Year
This is the time of year when I look back and reflect even more than I usually do.
This time of year has always been the roughest for me, because it's such a family holiday and I have, for practical purposes, none. Everybody's at home celebrating with their families and I'm sitting behind a desk at work, alone in the quiet night. Volunteered to work Christmas, as I do every year, knowing that other people have loved ones they'd like to spend the holidays with, and I...well, I would just sit at home alone. It's a day like any other for me. When thinking about these things, a scene always comes to my mind from the movie "Rocky":
Adrian: But it was Thanksgiving.
Rocky: It was what?
Adrian: It was Thanksgiving.
Rocky: Yeah, to you, but to me, it's Thursday, right?
I wish I had a family. I wish I had little kids running around, excited about getting presents. Wish I had someone to make dinner with. Wish I had someone to tell bedtime stories to, someone to tuck to bed, someone to go to sleep with. But that brings to mind another quote, from "Samaritan Snare":
Wesley Crusher: Didn't you ever wish you had kids of your own?
Captain Jean-Luc Picard: Wishing for a thing does not make it so.
And from "Generations"
Captain Jean-Luc Picard: I've become aware that there are fewer days ahead than there are behind. I took some comfort from the fact that the family would go on, but now there'll be no more Picards.
I guess I've been trying very hard to avoid that fate, but it seems a man cannot change his destiny. I hate it. I'm angry at it. I despise the fact that one does not have the power to build their own future. You can only wait for random pieces to fall and hope you get the right one. Some people get the piece that fits, some people don't, and there doesn't seem to be anything you can do about it. I've had years when I've just laid back and not tried at all. I've had years when I tried harder than ever. None of it mattered. No matter which strategy I tried, I lost. The world did with me as it pleased anyway. I hate that kind of predestination. It's making me hate this world. It's making me into a bitter old maid. It's not a direction I ever wanted to go, but as the years pass, as the sand runs through the hourglass, it is a change I inevitably feel happening inside me.
I remember when I was young, I was so idealistic, so full of hopes and dreams for the future, and what has ever come of them? Naught but ashes. My bitterness grows year after year, failure after failure.
Having said that, I am at least in a much better condition now than I was this time last year, when I was a total mental wreck. I guess maybe I'm getting accustomed to the idea that I'm going to die alone. The hopes and dreams are slipping through my fingers and I'm being forced to accept that they're just not going to happen. All I have left to look forward to is endless Christmases alone sitting in the dark. When I die, nobody will realize it for weeks, maybe months, because it happened alone at home, and people will only notice when the funny smell starts to make itself known. That may sound morbid, but the good news is that, if one looks at the stages of grief, I think I'm starting to pass from anger and depression into acceptance. I currently feel little or no suicidal tendencies, as opposed to a year ago. I'm becoming just passively resigned and defeated.
I think the suicidal tendencies were, at least partly, driven by the desire to be a master of your own destiny. If the world is going to make you die alone, then by damn, at least you get to decide when and where, instead of letting the world decide that too. As I mentioned earlier, there has been an overwhelming sensation of not being able to decide your future, that "fate" was deciding it for you. And that's very frustrating and confining to a non-conformist. It's like being a rat trapped in a maze, being experimented on by scientists, and screaming out, "I'd rather die than be your little plaything! I'd rather die of my own free decision than live like a slave!" It's the one thing you get to decide about yourself, your right to self-determination when the world takes away all other options from you.
In a way, it could be seen as a bad thing, to no longer be suicidal. To be broken and defeated and enslaved by destiny into playing out your remaining loser life, instead of saying "screw you" to destiny and checking out, leaving it without its plaything. Considering suicide was fire, it was defiance, it was, ultimately, *freedom*.
But I don't even care anymore. It's like emotions are exhausted inside me. If I had the energy to care, I might not like what I'm becoming.
All I wanted was a family, to love and to be loved. I guess that's just too much to ask for in this world.
I don't care anymore. I'm too tired to care.
I guess if I can't have my hopes and dreams, then I'm just going to waste my time on trivial things. Travel. Accumulation of material wealth. I'd say getting drunk but I don't get pleasure from that anymore. Maybe meaningless sex. None of those will fill the void of what I really need, but I suppose they'll pass the years as well as anything else, while I wait to die.
I think part of the problem is that there aren't any more compelling things remaining to do in the world of today. If this was a different world, maybe I could find something fulfilling to fill the rest of my days with, but in the modern world, there just isn't anything I can get terribly interested in. Exploration would have been fun, if I'd been born 500 years ago when there were still "here there be dragons" white areas on maps. Or if I'd been born 500 years from now, when hopefully humans will be traveling and colonizing nearby planets and exploring every canyon and crevice. But right now, Earth is mapped out, and the exploration remaining outside Earth requires billions of credits to get there.
I could get interested in science, but there is almost nothing for amateur scientists to do anymore. Science has been pushed to such high levels that in most fields (ones that I'm interested in anyway, which tends to be the hard sciences), meaningful research can only be done in highly funded laboratories funded by government or corporate level money. There's very few fields remaining where amateur scientists can push the boundaries of science in their garage workshops anymore. I'm not going to advance rocket science in my apartment with a few thousand bucks a month. Like maps, science has become so explored that you require billions behind you before you can make significant contributions.
The one thing remaining that I *might* be able to get sufficient satisfaction and raison d'être from, is writing. Maybe, just maybe, if I focus on finishing and publishing my books, I might get enough satisfaction from those pursuits that it'd make life feel like it's worth living.
So I guess maybe I'm in an existential crisis. Why should I live? What is the purpose behind it? Is there some way in which I can contribute more than I consume? It's not enough for me to live just for the sake of living. Continue breathing just because I was born. I need some kind of a higher purpose, I need to feel useful in order to feel satisfied with life. The one thing I wanted more than anything else was a family, but what could I possibly replace it with, and can that replacement/substitute provide me with enough satisfaction to make my life feel meaningful?
This year, my theme was women. I made a final effort to try and meet as many girls as possible; invite them to dinner, talk to them, get to know them, see if there's any chemistry. That was much bolder than I've ever been before. Tossed away the shyness I usually have and went ahead. I probably went out with more girls this year than in all previous years combined.
And got shot down by just about everyone.
That's just the thing to build a guy's self-confidence. When everybody sees you as unnecessary in the field that you feel the most drawn to. Maybe for some of you, the most important thing is hanging with your friends. Imagine if nobody invited you to parties and everybody made excuses not to come see a movie with you. Or if you're passionate about your art. And nobody gives five minutes of time to the painting you just spent half a year on. Or you love music, but every song you write, everybody thinks they always suck.
Imagine twenty years of constant that, and don't tell me you wouldn't be at least a little bit injured inside, because I'm not gonna believe it.
With my luck, I'm gonna give up on women and settle for writing, and then my books will be universally reviled, so that I'm gonna be a double failure. Ah well. Such is life for me. Like I said earlier, I'm not sure I can muster up enough emotion to care anymore.
Next year, I think my theme will be writing. Fuck women, I think I'm done. I tried my best this year and nothing. There's only so much hitting your head against the wall that a guy can take before you start asking yourself what the hell are you doing to yourself. I'm tired of playing a game where I don't understand the rules and constantly end up losing. At least with writing, I have some confidence that I know the rules. With writing at least, I *know* I'm not the worst guy out there. The world has yet to demolish my self-confidence in that field. So far.
We'll see how next year goes, with a change in focus. This year sure didn't go well, with the exception of the Florida trip which was just about the only good thing in the whole year.
This time of year has always been the roughest for me, because it's such a family holiday and I have, for practical purposes, none. Everybody's at home celebrating with their families and I'm sitting behind a desk at work, alone in the quiet night. Volunteered to work Christmas, as I do every year, knowing that other people have loved ones they'd like to spend the holidays with, and I...well, I would just sit at home alone. It's a day like any other for me. When thinking about these things, a scene always comes to my mind from the movie "Rocky":
Adrian: But it was Thanksgiving.
Rocky: It was what?
Adrian: It was Thanksgiving.
Rocky: Yeah, to you, but to me, it's Thursday, right?
I wish I had a family. I wish I had little kids running around, excited about getting presents. Wish I had someone to make dinner with. Wish I had someone to tell bedtime stories to, someone to tuck to bed, someone to go to sleep with. But that brings to mind another quote, from "Samaritan Snare":
Wesley Crusher: Didn't you ever wish you had kids of your own?
Captain Jean-Luc Picard: Wishing for a thing does not make it so.
And from "Generations"
Captain Jean-Luc Picard: I've become aware that there are fewer days ahead than there are behind. I took some comfort from the fact that the family would go on, but now there'll be no more Picards.
I guess I've been trying very hard to avoid that fate, but it seems a man cannot change his destiny. I hate it. I'm angry at it. I despise the fact that one does not have the power to build their own future. You can only wait for random pieces to fall and hope you get the right one. Some people get the piece that fits, some people don't, and there doesn't seem to be anything you can do about it. I've had years when I've just laid back and not tried at all. I've had years when I tried harder than ever. None of it mattered. No matter which strategy I tried, I lost. The world did with me as it pleased anyway. I hate that kind of predestination. It's making me hate this world. It's making me into a bitter old maid. It's not a direction I ever wanted to go, but as the years pass, as the sand runs through the hourglass, it is a change I inevitably feel happening inside me.
I remember when I was young, I was so idealistic, so full of hopes and dreams for the future, and what has ever come of them? Naught but ashes. My bitterness grows year after year, failure after failure.
Having said that, I am at least in a much better condition now than I was this time last year, when I was a total mental wreck. I guess maybe I'm getting accustomed to the idea that I'm going to die alone. The hopes and dreams are slipping through my fingers and I'm being forced to accept that they're just not going to happen. All I have left to look forward to is endless Christmases alone sitting in the dark. When I die, nobody will realize it for weeks, maybe months, because it happened alone at home, and people will only notice when the funny smell starts to make itself known. That may sound morbid, but the good news is that, if one looks at the stages of grief, I think I'm starting to pass from anger and depression into acceptance. I currently feel little or no suicidal tendencies, as opposed to a year ago. I'm becoming just passively resigned and defeated.
I think the suicidal tendencies were, at least partly, driven by the desire to be a master of your own destiny. If the world is going to make you die alone, then by damn, at least you get to decide when and where, instead of letting the world decide that too. As I mentioned earlier, there has been an overwhelming sensation of not being able to decide your future, that "fate" was deciding it for you. And that's very frustrating and confining to a non-conformist. It's like being a rat trapped in a maze, being experimented on by scientists, and screaming out, "I'd rather die than be your little plaything! I'd rather die of my own free decision than live like a slave!" It's the one thing you get to decide about yourself, your right to self-determination when the world takes away all other options from you.
In a way, it could be seen as a bad thing, to no longer be suicidal. To be broken and defeated and enslaved by destiny into playing out your remaining loser life, instead of saying "screw you" to destiny and checking out, leaving it without its plaything. Considering suicide was fire, it was defiance, it was, ultimately, *freedom*.
But I don't even care anymore. It's like emotions are exhausted inside me. If I had the energy to care, I might not like what I'm becoming.
All I wanted was a family, to love and to be loved. I guess that's just too much to ask for in this world.
I don't care anymore. I'm too tired to care.
I guess if I can't have my hopes and dreams, then I'm just going to waste my time on trivial things. Travel. Accumulation of material wealth. I'd say getting drunk but I don't get pleasure from that anymore. Maybe meaningless sex. None of those will fill the void of what I really need, but I suppose they'll pass the years as well as anything else, while I wait to die.
I think part of the problem is that there aren't any more compelling things remaining to do in the world of today. If this was a different world, maybe I could find something fulfilling to fill the rest of my days with, but in the modern world, there just isn't anything I can get terribly interested in. Exploration would have been fun, if I'd been born 500 years ago when there were still "here there be dragons" white areas on maps. Or if I'd been born 500 years from now, when hopefully humans will be traveling and colonizing nearby planets and exploring every canyon and crevice. But right now, Earth is mapped out, and the exploration remaining outside Earth requires billions of credits to get there.
I could get interested in science, but there is almost nothing for amateur scientists to do anymore. Science has been pushed to such high levels that in most fields (ones that I'm interested in anyway, which tends to be the hard sciences), meaningful research can only be done in highly funded laboratories funded by government or corporate level money. There's very few fields remaining where amateur scientists can push the boundaries of science in their garage workshops anymore. I'm not going to advance rocket science in my apartment with a few thousand bucks a month. Like maps, science has become so explored that you require billions behind you before you can make significant contributions.
The one thing remaining that I *might* be able to get sufficient satisfaction and raison d'être from, is writing. Maybe, just maybe, if I focus on finishing and publishing my books, I might get enough satisfaction from those pursuits that it'd make life feel like it's worth living.
So I guess maybe I'm in an existential crisis. Why should I live? What is the purpose behind it? Is there some way in which I can contribute more than I consume? It's not enough for me to live just for the sake of living. Continue breathing just because I was born. I need some kind of a higher purpose, I need to feel useful in order to feel satisfied with life. The one thing I wanted more than anything else was a family, but what could I possibly replace it with, and can that replacement/substitute provide me with enough satisfaction to make my life feel meaningful?
This year, my theme was women. I made a final effort to try and meet as many girls as possible; invite them to dinner, talk to them, get to know them, see if there's any chemistry. That was much bolder than I've ever been before. Tossed away the shyness I usually have and went ahead. I probably went out with more girls this year than in all previous years combined.
And got shot down by just about everyone.
That's just the thing to build a guy's self-confidence. When everybody sees you as unnecessary in the field that you feel the most drawn to. Maybe for some of you, the most important thing is hanging with your friends. Imagine if nobody invited you to parties and everybody made excuses not to come see a movie with you. Or if you're passionate about your art. And nobody gives five minutes of time to the painting you just spent half a year on. Or you love music, but every song you write, everybody thinks they always suck.
Imagine twenty years of constant that, and don't tell me you wouldn't be at least a little bit injured inside, because I'm not gonna believe it.
With my luck, I'm gonna give up on women and settle for writing, and then my books will be universally reviled, so that I'm gonna be a double failure. Ah well. Such is life for me. Like I said earlier, I'm not sure I can muster up enough emotion to care anymore.
Next year, I think my theme will be writing. Fuck women, I think I'm done. I tried my best this year and nothing. There's only so much hitting your head against the wall that a guy can take before you start asking yourself what the hell are you doing to yourself. I'm tired of playing a game where I don't understand the rules and constantly end up losing. At least with writing, I have some confidence that I know the rules. With writing at least, I *know* I'm not the worst guy out there. The world has yet to demolish my self-confidence in that field. So far.
We'll see how next year goes, with a change in focus. This year sure didn't go well, with the exception of the Florida trip which was just about the only good thing in the whole year.