Sigh, I wish I could afford a therapist. Just once (or a few times, really), it would be nice to be able to just unload on someone. It would especially be nice to do so without worrying about judgment being passed. One thing that's always been missing from my life is someone I can just completely open up to.
It's been kind of a downward spiral for me the last couple of weeks since my ex and I had our little chat about how she's still not over me. The tail end of the conversation focused on my inability to figure out just what the hell I want from life. Ever since then I've been becoming more and more convinced that I'm barely more than an empty shell of a person right now. I have no real goals - I have a laundry list of things about my life that I'm unsatisfied with, but no real conception of what I would find satisfying.
Last night I realized just how alone I am. I was in the mood for going out for drinks. First I checked with the ex's roommate, but she's out in Virginia to shoot a wedding. Then I checked with Christin and Ken (who I've admittedly been pretty bad about keeping in touch with), but they were both busy. And those were the only people I knew to invite along with me. Three people, that's all I have. So I went out and had one drink by myself, and then went back home because it just felt so pointless.
I've created a reputation as being comfortable with being alone. What I'm coming to realize is that this so-called comfortability is little more than a defense mechanism masquerading as a preference. I act like I'm comfortable with being alone, but in reality it's a retconning of my social inadequacies. If I actually liked the solitary lifestyle, I wouldn't go out to coffee shops and bars to do the same shit that I can do at home. I go out because I have this fantasy in my head that I'll somehow just meet people. But it never happens. It never happens because I'm afraid to step outside of my little box of comfortability. To paraphrase Cline: I'm a coward deep down, and just.
Since I broke up with my ex last April, I've had sex a sum total of three times (with two different women). None of those occurrences were particularly satisfying. I've been on something like two dates. What a sad statement of defeatism it is that these paltry statistics don't even bother me that much. I'm a relatively good looking guy, I shouldn't be this alone.
I'm not really sure what the point of this was. I feel a little bit of self-loathing for even bothering to whinge about this bullshit.
It's been kind of a downward spiral for me the last couple of weeks since my ex and I had our little chat about how she's still not over me. The tail end of the conversation focused on my inability to figure out just what the hell I want from life. Ever since then I've been becoming more and more convinced that I'm barely more than an empty shell of a person right now. I have no real goals - I have a laundry list of things about my life that I'm unsatisfied with, but no real conception of what I would find satisfying.
Last night I realized just how alone I am. I was in the mood for going out for drinks. First I checked with the ex's roommate, but she's out in Virginia to shoot a wedding. Then I checked with Christin and Ken (who I've admittedly been pretty bad about keeping in touch with), but they were both busy. And those were the only people I knew to invite along with me. Three people, that's all I have. So I went out and had one drink by myself, and then went back home because it just felt so pointless.
I've created a reputation as being comfortable with being alone. What I'm coming to realize is that this so-called comfortability is little more than a defense mechanism masquerading as a preference. I act like I'm comfortable with being alone, but in reality it's a retconning of my social inadequacies. If I actually liked the solitary lifestyle, I wouldn't go out to coffee shops and bars to do the same shit that I can do at home. I go out because I have this fantasy in my head that I'll somehow just meet people. But it never happens. It never happens because I'm afraid to step outside of my little box of comfortability. To paraphrase Cline: I'm a coward deep down, and just.
Since I broke up with my ex last April, I've had sex a sum total of three times (with two different women). None of those occurrences were particularly satisfying. I've been on something like two dates. What a sad statement of defeatism it is that these paltry statistics don't even bother me that much. I'm a relatively good looking guy, I shouldn't be this alone.
I'm not really sure what the point of this was. I feel a little bit of self-loathing for even bothering to whinge about this bullshit.
judithsmerkin:
You can always talk to me. Id never ever judge you.