A Hard Time

Things are really tough today. I woke up with intense longing that remained with me in some form the whole day. I dreamt of Malaika again. Me, her, and another unidentified male friend were lying on Nani's bed from AWHO. I thought I heard her say something about eating her out, but I ignored it. After a while she made a request to me, I thought she had asked me to help her get off, I thought she meant a hand job. I stood up and opened my palm to ask for her hand, in order to invite her to a different room.

I thought she wanted me to take her somewhere and give her a massage or something, but she clarified. As I was opening my palm, she shifted toward theegde of the bed toward me, and very frankly, and casually, as if asking for someone to pass the remote, she asked me once again in a friendly and candid manner, looking directly into my eyes, "can you eat me out instead?" As she took her panties off which were absolutely soaked.

Come to think of it, while I was reading or something on the bad, she was busy moving her hand under the cover. I wasted no time in abiding by her request, as my mouth touched her below and my hand clasped hers, it felt tight on my tongue. Just then someone walked in the room, which didn't scare me, but I did raise my head and rested it on her belly, looking right at her face. I don't know who walked in, or what happened after. I had woken up. You would think this was a pleasant dream that made me feel good.

It might've been if it was a memory. But within milliseconds of waking up, a wave of emotions hit me at once. Frustration of waking up, knowing full well I was dreaming when it was happening. And then, all kinds of different shades of sadness. Regret, shame, lonliness, guilt, and fear. What a way to start the day. I've never been with a women that way, and I don't dwell on it often, but I can't help it today. The entire day, I felt this urge to talk to someone. Someone who wanted to talk to me as much as I did to them. Someone who not only knew what was going on with me, but actually cared.

Someone I could share my life with. But that person didn't exist. That person doesn't exist, and might never exist either. I've laid down some protocols for myself. I am not to waste time on socials anymore. I can work as much as I want, I can read, sleep at appropriate times, and do everything that I need to for achieveing my highest potential eventually. You know, all the things that are good for me, I can do as much as I want. But I've severly limited the damaging stuff, and that includes jacking off and eating junk.

All this seems so small now. Days like this, I realise the full extent of the damage I have inflicted on myself. I could feel how hard it was for me to breathe, the places where my lungs are scraped up from the inside, that ache and wheeze with every breath. I feel poor. I feel weak, lonely, and pathetic. I feel like I'm worthless and that I might as well disappear. What the fuck am I even doing? Do I really think I can do something by myself? Why did I ever believe that? Because I read a book or two? No one gives a fuck if I read a book or watched a fucking YouTube video. I ain't done shit. I ain't fucking shit.

This is what defeat looks like. This is what it means to be broken. Remember it well. They say that this is what greatness is made of. It feels like I'm only being broken up into a million pieces, and then ground up into a fine powder, before blowing away with the wind. Greatness? What a joke. I've been trying to do something because I thought I could do it. To be fair, I didn't really think I could do this, I was going to get the first job I could get and learn the ropes that way, but my dad said that we should try doing it oursevles and earn better while learning more.

I fucking believed him, that's on me. I mean how can you do something without at least partly believeing it's possible? Three weeks I spent thinking about this company, watching YouTube videos about branding and marketing, came up with a theme, applied everything I learned, and then some. I tried hard to figure out who the audience is, and how I could target them. I found competitors and references. I tried to do a brandpositiong thingy. Finally, I went to my father, full of hot air and confidence. 

I showed him everything I had, and asked him what he thought. To be fair, I wasn't able to put into words the exact ads I had intuitively envisioned, but no one talks about writing and values and branding this way, I was sure he'll feel something at least. Of course, he knows what a fragile fucking piece of shit I am, so he certainly said some vaguely encouraging shit, but I could tell, he was pandering to me. Here is the truth of what I learned from his response: All this fucking tomfoolery is worthless if I can't deliver on this pitch. 

It's all great to talk luxury and elegance, but how to actually create the content that portrays it? I certainly do not know. I'm starting to understand everyone I've ever met and judged before in the past. The despration to get laid, the thoughlessness in finding a job, the no-nonsense materialistic approach to money. I'm the fucking idiot for thinking otherwise. What's the silver lining of hope to that I will end this miserable article on? What's that yin within this yang of sober living? Here's the real kicker: There ain't one.

Mom and Dad spent the entire day running around from meeting to meeting, and today was a Sunday. After the day was over, Mom looked especially depressed today. I had no clue what was wrong, I thought she was mad at dad. I felt like a fucking twelve year old in that living room for 3 whole hours, walking on egg shells, wondering what was wrong and what I could do about it. After a while, I heard Dad talk to a doctor on the phone. Mom had been feeling anxious for the past few days and the doc told her to take certain meds.

I said in a self-assured tone that she should talk to a therapist and that I'll try to find one here. I reminded her that such an experienced helped me out a lot and that this is what should be done for addressing anxiety. I felt so sure of myself. Afterwards, dad came to my room and we had this interaction. All it took was an hour to crush every ounce of enthusiasm I had for this project. I showed dad that this how the page looks currently, and here is what a successful one looks like, expecting to get some form of pat on the back for my discovery.

Instead he simply asked me, "Okay sure, and how do we make it happen?" I was deflated. I literally have no clue how they make something look so good. A studio? A camera? Good props? I don't know where to get all those things. I don't even know how they edit these things or on which software. What in the actual fuck am I even doing? It's fine and well to not have friends to talk to, good health, or a girlfriend, if I'm working hard building a business that'll eventually make money. 

Hell, I'm even fine with being broke and unfit along with those things if I at least know a lot of things that can potentially be useful when put to practice. But I have no fucking clue how or where to even start with this fucking shit. As it stands, I've completely destroyed everything I've ever touched. The way I am now, I've just wasted everything. Worthless. Pathetic. So I'm a fucking idiotic loser who can't do shit, i.e. useless, and on top of all that, I consider myself a know-it-all. I saw my mom suffering and tried to make something happen.

While we were both struggling, I looked to my dad and judged him for supposedly being lazy. I imagined how my mom might be thinking/feeling, having married this guy who just gave up in his sixties and slowly started to decline while she had to do everything. The irony of me being worried about him. This is exactly what it is, this is the fucking shit I was talking about. A fucking bleeding heart I was. Worried about some poor fucks freezing to death on the streets. I oughta trade places with them so I can actually die in peace.

I mean look at all this shit man. I've got fucking thirty different tabs open, and my walls are full of fucking scribbles, for fucking what? Anybody can do all this shit. I feel like crying but I'm unable to, I can't even fucking break down correctly man what the actual fucking shit dude. I'm pathetic. And disgusting, and ugly, and I deserve to suffer miserably and die alone in a ditch surrounded by rats that nibble on me as I rot away, at least I'll be useful to them as food. 

Now, I know I said that there won't be a silver lining here, because there really isn't one. I cannot stressthis enough right now, I am a low-life piece of shit garbage of a human being and I truly deserve to be alone, and ignored, and neglected because I'm just dead fucking weight. That is all there is today. I never want to forget that. This is a new low for me, it feels like another rock bottom. When I'm down like this, lost in the mud, I don't want to get up. Because this, it feels so much more real than anything else. The pain, it goes right through you. It penetrates your being and leaves you empty. All you can do is brace for it, and wait for it to pass on. 

That's one reason why I don't want to look for a silver lining. What's the point in looking for the light, improving things with your own hands, through great effort, and start to embrace a false sense of security called hope, only to end up back here once more. It's even more painfaul each time you believe you can go without it, forging a newer, stronger sense of self based on all your previous experiences, thinking that you're stronger than ever before, only for it to break open and leave you worse than ever.

Each time it happens, it hurts even more than before. Why take the long way round and see the sights momentarily only to spend most of your life missing them? Why not just stay here, in the mud? Make a home in the dirt like an animal, live like a degenrate ougth to. At least there is some control in that. A sense of nobility, even. And that's the worst part of all. It's knowing that even that is not in your hands. All the fucking knowledge in the world, and it's absolutely useless. 

It always was useless. So that's the real kicker, I suppose. Knowing full well that this is the cycle of my emotions, I still have no say over it. Right now all I feel is total and absolute misery and hopelessness. All I want to do, is drown in it. Yet I'm unable to. That's right, I literally cannot even though I truly want to. Instead all I can think about is this: "This is it. This is the only place in the world where real courage can exist. Right now, you truly do believe that everything you've done was for nothing. You feel it in your bones that nothing you try to do or will do can make a lick of difference in the final result. You see this as clear as day. To continue trying anyway would be a sign of true courage. Anything else would be unearned. Everything else, is privilage. This is your chance to truly make a difference. This is your chance to truly grow."

Where do these fucking retarded thoughts come from? Why must man always make himself suffer over the stupidest of things. Just eat a fruit, lie in the sun, and be happy, you stupid fucking monkey. Who am I kidding? There's no one here. What even is an individual? Did those hopeful words of encouragement make me feel good about myself? Honestly they just make me fucking annoyed, mostly because I know that a big part of me actually believes them. I swear to God I'll never learn. Well, get on with it then, you fucking asshole. Go, read your stupid fucking books, get your beauty sleep. Keep doing research on how to do low-budget professional content creation and most importantly, keep fucking struggling like a god-forsaken soul of the damned. 

We'll be back here before you know it, and I'll be waiting to tell you that I told you so.