“I Don’t Know Who That Is”

This phrase comes out of my mouth quite often whenever I’m with my secular friends.  I don’t feel ashamed for living under a proverbial rock, but I do find it rather awkward.  I have plenty of secular friends, typically from work, to whom I have a significant amount of trouble speaking.  Our lives are vastly different.

For example, how do you talk to an atheist when you spend your time praying, studying the Bible, and basically living at church?  Most of my secular friends are either agnostic or atheistic.  While I genuinely care for them, I can hardly keep a conversation with them.  I’m not a man of conflict, so I tend to avoid the subject of religion unless they bring it up.  Even then, I typically don’t know what to say or how to react.  I treasure peace.  However, given that pretty much my entire life and mindset are devoted to God, the topic is fairly difficult to avoid unless we participate in activities that don’t involve much talking.  I don’t participate in hardly any secular activities, so where is the common ground!?

Well, while I care about my secular friends, I can never help but wonder why they wish to pursue a friendship with me . . . For many of them, they make it pretty obvious that they hate everything I am, am passionate about, and stand for, but none of it’s ever meant as a personal attack, if they even know.  In fact, I rarely have anyone ask my opinions on such matters, so I just let them go on speaking and change the subject.  I can’t say how many times I’ve listened to people bash my beliefs to my face, but I say nothing; my left eye just twitches.  I mean, I couldn’t care less if they hold different beliefs than I do, but it just makes things awkward for my already socially anxious self.  As they rant on about stuff, I’m mentally crossing off tons of subjects I can’t talk about with them.  I feel like many befriend me simply because I listen and am generally a pleasant person to be around.

I must admit, part of me wonders what would happen if I ever just spoke up and out . . . Instead of quietly listening to folks blab on and on about themselves, about trivial matters, and about foolish mind-numbing things, what if I just blurted out, “I DON’T CARE!!!”  Haha, of course, in reality, I would imply the message tactfully.  I’m not one who can dish out his opinions at the drop of a hat.  I need to go back to that section of my brain, interpret it into intelligible words, and think about body language and tone, but . . . I can’t concentrate on such things when others are in the room with me.  Even so, by the time I can think of something to say, they’ve completely changed the subject.

Usually, I end up reasoning in my mind, “Is it even worth it to say something?”  It seems like a lot of them are just concerned with the own worlds, how to please themselves and live out their selfish ambitions.  I can’t STAND it when people brag, especially about accomplishments that are completely meaningless.  However, if someone has the need to vent about a serious matter, my ears are both open AND will retain the information.  Tell me your life struggles, your weaknesses.  Open up your heart.  Share with me your deepest secrets.  THESE are the things I want to hear about.

You ever feel like you’re just talking to an empty silo?  It’s tall and strong on the outside, but ain’t nothin’ on the inside.  I feel like I’m talking to mere shells sometimes—people with very shallow repetitious worlds.  Give me substance; search your heart.

I don’t intend on coming across as an arrogant man, but there comes a point that when tons of people are constantly desiring your presence and attention, you have to prioritize!  The brain is only capable of handling so much information.  As politely as I can put it: cut the crap.

Learning to Trust

The curse of a deep mind is an obsession with reality. The deep thinker often faces constant stress mentally preparing for all the possible what-ifs of life.

 

Over the past several years, I’ve suffered a constant overwhelming fear of losing my parents. They’re both fine, but worst case scenarios can happen—God forbid—at any time of any day. While this thought process seems silly, it put me into a deep depression, because I felt I would be completely lost without them, having no one. This gave me constant nightmares and panic attacks. This all started when I fell ill with chronic illness. I became afraid that I’d never recover and never be able to hold a career in order to support myself.

 

It’s never been something I’d really thought to pray about, but after all this time, I finally found peace today. It all started when a coworker/friend mentioned wanting to adopt me. I chuckled as I told her I had heard that from a lot of moms. Not really thinking much of it, I went on with the day, but later I began to realize how much support I really did have in my life.

 

Because of things that happened in the past, I have extreme trust issues.  As a result, it’s currently impossible for me to open up to anybody.  All my life I’ve felt trapped and alone, assuming no one cares, regardless of how many have insisted they did.  With my social inabilities, I felt like I couldn’t get anyone to understand what I was going through, and therefore being unable to receive any kind of help ever.  But on my way to my recovery group tonight, I began thinking about all the people to whom I could go if my parents were both to pass from this world.  The first people who came to mind were my pastor and his wife.  I vividly imagined how the conversation would go; I would try to act strong, like I always do, try to speak, but then just break down a sobbing mess.  As soon as I saw this in my mind’s eye, I broke down sobbing in my car: I AM NOT ALONE!

Immediately I realized that so many people have my back.  The only reason I feel they don’t is because opportunities have never arisen in which they could prove themselves.  Constantly, I think about crises in which I would have no idea what to do.  What would I do if I got into an accident?  If I killed a pedestrian?  What if I got a flat tire far away from home or on my way to work or an important event?  What would I do if I had to puke, but I couldn’t have access to a toilet or other appropriate place?  I’ve never had experience in taking care of any of these situations.  What if someone passes out and I’m the only one by them?  I’ve never been around a drunk or physically abusive person; how do I handle them?  How do I go to or take someone to the emergency room?  How do I determine if something’s an emergency, either for myself or for another?

This brain, I tell ya . . . but this is why we need a wide circle of good friends.  They’re great resources, aside from the camaraderie.  “No man is a failure who has friends.”

Stunted

With all the deceptive smiles I wear, I often wonder just how shocked people would be on the day I finally decide to open up and bare it all—specifically to those who are not on social media.

Someone finally said it: “Your life is so perfect.”  Well, it was slightly sarcastic, of course, but there was still a significant element of seriousness.  This phrase came out of the mouth of a fellow member of my support group for those suffering any type of hurts, habits, or hangups.  I’ve been a part of this group for almost three years now—my brother has joined for a while as well.  We typically run up to about seven guys total, myself and the moderator included, while the girls are about half that.  Sometimes the men split into to two smaller groups.  The point is . . . even though we’re so small in number now, after three years, I still have YET to speak a single word about my problems.  I just can’t bring myself to open my mouth.  If we go in an orderly fashion answering a specific question, I answer it shyly, briefly, and vaguely—mostly due to anxiety.  I mean, I have no problem goofing around and laughing with these guys, but when it’s time to be serious, I freeze.

I’m at the point where I’m completely helpless and hopeless, silently waiting for a miracle, but I’ve been at this point . . . for several years.  I’ve become a master at hiding all my pain in suffering, in person at least.  I doubt anyone knows that I shed tears multiple times a day and have for years.  I suffer severe chronic loneliness as a result of not being able to trust anybody—and have all my life.  The few people I do bring myself to admire want nothing to do with me, or are just completely out of reach.

I really do feel like I have absolutely no one other than God.  While there are good people out there who have reached out through the years, I can’t bring myself to allow them in, and I don’t know why.  I guess it’s mainly because they just don’t feel like the right person, so to speak.  There have been a few people over time that were extremely easy to talk to, but every single one was literally in my life for a very short period of time.

I’m sick.  I’m lonely.  I’m severely depressed.  I have a dead-end career.  My family doesn’t know the real me.  I’m not suicidal, but I’ve never really minded dying.  I’m almost 30 and still living with my parents—and I suffer constant criticism for it.  No one takes me seriously.  Few actually believe I’m even ill.

Exactly how long am I supposed to take this?  Isn’t 30 years way more than enough?  One would think something would’ve changed by now, but I’m as miserable as I was in high school, though thankfully the anxiety has greatly decreased.  And I must give praise to God, who is the only joy I’ve ever had.  The only happiness I know is what I feel when I study His Word.  My heart is thrilled!  He’s the only good thing I’ve got going for me.

Honestly . . . I feel like love is the answer to all my problems, but I either can’t find it or can’t bring myself to accept it.  I will only open up to those whom I find completely non-judgmental.  I watch people like a hawk for a very long time; I take mental notes how they treat others, ESPECIALLY those whom they do not like.  If I catch you making fun of an “unsightly” or difficult person, I won’t bother opening up to you.  If I catch you gossiping about anybody, you will immediately be seeing less and less of me.

Maybe my standards are too high . . . ?  Yet at the same time, why should I settle?  I’ll befriend anybody, but when it comes to CLOSE friendship . . . you really have to be somebody substantial.  I’m attracted to those who humbly hold higher standards than my own.  Those who do not . . . meh; I’m just genuinely not interested.  I mean, I do find myself attracted to hilarious people, but I grow tired of them real quick when they have no real passion or purpose in life.  I don’t see myself as a better person than anybody, but I am well aware I have a mind that goes deeper than most others’.  I need somebody whose mind matches mine, somebody whose heart matches mine.  Somebody who’s not only been rejected by mainstream society, but has also been rejected by rejects of mainstream society, because that’s me!  I didn’t fit in with the popular crowd, NOR the misfits.  Like, really!?!?!?  I CAN’T WIN!!!

Throw me a bone here!
Make this awkward canine happy.

Well . . . tomorrow, I shall awake to a new day.  Maybe that’ll my day 🙂
Well, probably not, but I’m trying to be positive here, MMkAY!?!? 😛

Disturbed

Last night, a bit bored from being trapped in the house by a snowstorm, I decided to watch a movie I had not seen before.  I very rarely watch movies, but such was an occasion for one.  So . . . for whatever reason, I had The Shining on my mind, so I loaded it up online.  My parents had turned in for the night and I was alone in the dark.  As I grew up watching horror movies, and have had recurring nightmares over several years, I wasn’t afraid, but I did get rather disturbed.

The most disturbing element of the film was that I found myself relating to various situations.  Like Jack Torrence, I’ve always been a loner, so I’m well familiar with the damaging effects of isolation.  Like Wendy, I’m a former co-dependent who searched for the love of many narcissists, though they were abusive relationships.  Also, I am a highly addicted workaholic, often neglecting the priority of caring for my loved ones:

All work and no play makes Jack a dull boy.
All work and no playmakes Jack a dull boy.All work and no play makes J.ack a dull boy.All.work and no play makes Jack a dull boy.ALLwork and no play makes Jack a dull boy.All workand no play makes Jack a dull boy.

All work and no play makes Jack a dull boyAll work and no plAy makes Jack a dull boy.All work aND no play makes Jack a dull Boy.
All work and nO play makes Jack a DULL boy.

Thankfully, I’ve never succumbed to insanity, but this film, though quite exaggerative, gave me quite a reality.  While the supernatural aspect of it is questionable, insanity is real.  Abusive relationships are real.  An individual turning fatally on his or her loved ones with a weapon is no stranger to history.  Many elements of this film are things that can and do happen.  The whole time I viewed, I thought about my friends who work in pscyh wards or in morgues—even those who are EMTs or nurses who have to deal with damaged humans.

After watching this, I stayed up for a little while longer doing other things, but when I fell asleep, I had a huge sense of unease throughout my dreams.  I cannot remember a single dream, but I do remember running for my life on many occasions.

Finally at 5am sharp, I was jolted awake by a sound of a loud static electric POP.  I had no idea if I had actually heard it or if it was all in my head, but my body leapt from the bed.  Instantly, I was wide awake—no grogginess.  My mind was tormented with memories of the movie.  Even though I tried to get my mind to focus on other things, I couldn’t shake it.  I felt no fear, but I was greatly disturbed.

Casually, yet emphatically, I verbally dismissed any demons I may have loosed in my home by watching that film.  Still . . . there remained that same unease in my room.  I felt a sort of estrangement from reality, as though I were trapped in some parallel universe—away from God.  Of course, I dismissed the deception out of my mind, knowing in my heart it wasn’t true.  Also, as I faced the wall, I had a clear vision of grim-reaper-like creatures surrounding the other sides of my bed, armed with axes, poised to kill.  Again, I dismissed the deception.  I felt no fear, so I closed my eyes and tried to fall asleep, ignoring the mind disturbance.  After about an hour, I finally fell back asleep.

Here I am now, feeling quite restless, yet oddly alert.  Prior to falling back asleep, I forgot to mention, I repented of watching such a movie.  The fact that I could relate to many elements of it, I added in prayer, practically begging God to deliver me of isolation, to help me break down walls and form friendships.  I feel like this movie was a wake-up call.  It’s actually quite eerie how the desire to watch the movie in the first place was so great on my heart a few hours before I decided to watch.

From this point on, I’m no longer going to watch horror movies, at least none that feature demonic possession or heavy paranormal activity.  I desire to keep that door closed.

Whatever Happens . . .

It’s amazing how many people tell me I inspire them, especially while I suffer the things I do.  It’s really the only reason I go on—people need me, or so I perceive.

I’m not sure what to think of it.  If I’ve felt such a constant misery all these years, and people are envying me . . . what hope remains when I am discouraged?  All I preach is staying alive to see if life gets better.  Why do so many look up to such a clueless person?  All in all, I have no idea what I’m going to do with my life.  I don’t even know what I WANT to do with my life.  I’m as “lost” as I was when I graduated high school almost 12 years ago . . . how time flies . . .

The only hope I truly have is my belief in God; desperately I make every attempt to make it into His heaven.  “For whosoever will save his life shall lose it: and whosoever will lose his life for my sake shall find it.”  (Matthew 16:25)  I really have suffered a lot for His sake . . . I’ve known nothing but suffering, it seems.  May my heart truly be humble before Him, loving all people.  My worst fear is becoming arrogant, bitter, and ungrateful—for all I’ve been through.  Perhaps if I am still holding on at this current time, given all the years I’ve suffered, God gave me this trial because He knew I was one of the few who could handle it.  ‘Tis only my theory, however.

Whatever happens, “Let the words of my mouth, and the meditation of my heart, be acceptable in thy sight, O LORD, my strength, and my redeemer.”  (Psalm 19:14)

Lonely

I often get these “loneliness attacks” that make it difficult to breathe.  It feels like I’m having a heart attack or something.  It’s very scary and it hurts.

Sometimes I drown myself in Youtube vlogs just to feel close to people, but I end up making myself feeling more left out.  It’s extremely difficult not being able to relate to too many people.  My life is a rare mixture.  I reach out to a lot of people, but the only people I truly click with live far away and are constantly busy.  I’m constantly busy myself.  It seems all I do is work.  I’ve become a workaholic just to take my mind off of my chronic severe loneliness.  I can’t take it.  I can’t sleep because I’m constantly thinking of what it’d be like to have solid friends.  All I’ve ever known are people who come and go.  It’s not that I’ve had tons of drama; people just move on.  Social media is pretty much the only social life I have, which is next to nothing.

I’ve opened up to tons of people; they’ve opened up to me—it’s wonderful, but not satisfying, as our lives are so different.  We love each other, but just don’t bond well.  I’ve grown profusely in my prayer life and Bible-reading life—very satisfied, but still . . . God is a spirit while I am a man; He Himself is unable to fill that void for mankind.  Surely He can provide the people, but as a Spirit, He cannot be the flesh and blood.  “It is not good for man to be alone,” He said, as He was with Adam.

I’ve cried myself to sleep nearly every night for years.  As I near my 30s, I just don’t know how much longer I can take the constant misery day after day.  I fight to be a positive person, being there for others.  Really, I do . . . I haven’t experienced satisfaction since my trip to Louisiana with close friends two years ago.  That was the only time I’ve ever truly felt happy in this world.  Unfortunately, we all went separate ways.  We don’t even share the same beliefs anymore.  They’ve changed a lot.  My heart was so devastated back then and still is.  My dream came true and shortly vanished.

All in all, my heart is still and always will be for God.  If this is my cup to drink in life, so be it.  May He bring me the strength to endure.  If this is not His plan, may He guide me in the right direction, correcting me as a son when I am in error.  His will be done on earth as it is in heaven.  Surely, my life could be so much worse; blessed be the name of the Lord.

Trouble befalls both the righteous and the unrighteous.

“Stepmom”

On my bucket list is the act of watching every movie I used to watch back when I was a child. The years since then have shaped me. Since then, I have both gained life experiences and have made a major lifestyle change in becoming a Christian. With these changes came a whole new worldview and perspective. Things that weren’t relatable then are relatable now. The awareness of the brevity of life is far greater now than back in the carefree days.

As the movie Stepmom came out in 1998, I’m sure most have seen it. The general plot consists of a broken family trying to make the best out of their mistakes and shortcomings. A husband and wife got divorced, leaving their two children brokenhearted. The man proposes to a new woman who had to fight her way for both the children’s and their biological mother’s acceptance. All the while, the real mom had been keeping a secret from them all: she had cancer. Once she discovered that the cancer had spread, she had no choice but to bare the truth. The effects of chemotherapy were far too great to cover up with lies. Through all this struggle, the family began seeing things in a new light, making the best of what they had left. In the end, everything worked out, despite that the real mom was in her last moments of life.days.

As morbid as it sounds, ever since I was 14, I’ve been unhealthily obsessed with the concept and reality of death. I was suicidal for about ten years solid until I decided not to dwell on my misery any longer. I was much too afraid to make any serious attempt anyway, so I bargained with myself to just let it go. In the past five years of this new mindset, I still have yet to stop consistently fantasizing about the idea of the afterlife. While it’s been five years since I had suicidal thoughts, this obsession prevents me from living life to the fullest. My basic mindset: “What does it matter in the end anyway? This memory will eventually die and be buried in the archives of human history, never to be seen again. I’m just one mere human who graced this earth among the multitudes of people who have risen and fallen since the beginning of time. Many will rise from now until long after my time as well. What importance is my existence among billions and billions? Why should I bother enjoying life?” 

Being a deep thinker truly is a blessing and a curse. While understanding many things gives me great peace, it also gives me great anxiety over the things beyond my control. For this very reason, I do not have the ability to form attachments to people. Any living being could potentially die within the next hour. Car accident. Airplane accident. Carbon monoxide leak. House fire. Weather. Etc. etc. My heart loves very deeply, but I refrain its power from falling upon mortals like myself, for I cannot bear the pain of losing someone. Therefore, I remain a loner. I reject the idea for myself of falling in love. I find it very difficult to worry and prepare for my future, knowing that the end of the road of every human life . . . is death. Creating a beautiful life for myself seems like such a waste of time and effort. Life is short—a mere blink of time’s eye. 

I believe in an afterlife, preparing for a trip to heaven. Do I know for sure it exists? No. I believe only by chosen faith. As a human being, capable of seeing only the natural, how can I know for sure the existence of the supernatural? All I can do is risk my life believing. If I, along with other Christians and whoever, am incorrect, what difference would it make? I’d have no memory of life. Only my loved ones will remember my life, all of whom will eventually perish as well—my existence permanently erased, except mankind deems my life praiseworthy enough to be featured in the history books. Even so, our world increasingly grows less and less interested in the messages of late founders and forefathers. I’ve met many young people who foolishly see little to no value in the wisdom of those long dead. This is a generation of young people who think they know everything. 

While I walk the earth with great love imprisoned in my heart, occasionally something will happen before my eyes, speaking to my prisoner. It rattles the cage of my heart. O how the bells peal in my mind as tears fall, reminding me of my forgotten captive. What if love succeeds the grave? Stepmom was one of those moments for me—a moment that cries out like a flame bursting through the blizzard of my heart, empowering its prisoner. 

All these years have I searched for my life’s purpose. I am yet clueless, yet I continue to relentlessly search. My existence is far too small to bother making a name for myself; I must be a part of a larger entity. May God guide this heart and mind. A human voice can no longer reach or persuade it. I am not cruel in heart, but rather devastated by lies. Whom can I bear to trust among mankind? Appealing solely to one’s emotions has no real value. Tears may temporarily dull the pain, but life proceeds regardless. 

Whom shall convince me but the Divine to release my heart’s hostage?

The Beauty of Suffering

Does compassion exist in the hearts of those who have never suffered?

I am among the crowd who had at times questioned and been angry with God over the topic of suffering in the lives of the “innocent”. I personally have faced years of debilitating illness. I have many years been the source of ridicule and laughter. I can contend that none of these things were deserved, but God be the judge of my heart; I have no valid claim to perfection. However, why were I and others dear to greatly suffer above the murderers, rapists, liars, child molesters, thieves, manipulators, etc.?

We entertain the thought that the less sinful we are, the easier our lives will be, but such wishful thinking is not a biblical concept. I’ve come to learn that no matter how “holy” we become, God will always require of us to be human. While the story of Job had somewhat spoken to me over time, I neglected to consider the life of Christ.

If God incarnate, pure and without sin, was to face the greatest of suffering . . . who am I, impure and with sin, to suffer any less?

According to Isaiah 52-53, the Messiah was poor, ugly, homely, unattractive, despised and rejected, a man of sorrows, acquainted with deepest grief, forsaken by His own people, pierced, beaten, whipped, oppressed and treated harshly, slaughtered, unjustly condemned, a virgin for life (no descendants), buried like a criminal in a tomb that was not even made for Him. His face was so disfigured He hardly seemed human—few would realize this was a human being who was beaten. Other areas add about His homelessness, the spitting upon him, his beard being plucked out, the crown of thorns pressed into His skull, and the infamous crucifixion.

As I near the end of my intensive study of the Old Testament, I’ve come to realize that those who humbly suffer in their terrestrial lives shall have their eternity of wealth and glory. Those who on this earth live richly and arrogantly are a different story. Let me clarify that it is not a matter of wealth, but of heart that makes a man. From what I remember, I cannot name a single righteous Old Testament king who was born wealthy. Those best honored in the Bible grew from rags to riches.

David, the greatest of mortal kings, was a mere tiny shepherd boy from the lowliest family in the lowliest tribe; he definitely had his share of suffering at the hands of his predecessor Saul. His son Solomon, however, was born rich, inheriting his father’s wealth; while all started off well, he eventually turned over to false gods in order to please his 1,000 wives and concubines. Wealth in itself is not a sin, but it can dangerously go to one’s head, changing a person for the worse. The many conveniences of the privileged can harden their hearts.

I can’t help but think about how I’d be if I had never developed severe anxiety or other issues. As I look back to the healthy days of my childhood, I see a young man headed for an arrogant future. My talents were honed at an early age, but God humbled me very quickly for whatever reason. My suffering softened my heart toward people. I used to hate people. I kept the Ten Commandments, but my heart was wicked, leading me to disown most people. Anyone who made the slightest mistake was out of my league. I hated smokers, drinkers, addicts, homosexuals, those who swore, etc. etc. . . . that is, until I found myself to be vastly imperfect.

Suffering made me realize that all have sinned—myself included. It took YEARS of illness and ridicule to soften my cold heart of stone. The wealth and privileges into which I was born had corrupted my path. Praise God for the suffering which saved my soul and the victims of my arrogance and hypocrisy!

If I have not compassion for others, my religion, as well as my entire life, are vain.

Insanity

Those people on social media who always have something negative and dramatic to post have always annoyed me, just like they annoy everybody else.  Ironically . . . I tend to be one of those woe-is-me people.

I try SO hard to be positive, likable, and respectable, yet after years of trying, I haven’t seen much success.  Years ago, I just let my inner negative thoughts roam free, living an openly “emo” life, wearing black and dramatic colors all the time.  I’d do weird things just for attention.  I’d fake cuts on my wrists just for attention.  I’d swear around church people just in hopes of having the privilege of getting yelled at.  I felt completely invisible and would pretend to fall into sin just to see if anyone would care to come to my rescue.  My tactics never worked.

So . . . for the past six or so years, I went to the other extreme of positivity.  I’d smile everywhere I go, wear happy clothes.  However, many people were uncomfortable by my excitement towards them, as if I were fake.  If I were to show myself friendly, I was apparently overdoing it.  I developed a wild sense of humor just to win people over with laughter—still gave no satisfaction.  There was a point were I became such a people-pleaser that I made myself chronically ill with severe chronic stress.  I would sacrifice eating, sleep, and even going to the restroom just to help people, but as appreciative as they may have legitimately been, they expressed no interest in getting to know me better.

My 29th birthday is around the corner and I still have no idea how to make and keep friends.  I have literally hundreds of acquaintances, and faraway friends, but I walk alone.  I’ve sent hundreds of extremely personal and humbling messages to people over the years, but they just made things awkward.

No one knows that I’ve cried myself to sleep nearly every night for the past 20-some years because of severe loneliness.  I don’t know what’s so wrong with me.  I’ve never once intentionally hurt anybody.  I have ridiculous self-control.  I’ve bought dinner and gifts for whomever.  On two occasions, I gave out a donation of $500—one to someone I didn’t even know or even meet—expecting absolutely nothing in return.  I’d given people rides for free.  Etc. . . . none of it has brought me friendship.  I won’t stop doing stuff for people, nor do I regret it, but why do people make me feel so worthless?

Every close friend I’ve ever had—whom are very few in number—has left me.  Am I too domineering?  I feel like I have too high of expectations, yet I back over backwards just to listen to people vent and keep their junk secret.  I can hardly say I’ve ever spilled my guts to anyone.

It can’t really all be anxiety, can it?  My extremely low self-esteem?  I became this way because no one ever gave me a chance.  When a person’s eyes meet mine—it doesn’t even matter whose—my heart is filled with tremendous fear.  I can’t even look my own mother in the eye without a sensation of panic.  There’s no one I feel comfortable enough around to talk to about anything.  I’ve been imprisoned in my own mind and friendship all my life.  My social interactions consist of nothing more than inside jokes.  I feel like a developmentally disabled person.

I’ve been at my wits’ end for YEARS—no exaggeration.  Even if I get bold enough to open my mouth to somebody, something always comes up; they get a phone call and actually take it . . . I can’t tell you how many times people have considered their phone calls and texts more important than my crisis at hand.  I never even complained once about it; I just waited patiently and said, “Oh, it’s ok . . . ”  But no, it’s not okay; I already feel like less than a human being, thanks for proving it . . .

So since people-pleasing gets you nowhere, I’ve given it up, because no one really cares.  I’ve learned that most people who say they want to help you do so because they just want “another jewel on their crown,” but I will be taken for no man’s fool!  Anyone else who do legitimately care . . . are too busy, live far away, or cost money that I do not have.

Well . . . I’ve made it 29 years on my own; I don’t need anybody.
Friendship isn’t worth the pain.

Asexuality: A Different World

asexual: devoid of sexuality

My life has always been a series of uncommon things that push others away.  I’ve come to the point where I’ve unnecessarily lost so many friends over things that I’m no longer afraid of rejection or losing people.  Even so, it’s a very lonely life.  At this point, I simply find that I can’t relate to a lot of people, nor fit in anywhere; I’m just living freely, laughing pains away, and not caring about the opinions of others.  However, I try my best not to be blatantly disrespectful, selfish, arrogant, or out-of-hand.  We all are people with struggles.

When I was 14 years old, I found myself attracted to boys and boys alone.  I’m on the brink of age 29 and still find myself in the same predicament; however, much has changed in these past 15 years.  Those first four years were mostly lust-based.  At 18 and forward, my attractions began to become more emotional; I craved friendship with other guys because guys had rejected me and shut me out all my life—or they just couldn’t find common ground with me, so they ignored me.  Probably in my early 20s, my attractions became almost strictly emotional.  It wasn’t all about seeking the hottest guy anymore; I desired substance.  Looking back now, I was basically a co-dependent seeking someone to walk me step-by-step through life—someone to love and care for me like a little puppy dog.

As I near my 30s now, I’ve become very independent and self-controlled.  I must say that I am still a total virgin to this day—never even kissed a guy, never did anything involving arousal on either part.  I bring that up because there were guys here and there with whom I had a connection, but nothing ever ensued.  I’m a bit prudish, actually.  There have been quite a few guys I liked who pursued me sexually, but I consistently turned them down, even to the point of blocking them on social media.  While my Christian beliefs had always had me against homosexuality, in my times of loneliness where I could not have cared less, still I could not bring myself to give myself sexually.  While my convictions are strong, my mind is simply too deep to settle for just anyone.  I get hit on by guys somewhat frequently, but it’s rarely a temptation.  I have no drive to go for them.