I want to write, I really do. But half the time I’m inspired to write, it just ends up becoming a post where all I do is bitch and whine about my petty problems. My cycle ends up becoming
- Get really annoyed about something
- Open up WordPress, whine and complain in my writing
- After a few paragraphs, I realize that I would hate to read someone’s bellyaching, so what makes me think others would want to hear my petty shit
- Delete the entire blogpost and try to start over
- That first draft leaves me emotionally spent, so I give up on writing a post altogether
I don’t really know where I’m going with this post, so bear with me. Or not, fuck it I don’t really care.
There’s very few things I care about anymore. There’s very little to actually care about anymore. My weekly regimen comprises of a meager number of activities: Research, shadowing, lifting, studying and applying for master’s programs. My social life has dwindled to a small group of friends, something which really bothered me at first, but its just a typical part of post-grad life.
I spent the past few months stressing over some of these frail relations, but now I like to think I worry less. I don’t really know what changed; could it have been I got used to it? Or maybe it was just that I changed my mindset. Or maybe it was the thing that still troubles me most: I learned to love myself a little bit.
Or maybe everything I just wrote in that last paragraph is pure, unadulterated bullshit…
I fucking hate myself. At times, it can be a bit more, at times it can be a bit less, but there is always some semblance of self-hatred. I can’t tell you when I enjoyed something for an extended period of time; and when I do, i begin to nitpick and find issues with it.
That phrase “this is why we can’t have nice things” applies directly to me, albeit in a less silly, and more somber manner: I just shit on everything once I get accustomed to it. I’ll find its faults, get attached to it, and then feel let down by it.
This extends to my many facets of life. I feel let down by fucking everything, and its tearing me apart.
Try hard in school? Who cares, I’ve been rejected by every medical school I applied to anyways. I mean you only pursued a career in medicine after leaving a six-year pharmacy program that carved out a nice life-plan for you to begin with.
Move some weight in the gym? Congrats, you have some muscle, but you also way sixty pounds heavier than everyone else at the very least, so your impressive lift doesn’t mean shit anyways.
Even my friends get affected by it, and this becomes the most toxic part of my own (lack of) self-worth. I become a needy, little bitch who needs external validation to pump up my own self-esteem. Fuck, their social validity becomes so important to me that I got upset that they almost broke our goddamn streak on snapchat (100+ & 90+ days deep).
I have attachment issues.
I’ve always had attachment issues. Getting close with someone is the single worst thing I can do to a person and to myself.
I’m not close with my parents; I’ve never felt as if I ever reached expectations, never felt that I was “good enough” to make them proud. My sister never really trusted me, we’ve never been close. I guess my proximal distance with them is for the best.
I’ve talked about my friends: I become needy, and I always feel like I put in 100% of myself into our relationship and don’t get the same back from others, I also hate how I have high, unrelenting expectations of people and it ends up driving them away from me.
It’s part of the reason I play such a good role as the social villain. I criticize or say mean things to not only bring others down a notch, but to protect myself from not feeling as wanted or praised. I come off as douchey, but I don’t give a fuck.
My attachment issues have ruined much for me. It’s made be negligible. Trivial. Unimportant. The worst is, it triggers my depressive mood swings, and it triggers it often. It’s pointless for me to bring that up because that’s too long a story for me to elaborate on.
One of my biggest struggles in life is the want to be wanted. I care about what people think. I want people to make me a priority, I crave for their approval. I care for their love, starve for their attention, and thirst for their praises. I want women to cry and pour out their heart for me. And when I’m gone, I want them tell me how much they missed me when they’re apart from me. I want to be the man that other men want to emulate. I want to be the perfect son, the perfect husband, friend, and father.
I’m far from being any of those. I’m far from being anything, really, all I can do is hit you with the cliche “be the best person you can be.”
I don’t fucking know, I hope this post made sense. The first half of it was written weeks ago, so sorry if there’s a dramatic change in tonality. I don’t even know how this sounds, how it flows, or anything. It’s 2:30 AM, I feel like shit, and I have to go through life’s repetitive bullshit tomorrow anyways.
Peace, and much love to ya.