When You're Lonely (A Rant)

On the subject of love and loneliness, I cannot and will not speak for any of the women in my life or outside of it, nor can I really speak for any other members of my own gender. People like to generalize on issues that involve romance or heartache. I am aware that any and all issues vary wildly from person to person, and I wish to preface this post with that fact. This is me, and my experiences, and my feelings. If you don't care to know, don't continue reading.

I've been single for close to another year of my life, and while this period of time was unsolicited, unwanted and thoroughly reviled all the while, it has helped me to get to know myself better than I think I ever have before. Shortly after becoming single and suddenly finding myself alone in my apartment, I was disturbingly close to completely losing the last sad bit of good fortune I had going for me. I was working part-time at a print shop, only getting a few hours a day because the place didn't really need me. My old boss was doing me a favor, which I appreciated greatly, but it was doing very little good to pull me from my emotional and financial slump. I was constantly borrowing money or putting off paying rent, I never had any cash in order to enjoy myself outside of the house besides going out to eat here or there and the entire time, I was so miserable and bitter that the only thing that could take the edge off was marijuana. I constantly had a small pocket of money which I maintained exclusively so that I could buy and sell, making me essentially able to smoke for free. It was the only thing keeping me going, and the only thing I felt I had to look forward to.

Finally, one day, the implications of my current lifestyle finally, truly caught up with me. I realized that no matter what, I would have to give up my beloved habit so that I could return to being a truly functioning member of society again. I quit cold turkey and set out to find myself a better source of income. During this time of sobriety, I reached a level of stagnant misery that I was only vaguely aware was possible. I know what it is to be emotionally devastated, to be hurt beyond all measure of what you thought you were capable of withstanding, but I had no idea how angry and sullen a person could be, and all of that negativity had nowhere to go. The sad state of my finances, my love life and my mental health was entirely my fault, and I knew it. The great, pulsing mass of that black, vile cloud that hung over me could do nothing but return to the source, and all of my hatred and anger was directed inward. For the first and so far, only time in my life, I honestly considered suicide. If my thoughts were left unoccupied for any length of time, they would inevitably turn into thoughts of my demise. It was alarming even to me at first, but over time the idea itself actually became comforting, as if it was the only logical outcome to the absolute failure that I had allowed myself to become. There wasn't anyone I could talk to about it that wouldn't react one of two ways: with panic or with apathy. Some, such as members of my family, would absolutely lose their shit if I were to tell them that I was considering such an act, and it would have only lead to me feeling guilty, weak and irresponsible for even bringing it up. Others may have only put up a front of feeble concern, all while thinking "Yeah, whatever. You're just looking for attention.". In a way, I suppose I was, but that didn't make my feelings of worthlessness and self-loathing any less genuine. I was scared, and wanted help so desperately, but it simply felt like there was nothing I could do but persevere.

At last, I was able to obtain a real job, with real benefits and decent pay at a company downtown that's only about fifteen minutes away from my place. Things began to take a turn for the better, and now I'm able to afford my apartment, my bills and I'm even able to have a little fun on the side. My family helped me to get a good, business-casual wardrobe put together, and in six short months I was permanently employed and working my ass off every day of the work week. Yet, some of these feelings still linger, and some of them have even grown worse as I've journeyed forward and fought to be noticed by members of the fairer sex.

Don't get me wrong when I say that: my life is so much better than it was at the beginning of this year that it's hard to believe I ever even allowed myself to get so far below the surface of the ideal. But it's also given me perspective on so many things that I had never really considered before, and I suppose it's all there to let me realize that I'm an adult now, and I have to take care of myself and keep my priorities in line if I want anything to work out at all.

I started working out for months, desperate for someone to notice; desperate for the approval of some stranger out there so that I could finally have real love in my life again. More than anything else, since the moment my ex walked out that door, I wanted genuine, true love. In my last relationship, I was doing constant battle with myself and my emotions. My parent's wacky divorce, my moving back home from Columbus and my lack of any direction in life tortured me constantly, and it was at this point that my love affair with marijuana truly began. My girlfriend and I smoked daily, buying and selling weed to keep it cheap and constantly in stock. I fully believe it was one of the only things keeping us together. We were wrong for each other from the very start, but we were both lonely, and though I can't speak for her in this regard, I was terrified that I was never going to find anyone else. When I returned from Columbus, I immediately sought her out, because an old friend had told me before moving that she had had her eye on me. She was attractive and available, so I ran with it without a single thought. And we stayed together for close to a year, running headlong through the arguments, the lack of shared interests, the differing opinions on fucking EVERYTHING and in general, the blatant absence of compatibility between us as people.

She loved me, and in time I came to love her as well. Despite that, things escalated and then fell apart quickly. In reality we never should have tried, but what can you tell yourself at the time? You can only hope to God that you can push through the bad and dig your way to the good, if there was any good to be found at all. Even now, I still miss her, but I know exactly why. It's because I'm lonely.

Since her departure, girls have come and gone. Nothing truly significant has happened involving the opposite sex, and despite my efforts, I seem to be having a lot of issues meeting anyone that takes any interest in me. The feeling is mutual, as most girls I encounter are boring, bitchy or otherwise unpleasant in some way. Many of them often seem fake to me, but I think that's also due to an abundance of paranoia and disillusionment that weighs me down as a result of all of the dramatic flak I've had to endure over this past year. For all I know, I may be single for close to half a decade yet again.

Each year spent single is wasted time to me. While I have proven beyond any doubt that I am perfectly capable of surviving without a significant other, I simply must admit to myself that my overall goal in life is to find love. I have little to no aspirations and am the most unambitious person I know. I would love to be a published writer some day and I would love to write my book before I drop dead, but these are secondary dreams. I want true, genuine love; more than anything else in this world, that is what I want. I want to find a girl that is beautiful, fascinating, sweet, honest and artistic. I want her to feel the same way about me, and I want us to spend our lives together, helping each other to achieve greater and greater things, all the while comforting each other and growing closer as the days, months and years trickle by at an ever-increasing pace. I want to find the love of my life before I grow too old, because I fear by that time I may be too bitter and far gone from my original self to matter much to anyone. I feel myself growing angrier, more confused and more frustrated with the world with each passing day, and I worry that I am so far departed from who I was at a younger age that I can no longer even identify with myself. I don't want to be hollowed out and unpleasant that I drive all of the people that matter to me away, but I don't know how to stop the process. With each rejection, each failed attempt, I grow more distant and careless.

My friends and I refer to this phenomenon as entering "Don't Give a Fuck Mode". When life has beaten you down consistently and you find yourself entirely fed up and sick of everything and everyone, you acquire a certain boldness. You become more reckless, more willing to take risks, less wary of consequence and more likely to do something that you'll probably regret later on. Once your "Give a Fuck Meter" has depleted, either completely or almost completely, you are more likely to get shit-faced and hit on a woman, and you are also more likely to tell her that she's got a great rack and then vomit all over her high heels. It's intoxicating and hilarious, but it serves little to no purpose other than allowing you to lash out at the world that has wronged you without worry of repercussions. I've been there for a little while now, and though I have yet to puke on anybody in public, I did have a fairly consistent black out streak and I'm now spending something close to a hundred dollars on weed per month. Am I concerned about this? Slightly, yes, but as long as I don't go completely broke, it's really hard to bother slowing down. It keeps me happy and picks up the slack where my anti-depressants falter. How can I argue with such results?

There wasn't much of a purpose for meandering rant such as this, besides an empty attempt at passing the time and making myself feel a little better. Rob Ventre, the stupid, constantly depressed asshole who always has problems and never has solutions. I have always feared that I will be like this for the entirety of my life, and by now, I am absolutely certain of it. This is who I am and what I am: unhappy, and always at odds with myself. It's likely a crossed wire somewhere in my head, which means it'll never be fixed. And I just have to deal with that, forever. Here's hoping I can endure without biting down on a gun barrel.

Author's Notes/Comments: 

Apologies for this. I wanted to put it on my Tumblr, but I think that would just alarm a few friends of mine. If you bothered to read some or all of it, thanks. It's nice to know that I've been able to "say" all of this to anybody at all.

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