Character traits are a common thing but I’ve begun to suspect that I have 3 different personalities sitting in this abnormally smallish head of mine.

25% of my brain is active while I’m at work. I’ve got something to focus on so nothing is awkward, nothing bothers me too much and long story short, I’m just prince god damn motherfucking charming out there.

Then there’s Mr. 5%, the person I want to be when at home. I go out to enjoy the world, eat healthy because I want to, clean my room and am generally awesome.

The remaining 70% of the time, so basically all the fucking time, I am the most disgusting, lazy, cock sucking asshole of a slob. A person taking up space, an annoyance when he finally decides to leave his room to take a morning piss, only to disappear behind that door again and produce obnoxiously loud sounds of his illegal copy of Starcraft: Heart of the Swarm going on.

There’s this milky paste around me on these days, that makes anything remotely productive, a terribly difficult thing. It’s not simple depression because it’s making me depressed: after a full day of this, one can’t help but wonder if this is going anywhere, which it isn’t.

I don’t miss her. I don’t miss any of them (except maybe you) because they hurt me (not you though) and I don’t miss getting hurt, or I hurt them and there’s frankly not much to miss.
What I miss is what she represents: Somewhere in me there must be this little man, sighing in relief when I get picked off the streets by some woman, because his job of keeping my body animated is lifted- at least until I fuck up again. He isn’t very good at it, you see, and doing things you’re no good at is frustrating and not a day goes by without him wanting to quit.

On days like this with people like me, there is no reason why we should survive our behavior. I use up electricity and steal food from the fridge, and those are the greatest accomplishments of that day, give or take a few Youtube comments.
Even in other first world countries pretty much within walking distance, every single day lived like this would be a disastrous thing. Every day is a day less to wonder how I should rake up enough money to make it through next month.

I work hard but I don’t work often: 1 day out of 2 for a full month counts as “insanely holy shit busy” to me. I make little money during those days, and it boggles the mind how I tie ends together and still manage to get my paws on extra savings. Especially on months like this, with the majority spent doing nothing. Fucking nothing but taking up space and patience.

The reason why I refer my former relationships is because when I’m in one, from the best to the worst, I don’t get like this. This has a few reasons but here’s one in particular: Social contact keeps me away from my computer.

The problem with computers is, that they want to be your everything, metaphorically including toilet and dining table, so you end up shitting where you eat (bear with me).
I want a decent PC in my room because I like to edit photos and check Facebook. These two things combine a good graphics card and an internet connection and you know what those happen to be really good for? Games. Countless hours of stupid knowledge, webcomics, music, photos, zombie survival tips and Stephen Fry making sex toys. I’m sure I don’t have to spell it out for you?

At the end of the day, all I have left is less than the day before. My social skills died a little, I didn’t see any sun and I didn’t eat or drink enough. Though if you think you’re fed up with this whining already, imagine how I feel, who has little patience with these things. I just have nowhere to go from here, no actual reason to be anywhere but here. I grasp any and every, but I seem pretty terrible at making up my own.

I’ve got so many friends and call none of them. One couple broke up and are going through a crisis that makes Fukushima look like a hiccup, another moved to Sweden, one girl friendzoned the shit out of me, I friendzoned the shit out of another, one moved to fucking Antwerp (making Sweden seem next door) and none of that should even fucking matter but fucking does, for some reason.

I don’t know where to find the energy. I am painfully aware that life is beautiful but just doesn’t fucking feel like it right now.

I’ve felt like this before, in fact I’ve been much worse. It seems to come and go after a relationship (I will probably die before I figure that shit out) and seems to last shorter every time.
So yeah, I’ll get better. Doesn’t dampen the ache, though. I wish it would just hurt, I can deal with pain. I can’t handle this… fatigue. This bullshit. This exhausting, obnoxious, infuriating, mind numbing rut I seem to get stuck in every few years. I’m done with it, I’m done, and I wish it were done with me.


One response

  1. Dries

    Doet ge nog Capoeira? If not, GOOOOOOO!

    29 November 2013 at 09:58

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