel whole again"
—Robert Smith of The Cure, "Disintegration"

Saturday, July 22, 2006

Again, Not So Good

I took Vicodins again this weekend. I've been feeling so low that I felt I couldn't help myself. I resisted the temptation for as long as I could, but it never got any better or easier. If you've never felt the intolerable dreariness of depression, then you cannot understand the overwhelming temptation of chemical means to release you and make you not care for a little while.

"Now I'm not looking for absolution
Forgiveness for the things I do
But before you come to any conclusions
Try walking in my shoes
Try walking in my shoes
You'll stumble in my footsteps
Keep the same appointments I kept
If you try walking in my shoes..."
—Depeche Mode, "Walking In My Shoes"
It sounds so foolish in my head (and a thousand times more foolish putting it in print), but I can't shake the anxiety that God will punish me for my continued relapses. Not that I feel drinking and drugs (and certainly not caffeine) are sins in themselves. It just that I made promises to God to give them up for a while in the hopes that He would help me in building a better life.

"When you make a vow to God, do not delay in fulfilling it. He has no pleasure in fools; fulfill your vow. It is better not to vow than to make a vow and not fulfill it."
—The Book of Ecclesiastes 5:4-5
The Dark Reflection in the Funny Pages

I really like the Cathy cartoon. After all, I am a gay man with the mentation of a woman. But when I read a whole bunch of the strips at once, I start to get pissed off. I want to tell the lead character: "Stop complaining about your self-created shortcomings! Stop blaming others for your lack of direction! Stop being so weak-willed and self-indulgent and take the responsibility of constructing your existence!" Of course, the only reason I have such a vitriolic reaction is that it reminds me so vividly of my own messed-up life. I'm telling myself to stop whinging and take control of things. If I truly want my life to be a certain way, then I need to quit playing the games of others as well as my own, show some self-discipline and develop a slow, but steady long-range plan to get what I want, instead of sitting and waiting for some magical panacea in the form of an unrealistically perfect mate, a sudden lottery win, etc.—expectations bourne from a self-absorbed sense of entitlement. (After all, that's one of the core messages of existentialism, a philosophy I embrace.) Like most things, this is so much easier said than done, however.

Bottom Feeders of the Internet

I've had to turn the "Word Verification" feature on for my blog. In the past few days, I've gotten 30-40 spam comments, so now I have to go through entry by entry to get their shit off my posts. That really pisses me off. These people need to get a life and/or a job.

Wednesday, July 19, 2006

"But dreary, very..."

I'm struggling from underneath the shadow of depression and ennui, with such moony thoughts of death. My mood over the past to weeks has all but destroyed my work output, my sleep schedule and my gym regimen. I wanted to do something social after work tonight, but didn't have the means to put it together. I can't tell you how difficult it was to pass by the rows of beer at the store tonight. It was even more difficult not to hook myself up with some Vicodin, as my dealer called me today and let me know that she has more. I decided to pig out, since that seems to be the only vice I've left myself. But even then I made myself show some restraint. I didn't load up on empty calories and bought sugar-free pudding. (I needed chocolate!) Basically I just didn't bother counting up portions.

This is the first time in a week I've been able to buy food. I'm $350 overdrawn in my checking account. However, any check I write tonight won't clear before I get paid on Friday. I'm going to ask my ex for a loan, though I don't know if he'll be comfortable with it. I'm certainly not comfortable with asking him. I'd meant to ask him last night, and then tonight. But couldn't get myself 'round to it.

"We Live For Love"

A group activity at work today was for a senior partner, a fellow paralegal and a law clerk to critique my Yahoo! Personals ad. It was a bit surreal. They said I was too honest and forthright and that I'm living in Los Angeles and should think and act like an Angelino. I did make a couple of changes, but not all of the ones they suggested. They told me that my original title "Hollyweird Guy Seeks Boy Next Door" was an immediate turn off. So out of stubborn spite and whimsy, I changed it to "'It's a LaCroix!'." (cf. AbFab) If you happen to know any hot single gay guys (preferably rich), feel free to e-mail them my profile.

All in all this online dating thing has been an assault on my self-esteem. (Got my third rejection e-mail today.) As if I didn't feel old, fat and ugly before. Setting up a profile right now was probably a bad idea. I don't think I'll continue past my free trial.

Tuesday, July 18, 2006

Strike Two (and a Half)

I've gotten rejections from two of the "just right" guys that I sent e-mails from the Yahoo! Personals web site. One told me that he was already dating "a couple" of guys, and the other told me that he didn't "think we were a match." A third guy has been "active in the last 24 hours" but hasn't e-mailed me back. That most likely means he isn't interested.

I sent out a bunch more e-mails tonight (when I should have been sending out resumes to find a better-paying job). But I'm already getting fed up with it. I can't decide if I should shell out money after my free trial ends or if I should just cut my losses and cancel before the seven days are up. If I don't get at least one hopeful nibble in a week, I'm not sure I can justify spending the money.

Circadian Lack-of-Rhythm

Ugh! My sleep pattern has been so screwy for over a week now. I had terrible insomnia almost every night last week, and it really messed me up at work. So much so, that I got far behind on my billable hours and had to work off the clock on Saturday to make some of it up. Sunday night I had the same problem and didn't fall asleep until after 4 a.m. (after only getting five hours of sleep the night before). I was dragging all day yesterday until I got home and crashed at 7:30 p.m. With any luck I'll be able to go to bed at a decent hour tonight. I think my problem stems mostly from a persistant, low-grade depression I've had lately. Normally I'd take care of the problem with alcohol, but I've kept true to my commitment of no-substances in July.

Sunday, July 16, 2006

Not A "Pretty" Day

I'm feeling old, fat and thoroughly unattractive. My friend in college used to have "pretty" days when she felt like hot shit and "ugly" days when she felt like a troglodtye. This is definitely one of my "ugly" days.

Last night I signed up for Yahoo! Personals and sent out a bunch of responses to ads. I figure a buckshot of e-mails means better luck that I'll hit a target. Last time I did this, I'd fixate on one guy's profile and wait until that one didn't work out before moving on to the next. This time, fuck it! I'm looking out for numero uno!

The add profiles I responded to fall into three basic categories. One e-mail I sent was your basic out-of-my-league pipe dream: a 29-year old A & F model look alike who is also a doctor. People that perfect shouldn't be allowed to exist. He's probably really sweet, a dedicated volunteer and his you-know-what smells like "fresh-baked cinnamon rolls." Actually, I'm almost certain that he kicks puppies, cheats on his taxes and makes fun of his patients' genitalia while they're under. Good thing he won't respond to my e-mail. I'm better off without him!

"What d'ya mean you don't like him? He's a doctor!"
"Mother, he's a doctor with acne."
"So marry him. The pimple's will clear up!"
—Joan Rivers
The second group I responded to were people whose attitude, personality, etc. I could tell weren't a good match for me. But sent them e-mails anyway 'cuz I thought their pics were really handsome. When I don't overrule my good sense with my emotion, I'm actually an extremely perceptive person and can tell a lot about people by the way the carry themselves in their photographs and how they express themselves in their short blurbs.

I think it's a sign of my maturity (or perhaps my utter exasperation with the pursuit of romance) that I'm kind of irritated with myself with contacting these people now that the initial rush of lust has worn off. I'm looking for someone who has the potential to be a spouse. I simply don't have the strength for casual dating (even if it does mean some good sex thrown in). When problems arise, I want someone who is going to be my partner, not my advesary. I want someone I'm not going to mind waking up next to year in and out, not some who'd look good on my arm as a bolster to my low self-esteem. I can sense that these guys are part of the latter instead of the former.

The last group is a handful of guys in the "just right" category. I personally find these men quite attractive, and their profiles (seemingly) reflected a personality I'd be compatible with. These are the fellows I'm holding most of my hopes on.

Tuesday, July 11, 2006

The Joys of Celibacy

I'm so fed up with things that I've decided to try being celibate for the time being. But just as a general proposition. I'm not going about it with the same mechanical enforcement as my whole "no drugs, alcohol, cigarettes, caffeine, cane toads, etc. in July" plan. (Though abstinence will make celibacy a lot easier.) Essentially, I'm not going out looking for or turning my mind towards casual sex.

This should all last right up until the time I next get a chance to get my hands on a man, of course. Still, the path forward for me is simplification and ridding myself of perplexities, not indulging myself in meaningless distractions.
"Celibate? That's what everyone says when they can't have it off, isn't it? 'I'm celibate!' Fat and ugly with no chance of a pork is more like."
—Bubbles, Absolutely Faboulous

Sunday, July 09, 2006

No Peace for the Wicked

All in all, this past Friday was pretty fucking awful! I'm not inclined to go into details, but things really rattled my already inadequate coping skills in my "isolated" social situation. I spent all day yesterday in bed. (It seemed the wisest thing to do.) Today I blew off church and the gym. I did manage to go into work for several hours, however, and catch up with work I had let slide this week.

All I ever wanted to have was a husband I could love and who loved me. All I ever wanted to do was write things to entertain people and maybe give them something to think about. I never wanted to plumb the depths of drugs, madness, depravity and despair. All I ever wanted was to be at peace.

Friday, July 07, 2006

The Price of Love

My therapist is constantly surprised at how "skewed" my perceptions are. (Though she maintains that I don't have a personality disorder...I'm not sure I agree.) I always feel out-of-sync/out-of-sorts around others. I don't mean to say that I think I have it "worse" than most people. I'm not that "skewed." (Though trying to quantify and compare suffering is, at best, pointless.) Quite the contrary. I only have to see the countless unfortunate people around me in a city like Los Angeles or read about the millions of unfortunate people around the world to realized how good I have it.

What I mean is that I always have the sense that all of the people around me in "my sphere," as it were, are navigating their lives more smoothly and more successfully, particularly when it comes to relationships. Everyone else has a large circle of friends that they can always hang out with when they want to do stuff and can turn to when they're in need of company and/or support. Everyone else is much more successful when it comes to dating and being partnered. Rationally I know that that's all bullshit. I mean, Captain Paranoia whispers in everyone's ear. But in the depths of my psyche, that's how I perceive the world.

I think it goes back to growing up gay as a child. In my pre-adolescent sexuality, I always knew I was gay, and pretty much always knew that it was "wrong." (There's a story to that.) This awareness worked a mindfuck on me. I was an outcast, an alien in my own family. I felt so isolated, as if I were the only gay person, except for those few disgusting perverts I saw being laughed at and despised. Everyone else was normal, living a normal, happy life. I was a freak, destined for a life of misery.

I turn sideways to the sun
Keep my thoughts from everyone
It's a jungle...
I'm a FREAK!
Hear me talk but never speak
—New Order, "World"

Wednesday, July 05, 2006


The weekend shaped up a lot better than the auguries of Friday predicted. I managed to get some stuff done on Saturday, even though I was sober and still feeling a mite twitchy. The apartment manager left a "Twenty-Four Hour Notice to Enter Premises" under my door Friday so that they could inspect the fire detectors and pipes on Saturday. This did not improve my mood. I can't stand the thought of strangers tramping through my apartment, given the state I live in. But it actually turned out to be a blessing in disguise. It motivated me to get up reasonably early (for me) on Saturday morning in an effort to get things somewhat presentable. As is turns out, they never even followed through. Still it was boon, nonetheless.

I got a lot accomplished around the apartment on Saturday and Sunday. It was all a drop in the bucket compared to what needs to be done, but it was a start. And I had a couple of main accomplishments. First of all, I did several loads of laundry and folded, ironed and/or hung up the clean clothes. Second, I washed all of my dishes (there wasn't one that was clean) and packed them up for donation. My parents recently gave me a set of dishes that belonged to my grandparents, and I'm sure Goodwill appreciated not having nasty dirty dishes. Of course, now I have to wash the new set and find a place for them.

On Sunday I managed to get back to the gym. I found out that the backslide after my fast caused me to gain back 5 pounds and 1 inch, but that wasn't as bad as I'd anticipated. I did 50 minutes of cardio and some arm and ab strength training. I made it back to the gym on Monday, but for some reason I was so sluggish. I don't know if I didn't sleep well, or what, but going through my whole routine was an uphill struggle all the way.

On Sunday I also managed to get to church. During his sermon, the pastor made a point about how people come up to him all the time and ask, "Father, why can't I find a spouse?" (I'm not one of them, I swear...No matter how much that sounds like me.) The priest said that people should embrace their singularity (or whatever) and rejoice in the fact that they can focus on strengthening their relationship with God without the distraction of a partner. But quite frankly, between you and me, I think that God and I are starting to get on each other's nerves, and I’m pretty sure that He wouldn’t mind getting me out of the house.

I didn't get much practical stuff done on Monday. As I said, I did go exercise. But other than that, I mostly just slept in and got myself ready for a barbeque I'd been invited to that evening at the home of one of the attorneys I work with. He's "family," though he's cagey about it at our firm, and it's only recently that he confirmed it to me. I'm quite forthcoming at work, freed as I was when I left the repressively homophobic environment of Memphis. Yet I can see where someone would want to play it on the "down low" in a conservative workplace. The party itself was fun with a lot of good food I pigged out on. (I told myself I was feeding the new muscle that was developing after two whole days at the gym.) I'm attracted to one of this attorney's friends whom I've met previously, and that attraction isn't mutual. But I didn't waste (much of) my time and simply enjoyed the gathering.

Tuesday was pretty much a wash. I got to bed late and then slept late. I got up and ate some food, but then lay down again. The only thing I got done was taking a big load of donations to Goodwill, although that did free up some space in my apartment. Part of the problem was that I generally felt ennui'd, and I also had a constant nag of OCD anxiety tugging at the back of my mind. Being asleep seemed preferable, so I basically slept all day. I got up last night and put my stuff together for this morning. Then I went back to bed again.

Today I've been a bit testy and peevish...enough to where it was noticed. I'm obviously moody, but I usually present a relatively even keel to those around me, particularly those people I don't know well. I don't outlook just seems so dreary, without any color or hope of things to come. I'm sure I'll get over it. I always do.

"Just like the rain
I'll be always falling
Only to rise
And fall again..."
—The Thompson Twins, "If You Were Here"

Sweet-Assed Lesbian

I have no problem with androgyny, per se. I mean, WTF. People can do whatever they want as long as it doesn’t mess with others. But I wish cute lesbians wouldn’t wear short hair. When I was on the stair-stepper at the gym Sunday, my eyes locked on what-I-thought-was a guy's ass. I was all, like, "I'd sure like to hit that." Then I find that it was a girl! I can appreciate a lot about the female body. (I love tata's!) But my ass-starin' is reserved exclusively for dudes!

A Reason to Give Thanks

This weekend, as I was walking through the streets of Hollyweird, I realized (or I should say, remembered) how much I like being in Los Angeles. I detested living in Memphis. All in all, it's not a bad place, but it certainly wasn’t for me. I feel more at home and at ease. And I've managed to survive—if not exactly thrive—here. That’s quite an accomplishment given my total lack of practical life skills. It's good to appreciate things.

Sunday, July 02, 2006

Not So Good

I had an incredibly heinous Friday after a rather dreadful week. Work was pretty much a crapfest from the get-go. I worked ten-hour days Monday and Tuesday, though Tuesday's emergency project turned out to be an exercise in futility. Wednesday I came in late, but still put in an eight-and-a-half day. Thursday I overslept and called in and told them that I'd "forgotten" to tell them about a dental appointment I had that morning. When I finally got in around 11 a.m., I pretty much phoned in the four hours I worked. Friday we were blessedly allowed to leave at 3 p.m. on account of the holiday weekend, and I took an hour lunch with a gay law clerk who used to work at our office. In the midst of all of this, I managed to screw up a couple of things and ruffle the feathers of one of the partners when I said, "You go, girl!" to him. (He told me he would "fire me on the spot" if I ever said that to him again, and I found out later that he was only half-kidding.)

The first few days after my prayer & fasting went well and as planned. Rather predictably things went south after that. Blah! Blah! Blah! Anxiety and depression... Blah! Blah! Blah! Drugs and alcohol... Blah! Blah! Blah! Cheap sex and pointless obsession with STD's... Blah! Blah! Blah! As soon as I got home this past Friday, I lay down for a nap, even though I'd gotten about fifteen hours sleep the night before. Once I woke up I didn't know what the hell to do with myself, and of course I didn't have anyone to turn to for help. (All I needed was for someone to hang out with me and watch a movie or chat while I tried to get some stuff done. I didn't need anyone to pitch in or even listen to me complain. I just needed someone to be there!) I finally mustered up enough strength to go out and get some comedy DVD's and some beer so that I could get drunk enough to go to sleep. That was June 30th, and now I'm trying to commit myself this month to my lenten asceticism. Blah! Blah! Blah! Proper diet and exercise... Blah! Blah! Blah! Clean my apartment and budget my finances... Blah! Blah! Blah!

As I Wait For You
"Stopped by. Where were you?"
I've been kinda hung up on a guy recently. In spite of what seemed like could have been a promising beginning, he hasn't returned my communiqué. And I even played it fairly cool. Regardless of the windows into his personality I have available, I know that I don't really know him from Adam. In fact, he may be in a serious relationship or married. (He seems the type.) But I kinda liked him. Well, at least the fantasy I'd made up about him and how we would relate to each other. Truth be told, at times I don't think that I have ever had a relationship with anyone: friend, family, lover or foe. All I've ever had is schizophrenic intersections as I bumble across another's consciousness. This leads to awkward situations where I realize the scenerio I've been living in my head doesn't have much to do with reality and the other person realizes that I'm a beer short of a six pack. ("Mmmm...Beer!")

Speaking of getting shot down, I went on the gay hike in Griffith Park the week before last and was clumsily flirting with this French guy. He's interesting, fun to talk to and furry. (I'm into that.) But my attraction to him is more casual than it was for this other guy. Though we chatted quite a bit (and he seemed amenable to that), I got the sense that he wasn't particularly keen on moving things any further. Oh well. C'est la vie.
"You're always on the prowl, aren't you?"
—My mother
So there I am, back to square one. I don't who "You" are. Or where "You" have been. But I do know that "You" are far, far too late.