Ca, c’est ma vie.

So I’m sitting here at work and I feel like crap.  I feel the need to totally, brutally honest with myself and those around me.  The only catch is that they don’t realize just how much help I need.  I find myself hiding like I usually do, because the truth is so horribly painful, I don’t know if I want it to be known.  I don’t know if I’m looking for (or require?) attention because I refuse to let the people in my “real” life know just how bad things are.

I realized a long time ago that the reason I smoke is because it’s the only surefire way to end my life prematurely.  Killing myself explicitly in what is normally defined as “suicide” isn’t viable, because of the damage it will do to my family and friends.  But what if I am silently killing myself slowly, one cigarette at a time?  It seems to me to be a good enough compromise.  I get to end my life early so I don’t have to suffer, and my family and friends get to enjoy my company for longer than if I just ended everything now.

I hate what I’ve become… no… that’s not totally accurate…  I hate what I’ve always been.  I hate my natural tendency to be shy, I hate that I’m anxious all of the time, I hate how I’m always depressed, and I hate myself for it.  In the past I’ve been foolish and blamed my parents for having me in the first place and now knowing how to recognize, nevermind deal with, my problems and needs.  Now that I’m “all grown up” I find myself grappling with problems that only I am able to fix.

But I’m not strong enough.

Right now I’m surrounded by coworkers who can’t possibly even suspect that sitting next to them is a person with super intense demons that haunt his every waking thought.  They may be sympathetic if they knew but I’m not about to tell them.  I never tell anybody.  My life is a dirty little secret.

I need help because I’m addicted to feeling bad.  I’m addicted to cigarettes.  I’m addicted to smoking weed because it makes my mind shut down (so I have only one thought) and intensifies the anxiety — it makes me feel worse, but at the same time makes me not care.  I’m addicted to negative emotions.  I used to crush up and snort the Ritalin they prescribed me for my ADHD and was definitely addicted.  I think I may have done permanent harm to my mind AND my body.  I have sabotaged myself so much that I’m not sure I’ll be able to fix the damage I’ve done.

It doesn’t help that I have problems with authority, more specifically, doctors and therapists.  I’ve never trusted them because in the past, they’ve either harmed me, weren’t able to help, or didn’t bother to make the effort to help me.  I manipulate them because my mind is so over-active and I’m so intelligent that I analyze everything they do.  I don’t do it purposely, I do it subconsciously and barely even realize when I’m doing it.  I don’t like being manipulative, and I consciously make an effort not to do it in my personal life, but what can I really do when it comes to authority figures?  In my personal life, I barely know where the line is between being smart about my affairs, and being manipulative.  What a fucking problem to have!  If I don’t even know that I can trust myself, how am I ever going to get better?

I hate nearly every part of my life.  I have no luck with girls, and when I happen to meet ones that are damaged like me I refrain from trying to make anything of it for fear of screwing up their lives more.  When I meet girls who aren’t damaged, I always manage to fuck everything up.  A part of me wishes I could have a nice relationship that eventually leads to marriage and a family, but I’m in no condition to realize such dreams.

The only thing that made me feel better was the guy at the gas station this morning.  I had just finished buying my next set of 20 doses of death when the guy behind the counter said, “Have a nice day.”  He was probably just doing his job and being friendly or maybe he actually meant it.  Either way I realize that I’m probably better off than he is.  Why can’t I realize that and get my mind to believe it?

The really sad part is that I’m going to have to resign from something that I thought was going to help me get better.  I thought being a political candidate for the best political party ever would help give my life meaning.  It hasn’t.  I’m still the secretly damaged little boy masquerading as someone better.  Fake it until I make it?  I’m really don’t think I can.  Now I feel like I need to resign because of my health issues.  Further, I need to resign because I’m afraid that I’ll irreparably damage the party if my dirty secret of a life is exposed.  If you’re reading this and you actually know me in person, in real life, feel lucky that you are.  There are few who I’ve trusted enough to show this side of me.  You can feel confident that if I decide to remain in politics, or upon quitting, manage to reenter politics, you can always blackmail me because you know about my demons.  I probably won’t have much money though so you’re shit out of luck if you think you’ll be able to get rich.

Cynical, addicted, depressed, anxious, hiding, and a failure.  Ca, c’est ma vie.