No One's In The Lighthouse
For those who dwell on their own loneliness as a single person, the farce that is Valentine's Day can be 24 hours of agony. For me, I came to an even more dire realization: I truly believe that I have truly fallen out of love with life.
I admitted this aloud to someone tonight (and didn't pay for them to listen), and even saying it to a living, breathing person (even if it is over a telephone) doesn't even make it easier. Granted, I haven't really been in love with life for a number of years, and especially since my mother left us. I merely tolerated it, for the sake of family; I didn't want my father to bury one of his children -- didn't want my siblings to lose another loved one. Ending it through any unnatural means was never a thought, or an option.
But for some reason, my successes in life can't outshine my failures. I operate at a social deficit that is really coming down crashing on me at this stage of my life; I feel like everything is too far gone to really, truly remedy it.
Pride (among other things) prevents me from really doing what must be done. I liken professional help, with all the stigmas attached, to hiring a prostitute. Support groups assembled for the sake of being such, like joining an exclusive Loser's Club. It's still admission of abject failure.
At this point, I just don't really care anymore. I've no reason to.
This gross dissatisfaction with my life, has started to seep into every aspect of my daily routine. I can't get anything done at work because I don't see the point. There are some big changes happening at work, including an opportunity to broaden my career horizons, and I just...don't care. I don't know what I'm working for, much less what I'm working toward.
And then there's the Internet. A wedge from which I could stand to divorce myself. However, it seems to be the only place where I can hold a meaningful conversation with others on topics I actually -do- care about, funneled or otherwise. It's the only place from which I can connect to my dearest friends.
There's no easy solution to this problem, if there is one. I just don't believe anyone else cares enough for me to really feel like it's worthwhile; certainly I don't.
I don't know where I go from here.
But I think I'm pretty much done.
I imagine this is what my father must have felt in the last year of his life.
The one thing, the only thing, that still embitters me about his death is the fact he went out of life an unhappy man. Despite her ever-so-outwardly-diplomatic suggestions otherwise, my stepmother was not holding up her end of the bargain with my father. All accounts, from trusted friends, from family, and from pastors in whom he confided... indicate that he was ready to call it quits, after many years of sacrifice, hard work, and what have you. When he came up to visit me and my uncle out of the blue back in 2010, I was told that my father, reserved to a fault, came forward and spilled his guts about everything. That he was once again, at his end's wit...nearing a total breakdown over what was happening at home. He wouldn't allow me to see it, but I knew it was going on.
It was just like the uncles preceding him in death, one, his oldest brother, who had left us only a few months prior. There was always that tragic undercurrent. I'm fearful of following in their footsteps, but I feel like I understand them even more and more with each passing day.
I don't even know why I'm typing this.
However, here in the echo chamber... it's the only place right now where I can say such a thing without thinking twice.
Maybe I'll figure it out.
I admitted this aloud to someone tonight (and didn't pay for them to listen), and even saying it to a living, breathing person (even if it is over a telephone) doesn't even make it easier. Granted, I haven't really been in love with life for a number of years, and especially since my mother left us. I merely tolerated it, for the sake of family; I didn't want my father to bury one of his children -- didn't want my siblings to lose another loved one. Ending it through any unnatural means was never a thought, or an option.
But for some reason, my successes in life can't outshine my failures. I operate at a social deficit that is really coming down crashing on me at this stage of my life; I feel like everything is too far gone to really, truly remedy it.
Pride (among other things) prevents me from really doing what must be done. I liken professional help, with all the stigmas attached, to hiring a prostitute. Support groups assembled for the sake of being such, like joining an exclusive Loser's Club. It's still admission of abject failure.
At this point, I just don't really care anymore. I've no reason to.
This gross dissatisfaction with my life, has started to seep into every aspect of my daily routine. I can't get anything done at work because I don't see the point. There are some big changes happening at work, including an opportunity to broaden my career horizons, and I just...don't care. I don't know what I'm working for, much less what I'm working toward.
And then there's the Internet. A wedge from which I could stand to divorce myself. However, it seems to be the only place where I can hold a meaningful conversation with others on topics I actually -do- care about, funneled or otherwise. It's the only place from which I can connect to my dearest friends.
There's no easy solution to this problem, if there is one. I just don't believe anyone else cares enough for me to really feel like it's worthwhile; certainly I don't.
I don't know where I go from here.
But I think I'm pretty much done.
I imagine this is what my father must have felt in the last year of his life.
The one thing, the only thing, that still embitters me about his death is the fact he went out of life an unhappy man. Despite her ever-so-outwardly-diplomatic suggestions otherwise, my stepmother was not holding up her end of the bargain with my father. All accounts, from trusted friends, from family, and from pastors in whom he confided... indicate that he was ready to call it quits, after many years of sacrifice, hard work, and what have you. When he came up to visit me and my uncle out of the blue back in 2010, I was told that my father, reserved to a fault, came forward and spilled his guts about everything. That he was once again, at his end's wit...nearing a total breakdown over what was happening at home. He wouldn't allow me to see it, but I knew it was going on.
It was just like the uncles preceding him in death, one, his oldest brother, who had left us only a few months prior. There was always that tragic undercurrent. I'm fearful of following in their footsteps, but I feel like I understand them even more and more with each passing day.
I don't even know why I'm typing this.
However, here in the echo chamber... it's the only place right now where I can say such a thing without thinking twice.
Maybe I'll figure it out.