The Rewardless Paradox

Because by nature, no paradox should ever be rewarding. Then it isn’t a paradox.

I lead a very miserable existence. Somehow, all that progress I made over the years wasn’t exactly progress. Or at least, not to me. Then again, it all depends on what you consider progress and the inevitable end goal. Using common preconceptions of success, I would qualify. But I really want more. Not more of everything, just the one goal that I’ve lacked forever. It’s hard being alone.

You build a paradise by putting in the work. I can say I’ve done that, and I can’t say I’ve done that. I’ve mastered a craft that should have helped me, but that craft hasn’t helped me. I get frustrated when I do the math to find that the equation is still unbalanced. I feel like I’ve suffered for so many years just to end up alone. It’s only in recent months that I’ve opted to become a hermit. The sight of people pisses me off because they all have what I want and they didn’t earn it. You have some who’ve been in relationships at will. Fuck them. You have people who are freshly out of relationships. Fuck them. There is no comparison to what I’ve gone through, and I’m tired as fuck of people trying to relate. There is no relating to this until you’ve lived through it.

And then, I haven’t suffered. Can I really say that I’ve gone out of my comfort zone to meet new girls? Can I really say that I’ve given people second chances after my initial gut punch tells me to dismiss them? Can I really say that I give maximum effort when I go to salsa? No.

The benefits of being me include being able to slink into a graduate program without exactly having the easiest application process. In a few weeks, I’ll begin at Cal State Fullerton, which was and was not a surprise. I knew the company I kept would help me out, and yet, there was still a bit of joy when I got my acceptance letter a week ago. I was happy for all of ten minutes. Then, I went back to being miserable. Fullerton is a bit of a party school, and with my luck, I won’t find a single party. I’ll have another opportunity to reinvent myself, but since I’m so comfortable and confident that this personality will work (it will!), I’ll leave with a degree, and regret. Just like Long Beach. This shit is not fun at all.

I can’t state the last time I went out and had a good time via organic means. Yes, I like movies. Yes, I like wrestling. But those are things that make me happy within themselves; it’s not like I’ll go out of my way to see a shitty movie or wrestling show. I can’t rely on salsa people as friends because they either have their own agendas and/or they’re too stupid to live. I thought about going dancing last night, shaved, prepared, then realized that I would be doing myself a major disservice if I stepped out the house. My depression is very bad, worse than I once thought. It’s manageable, but not by much. If I got hit by a car or some accident, I would offer a strong, terse DNR if possible. The only reason I haven’t offed myself because I’m waiting for the law of averages to finish the job.

It’s one thing to look at the math, but being reminded of it sucks. At the bonfire, the common refrain was “I wish it didn’t get to you as much as it does.” Wouldn’t the smarter, better thing to say be “let me set you up with a friend?” Stop glossing over the problem and attack the roots. I’ll never say I wish I wasn’t depressed, because that’s only the result of the problem. The problem, of course being, I want a girlfriend. If I can’t have that, death. It sure as hell beats the drea of knowing that each day, I’ll be bored and alone. Skibbedebebop. Much later.

Current Track – Blues Saraceno “Evil Ways (Justice Mix)”