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the depression purge
My resolution is to get fat. Get fatter. Get morbidly fat. One of those freaks that can't leave the bed, let alone the house. To weigh 650 pounds. Have the biggest tits in the world. Size 67 GG. I want to get so fat they have to knock out a wall of the house to drag my corpse to the crematorium.
I am not feeling the new year's vibe this year. Not inside myself. Not radiating from anyone. I just feel like the day rolled over, it became tomorrow, but I still have the same heavy weights chained to my ankles that I had the day before, and I just have to keep going. I have the same responsibilities as yesterday, plus a few more.
The only resolution, if you can call it that, I am making this year, is to spend less money. A lot less. To try to sell all this SHIT I have collected over the past few years.
There's this fad going 'round called a “low buy year”. Basically, you do not purchase anything that is not necessary. I am not making that sort of commitment, but I am going to be a lot more critical of my spending habits. I've gotten into bad habits. Bad habits. The hardest kind to get rid of. But, is there such a thing as a good habit, really? They don't call it that. Only vices get habitual. Everything else becomes routine. Good financial health, can it lead to overall good physical, mental health? Marie Kondo the shit out of everything and spark that joy that ignites the funeral pyre.
This year, I'm not making a list of things I should have been doing a long time ago. Eating better, exercising more, etc... etc... My goal to spend less money is less of a resolution, and more of a necessity. They don't have poorhouses anymore, so if I keep fucking up, there's nowhere to go but the gutter.
And speaking of the gutter (oh, that is a serious burn. I am in a really bad mood, obviously)...
Our friend Big K stopped by a few days ago to get some t-shirts. I picked out some from the giant plastic tote box of t-shirts that we still have left from my parents hoard. I spent awhile trying to find not only shirts with graphics I thought suited him, but shirts that would fit better. I think a 2XL on that little stick of a body would look like he was wearing a dress. He came and went and I didn't even stick my head into the hallway to say hello.
But in my defense, he will come over, get something, and leave like a mouse that just stole a package of crackers. "Like a thief in the night" as the saying goes. He doesn't feel welcome here, and it's my fault.
It's so weird to hear someone come into the house. Feel how that energy changes the entire dynamic of the house. But do nothing about it, and for all practical purposes, not have it affect me. Taking his shoes off in the entryway, on the other side of the door, I can hear him. I'm sure he could hear me talking to my cat. Tension. Because it's weird. It's weird to have a house that is so large, that someone could come and go without me even seeing them or saying hello. It's bad. I hate it. I depend on it. I seriously can't deal with anyone anymore. I've built this bubble around myself, and it's just made everything worse.
I have a framed piece of art right inside the front door. It's just some colors with text that reads "The Act of Letting Someone Into Your Home". It's small, but it's there, and it's too real. And it freaks people out.
In retrospect, I see how not even saying hello makes me an asshole. Having extreme social anxiety isn't a good enough excuse anymore. I'm 42 years old, so when am I going to get over this shit? Why is it so hard to just say hello to someone who comes over to my house? I feel like I should apologize. Maybe all this while I think he doesn't like me, when he is thinking that I don't like him, because he doesn't understand how debilitating anxiety can be, and he takes it personally. I can see how someone could think that.
I should apologize for being myself. To the entire world. I am sorry you find my behavior irrational. I'm sorry my actions don't make sense to you. I'm sorry if I hurt your feelings because I am imploding in on myself and I have to go away and be alone. Right. Now. Give the classic line, “It's not you, it's me.”
I have another bag of art supplies that I had planned to give to him. I am going to try to do that myself this time. And say that I am sorry for being so fucking awful. I am not NOT interacting with you because I think I am somehow superior. I'm not a snob. I'm a nut. I am hiding in my dark shithole of a house alone, because I can't relate to anyone, anytime, ever. And it's one of the most frightening things in the world. And if you can't understand that, then you are lucky.
12:40 AM - Sunday, Jan. 05, 2020
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