I began this blog so that all of the content that I did not want impeding on my other blog, I could instead store here. Tonight however I am using this blog for an entirely different reason; therapeutic.
It’s Friday night here in Australia as I type away this particular number, and the reason why I am writing this rather than being out on the town like other stereotypical young adults is for the simple reason that I have no paramour in my life to go out with.
Yes, I have friends (actually, I’m lying – I have a best friend and I have a couple of friends overseas) and I have a family (who I get along with as often as I travel to Mars by pony), but, like I have written previously on this blog, I have this hole inside me which can be filled only by a potential love interest, and as long as it remains unfilled, I am forced to endure this feeling of intense loneliness.
Okay, full confession? I have not being in a romantic relationship since 2009. In 2012 I began to think that a relationship may be a good thing to attempt, as I have continued to think since, yet attempting to start one is proving to be immeasurably difficult.
You see, as I have (I think) mentioned on this blog previously, I suffer from depression; I have since I was 15, and I have since convinced myself that no woman could ever possibly fall in love with me, which is what makes attempting to ask a woman out so difficult. I already think a woman is going to say ‘no’ before asking her out, so I normally don’t bother.
In June of this year I asked a woman out, and I probably should not have done so. Reason: she is SO out of my league (I say ‘is’ rather than ‘was’ because I bump into her every Monday – funny – I asked her out because I thought I would never see such a beautiful woman again, and yet, now I am forced to do so!) Basically, I was pretentious to think for a second I was her type; to think she was available; to even attempt such an action.
But, amazingly enough, after I asked her out and was rejected, I did not feel so bad – true, my ego was deflated and I was disappointed, but it was not as painful as the feeling I have in my gut right now.
A young woman I met in 2011 resurfaced in my life this year, and I never began to pay her much interest until now. In August we really began to communicate, and I told her I thought it was strange that a beautiful, intelligent woman such as herself was without friends, and we talked about not affiliating with people at the university campus we attend and she later mentioned she was single when I raised the idea of a possible partner.
Like I mentioned previously – I often convince myself that women cannot love me, and the same applies here.
I contemplated asking her out last week, but this feeling of mine halted my doing so, and today I just went for it; and it turns out she began to date a man not even a week ago. If I had asked her out last Friday as planned, I might have been lucky enough to be dating her right now.
This is of course, my own damn fault.
I guess the reason why I wanted to go out with her is, yes, because I like her, but the real inspiration for my asking was for a different reason entirely. I may have written this here previously, maybe not too – full confession, right? – but I have in the past attempted suicide, and one technique that I have been using to keep my depression from completely destroying my existence is to distract my mind; as long as I am doing something; working; going to university; talking to friends or family – I am not thinking of my depression.
However, this technique of mine has been waning recently, and I at present feel as depressed as I did back in 2010, which is the last time I attempted to take my life, and was the one time when I really nearly succeeded, and if my friend had not intervened, and, with the help of her father taken me to a medical clinic, I would not be here now.
On that note, I felt that going out with this young woman would do me good; would help me with my depression and fill the hole inside my gut.
Instead, that’s not going to happen. For a long time I wanted to die. I wouldn’t go so far as to say that I don’t necessarily want to die now, but this is the first time that I can remember when I am scared; I don’t know if I will be able to continue without, well, love I guess.
Anyway, I just wanted to write this, and I have.
Thank you for reading!
Oh, and I don’t think this was therapeutic at all! But I tried, right?