If you hate posts that are difficult to distinguish from a bunch of pointless, rambling shit, you are going to hate this post a lot. If you get lost, glance back to the title.

tl;dr: please don't interact with this post if you don't have time to read it. Thanks.

When I was a teenager, I was a super-christian, and spent all my time trying to solve other peoples' problems for two simple reasons:

  1. I need to believe I'm a good person. In my mind, selflessly helping strangers is the only way to be a good person.
  2. I needed a community, because my family was horrible; if I was awesome enough, maybe someone would adore me, and scoop me up, and replace my family with theirs.

I've had a rocky relationship with my own sexuality, and therefore with females: they wanted me, but I was religiously celibate, and so girls gradually created an atmosphere of angry drama over that; then I broke loose after HS in another city, and I was maybe given a weird impression of how easy getting laid can be because for a few months I drowned in pussies, due to lots of frantic, pent-up acting out and being extremely direct with strangers. But I was also homeless again (yes, at 18, I was homeless "again") and with the number my family had done on me, I had no idea which way was up. I was raised by MTV.

I didn't know until much later in life that my childhood actually wrecked me really fuckin' bad, and that all my attempts to be an adult have been the equivalent of driving away from an accident, despite the fact that you have personally been impaled by both axles, and you are now steering by flexing your anus.

My motivation in life was always simple: as a kid, I just wanted to save the world and be like Jesus. But, as my life became more and more unstable, no matter how much I did what I was supposed to, some bullshit was always taking the biggest bite out of me. And, no matter how faithful I was, no magical help from above was protecting me, I was constantly going through ten different things so bad nobody else could even listen to it without shitting themselves, and I was wound so tight I was shaking from stress now instead of going out on Friday nights - in my late teens/early 20s. Something had to give. I moved on from faith and started worshiping something slightly more attainable than eternal salvation: pussy.

I have always been a weird kind of ladies man -- side effect of being raised by a single mother who is always trying to kill me, I learned how to get on womens' good sides (ha! ha! or so I thought), and I became desperately attracted to any female who was nice to me, and started learning to approach and cultivate.

What is dumb, sad, and funny as fuck in equal measures is that I then immediately screwed it all up by caring too much, getting overly invested, having my feelings on a knife's edge every time a woman flirted with me for a nanosecond, feeling as if someone had just pulled my suicide trigger every time I was rejected. Once I focused on it, I started to magnify every failure -- things I should be giving zero thought to, now became my only focus. The fact that vaginas were my new Jesus, and the fact that you have to expect 10 rejections minimum even when you are in your zone, mixed badly -- I couldn't ignore the rejections anymore.

At various points in my life, I have cared passionately, and been skilled, at both of those things -- helping people, and getting pussy. But I have spent much more of my life having these violently negative reactions due to losing faith in each of them.

I've always enjoyed gaining skills, experiencing things, all that little stuff, but I guess I've always devalued everything else in life. There's always been something that's "the best thing about life", and I was taught growing up, that "the best thing about life" is actually "the only thing that matters" ... it's how I was taught, I paid attention, and I practiced it my whole childhood. I was shaped to believe, whatever it is you're living for, everything else is garbage, hardly worth smearing your shit on.

Well, my current situation is that I recently was notified that my childhood permanently disabled me from dealing with myself and others normally in any way. So that explains why my attempts at being an adult invariably end with homelessness, suicide attempts, or, at best, spontaneous moves cross-country.

And so now I am on a disability program. Don't worry about my plans regarding money or whatever -- that's too complicated and I have plans. The problem is that I can't even begin to give any shits at all. I won't care about myself like that until I get laid. If I'm not getting laid, and I'm not, then nothing anyone ever says, not even a gun to my face (cuz you'd be doing me a favor), is ever going to make me give a fuck, until I get a fuck. Or, that's the old frame, and it's kinda currently using all the materials I have for frame-building.

I have been just steadily unfucking my head, to the best of my ability. The best of my untrusting, alpha-grown-in-a-bonzai-beta-bottle, hypervigilance-is-the-new-staying-cool, too-smart-for-my-own-good, lifelong-feminist-of-my-own-discovery, let-me-tell-you-how-much-pussy-you-get-being-an-angry-and-damaged-ex-feminist-who-just-moved-to-Seattle, ability.

Ok. I think that's enough background.

I know from experience that once I get laid, one of four things is going to happen:

  • I'm gonna catch oneitis
  • I'm gonna catch drama
  • It's gonna be unsatisfying
  • It's gonna be just what the doctor ordered, but I'll immediately gain full realization that I've placed way too much importance on this, just like I knew all along; three or four days later, the benefit will fade to, "yeah, I had a win"; and, even if my cock and balls feel sated, it'll be back to feeding the addiction, because this is what life is for.

Whew.

Thanks. If you read that, seriously, thanks.

I guess the only thing left to say is that I am usually the only person who cares about me, or sometimes there is one other person; and that has made me forgive myself for becoming almost 100% selfish. Or rather, I tell myself only one person cares, knowing full well that's a malfunction, more of me devaluing "all but that one."

I can't afford to eat enough food to make body building a very big part of my life. You run out of energy and just start hurting yourself after too much exercise and not enough good food. There's a lot of catch 22s in my life. But exercise has been helping avoid depression a lot. I've reduced caffiene to almost nil. I've quit tobacco (again -- 5 or 6 months strong this time). I'm cooking real food instead of nuking shit or shoveling junk most of the time. And it all does help.

What would you do in my situation? Volunteer at the food banks, even though my reaction to TRP includes now looking at helping others as being a mangina and a doormat? Just keep focusing on being up for late night walks before bar closing time, approaching in hopes for that cheery slut to break my dry spell? I've spent most of my life in monk mode and while I've derived a lot of value from it, monk mode is basically 2/5ths good thing, 3/5ths harmful addiction, in my life. Kill myself? I bet a lot of people are just going to start down the shit-talking road, tell me to read the sidebar, lift, and act like cunt-dragons because they want to have a valid opinion about something they didn't read - to those people, thanks for being predictable dicks, that's just one of the ways I know I'm better than you.

I guess I'm just saying I've changed because that's what happens when you go through too much shit. And I need to guide myself into changing back. I need to be able to give a shit again. Help?