The exhaustion of sitting in a vape shop had started to get to me. The drama, the jokes, the stories and the idiots that all pass through started to ware down my enthusiasm to have conversations and make friends.
After taking a break, only for a day or two, I started to wonder, was I projecting my own insecurities and crippling depression into a group of people that only wanted to get past my walls and cuddle up inside my warm gooey insides?
The scary thought was letting people in. Terrifying.
I sat on my couch watching meaningless documentaries on my day off from the vape shop and programming random things to keep my mind off my own crippling debt that was climbing to almost fifty thousand dollars.
I tried to remove the thought from my mind, only to be bombarded by the horrible sex and the bad date I had the night prior. The guy was desperate, in every single way possible. Desperate for connection and most of all for sex – to which, if I am honest, he was not good at in any way shape or form.
I felt dirty, gross and unsatisfied with him, I mean after all he couldn’t seem to get out of my house fast enough. Maybe he knew how bad the sex was and was ashamed. Only one of us can hope right?
I feel like my life has become a sense of drama, filled with disappointment and unsatisfactory sex. People often say it gets worse before it gets better, it only gets worse. The darkness only gets darker and the obstacles only get larger and harder to get past.
On the bright side, disappointing sex, crippling debt and breaks from a place I long to be in everyday, just to escape the monotony and depression lurking in these incense, cigarette stained walls are better then sitting alone coupled up with my thoughts.
Greys anatomy has instilled a sense of darkness while sex and the city has instilled a sense of loneliness as I try and navigate the world of friendships and dating. The silver lining here is … life goes on.
Maybe life isn’t so bleak, maybe I project my own insecurities as a way to see my self in others and hope for the best.
I thought at this point it was obvious,I am anxious, insecure and damaged. A complete wreck. But aside from that I have a group of friends, a horrible dating life and crippling debt that keeps me on my toes. I’d like to welcome you to my country: masochism.
At the end of the day my own sense of masochism is a self inflicted wound I keep opening just to feel something so I know I am alive, that I exist.
Maybe we always reopen our wounds in an attempt to stay live. Maybe that’s how we know we exist.