I was just feeling like...

You know how they say that you can measure a man’s accomplishments by seeing how many friends he has? –Well, I have none. You could also think that friends make a man free, opening up possibilities of giving sense to his life. –My life is senseless. Is a man a good man, or not? Again, the common saying says one should look at how many friends he has. –You see, people stay where it is good, and leave where it is uncomfortable. People have always left me, and I sometimes have pushed them away. You could be tempted to conclude, not altogether falsely, that I am not a good man, that I have nothing good to offer people, that I am a boring slave of my way of life.

This last sentence may come as a surprise, as raising itself out of nowhere, but it’s not. I have secluded myself in my living shell, that is my parent’s home –and my own, since I am a good for nothing animal sucking on their blood; yes, that is the way my mother speaks to me when being honest; that is how I am in their eyes, a leech. I really cannot understand people having kids; they neglected myriad possibilities of being happy by sticking with someone who makes everyone he knows miserable-. And so, I don’t call people and don’t hang out with them anymore. I used to, there was a time when ‘going out’ actually meant something; when interacting was actually fun. But I have been a coward my entire life, letting loved ones leave me, sometimes pushing them away by my attitudes of not caring –this is not only valid for girls, but friends in general. Oh, how many friendships have I lost? I lost the count-. There have been moments in my life in which I could’ve saved someone from leaving me, just by saying ‘stop, I love you. Please don’t leave.’ –But no, I have been much too proud at the moment when the opportunities to change the course of events came. I have made myself blind to these opportunities. I have stopped frequenting people, and not surprisingly they have stopped calling me, inviting me to places with them. I am an uncomfortable person, and people do not like to hang around with me for a long time.

I am not altogether a gray wall because I admit it, they come. They seem to be interested in what they see. I am something different, I can tell you that. The color of my skin is not something common in my medium. Middle-to-high class people do not all have a brown dyed skin with European features in their faces. This feature has made me have bitter moments, at times when I have really thought to myself I am completely alone. There have been moments in which I have even thought that I will never be fully a member of this society –that people will always see me as a foreigner in my own country. That, perhaps, I will never fall in love the way old people do; that I will never live a long life with my significant other because she may just not exist. – However, this is extreme Mauvaise Foi; I believe everyone is different from anyone else; I am a firm believer that we are fundamentally individuals. That doesn’t stop people from interacting with one another, nor should it. However, this isn’t the only feature proper to my being different in an apparently positive way. What I meant is that I am interesting in a sense that attracts people; they trick themselves into thinking that I might not be boring, that I can shake things up, perhaps for the better. After all, they see someone apparently smart in a different attitude towards everyone else, speaking his mind in class with respect to the subject being treated. I think they come because we are all looking for that sparkle of salt that can change the way we are making sense of life, are we not?

But that doesn’t make me happy. Being different, or unique, doesn’t necessarily make one useful. In fact, one can be very useless, a burden for most. I feel that is the way I have been behaving, acting and actually being in this world (does this sum up my existence?) As far as the common saying goes, I have nothing to offer to this world, and the fact that I have neglected my friendships and, in a sense, my family has made this enterprise of giving sense to life a meaningless one. The salt mines have run dry for me. Why do I keep on doing this? Am I really a slave? I thought I wasn’t. My parents have money, and I am supposedly studying the one thing that has only interested me as a career, at the one University in my country I want to do so. The possibilities are there, not only for studying but for living a happy life. Yet, I haven’t been able to do so. Is happiness beyond the asymptote of my possibilities? Why perhaps I have been thinking too much in the long run; studying hard, sweating it –because that is what I am, a student. Slowly but surely I have neglected life itself; I have put my responsibilities beyond me in a faraway object I identify as my career –and I could’ve sworn I wasn’t the religious type-denying-person with bad faith.

I don’t believe this kind of angst deserves a hug. I am not a kid, I am a stupid grown up man that has been eluding his responsibilities in making sense of his miserable existence.

–Right now, I have the tune of a Rammstein’s song in my head: ohne dich. Who is ‘dich’? Does it stand for anyone in particular, or is it a variable representing everyone I have been neglecting to have relationships with, the ones right now and the people I have let leave me? Why have I made myself so blind? And why have I mixed blindness with cowardice? “Ohne dich zaehle ich die Stunden –ohne dich”… die Sekunden erkenne ich nicht mit–ohne dich. I am scared of losing my humanity, my ability for remembering glad moments with people. Somehow childishly I think that it is that ability which allows us to overcome hard times, just by daydreaming. I don’t want to lose that, and yet I am. The whiskey bottle and the Smith and Wesson’s way doesn’t sound like a way of redeeming myself, and at the moment I don’t think I would take that possibility as a plausible way of dealing with this. Why, oh fucking nature, have you made me so annoyingly blind? What do I have to do? Why didn’t anyone ask me if I wanted to come into this?

Again, I am asking the questions I want to escape from. Weak, weak oh me; I relapse. It’s not just cocaine, it’s bad faith the things I fear of relapsing into. Both of them make me think I am not in control of myself, and make me relegate responsibilities. Why did I try cocaine in the first place? I believe someone I valued an opinion of told me you just felt as if nothing else mattered. Well, I hadn’t been in love for a long time, and I wanted to remember just what Metallica were talking about. So I blew in; I snorted, and I loved it. I think it has been the same thing with my religious-type attitude with my career. Nothing else matters, I just forgot about people and focused on studying hard. Now, I don’t want to make it sound as though I am a cocaine addict, I have snorted a mere four times, with time lapses in-between of about a month, or two. I think that is it, because that’s about the rate I had been going out with friends in the past. I no longer do that. I no longer go out, and I have been saving myself from extreme extasis –following the etymology of disorder. That is it for now…I guess.