This new beginning feels like more of the same old; history repeats itself.

The room falls mute and despondent when I utter a word. The light refracts around me wherever I go, keeping me in the dark. My polarity repels any human force and attracts only history, despair and defeat. Climbing this insurmountable cliff up to the happy side seems still impossible and I keep losing my footing, slipping down closer to the rocks and waves below, raging to take me away some time soon. I feel dark, stiff and heavy. I still feel so alone. 

I started this blog to vent my thoughts and feelings, to find some comfort and give structure to these ramblings inside my head. I also started it in the hope that it will in the end have a fairytale ending. These days, after seven months of this feeling, through all of the small victories, defeat hangs over my head. The victories are nothing without anyone to share them with. I have been reading Ronda Rousey’s autobiography and beside being the best book I have ever read so far (I’m only 40 something pages in and I don’t read many books), I am trying to find inspiration through her mentality and hope the way that she has. She believes that tragedy precedes success and so after all of the shit I have suffered, my personal tragedies, I think I am due some success now. However nothing good seems to come my way. No real success, nothing.

Indeed I am now on my course in the second year, I am a Peer Assisted Learning leader on my course and I have independence and freedom in where I live; I have no one to share any success with. I have no one there for me that gives their time to help me. Everything I have done to be here and who I am, I have done all by myself. To some that power inside is enough to drive them on to greater things and to be happy. Although all I really value is a little love, a little care, a human connection. And it seems there is still no one here on this big blue marble that I have met willing to make a connection with me. The girl next door seems to be enjoying her life, laughing and experiencing new things. I attempt to make a connection and I fall flat every time. I can make her smile, I can make her think, I can be there for her. I would do anything for her; she does not know that and I really do not think that she sees that in me. I do not know who I am to her, a friend, a course mate, that guy next door, the guy with depression? While they are paranoid assumptions, the question begs to be asked, who am I to her? I want to know; I want to know if I am wasting my time again. The hope is their, the potential is there. Something always gets in the way.

With this new leadership role, I was part of a team of nine of us that went around the groups and talked to them, answered their queries and tried to make a connection with them to ease their nerves on the first week. My partner, a mature student in his 40s succeeded and made everyone feel welcome. I on the other hand, appeared awkward and succeeded in losing again. My words fell on deaf ears and I only had a little input, overshadowed by my partner. While I suppose we together covered everything, I felt like walking into the nearest body of water with rocks in my pockets. I still do. I feel like I am drowning and that thought crosses my mind every single day. It has for seven months, festering at the back of my mind, I feel like I could just pass away. All of my friends and family, they see an adolescent that is academic, antisocial and average. They can use me to make themselves feel better, to hang out with so that they are not bored in their free time and to help them. I suppose they want me to feel like I have company too, feel happy. But they never look beneath he surface. I sat in a room with them for two hours yesterday, I could bring myself to play pool no longer after fifteen minutes of absolute torture, I was totally off my game. I sat down and tried reading, tried playing games on my phone. For as long as I sat there, I barely spoke a word to a soul. Life revolved around me without me, it took them much too long to ask me how I was and when the moment came, it was too late and I brushed them off by saying “yeah I’m fine.”
Clearly I was not, they should have tried to get some truth out of me, but life carried on around me without me. The story of my life.

With all of this insecurity, invisibility and suicidal thoughts, history never fails to haunt me either. Both exes of mine have been here for the first week, the most self-destructive one left just last night and I hope to God that be the end of her. They bot have not changed, they have jumped on to the nearest prey they could find, using them for sex and comfort waiting until they have completely drained them until their next target. The stories I have heard about them this week make me feel physically sick. I dated those people and now that their masks have been lifted, it makes me feel sick about myself. No matter what goes wrong in their lives, they find another human connection to move on with. I have been left alone to feel like this and since, no one looks at me. I look people in the eye, I smile, I act polite to everyone and I do my absolute best; it is never enough. When your best is not good enough, what then? Do I keep punching the steel cage or do I accept my fate to remain in it forever? What kind of life is that?

I am not ugly. I do not go out of my way to hurt or offend people. I am intelligent. I am alone. Like Francis Underwood in House of Cards, I plan and I scheme, I play the game to win and be successful. I do everything I can to earn respect and some kind of power in my life. However, unlike Francis Underwood, I cannot hold onto it. I do not feel respected, I do not feel powerful, I do not feel loved. Powerless and alone are the two single greatest words to describe my existence.

I met a man today and he gave me his name and a hand shake. For the entirety of the encounter, I never once uttered my name, I suppose I was surprised to meet someone new. Although the lack of identity I have to this man shows that I am not even worth a name, I am a nameless face that exists in the same space as him. What purpose does a body serve without an identity, without a purpose. This experience perfectly illustrates the meaninglessness I feel every single day of my life. I have to live with this man until next Summer and he does not care for my name, just like all of the others surrounding my painful existence. If I don’t feel sorry for myself, then nobody will.

Much love from your friend,


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