October 20–31, 2004 — Symptoms

Tonight I love the internet. Not most nights, but definitely tonight. Tonight I’ve been reading about everything that’s wrong with me. It doesn’t matter if I’m sleeping too much or not sleeping enough, there’s at least one and probably several conditions I’m stricken with. My favourites are the ones with conflicting symptoms like overeating and not eating enough. I want to print some of these lists out. I want to feel like I’m overcoming a fate the internet has predicted for me by refusing to do anything about any of these symptoms.

But maybe that wouldn’t accomplish much.

I’ve wasted weeks and weeks lately. I keep wondering how many weeks I would have to waste in a single year for the entire year to be a write-off. I must be getting close for this year. I must be.

With so much wasted time I’m not accomplishing many of my goals. I haven’t been writing much lately, or talking to new people, or working very hard at the office.

I get bored of goals so quickly now. I guess before I wanted a girlfriend again; that was the goal. But I never really knew why. Maybe I wanted someone to tell me that everything would be fine. Or to convince me that what I was doing was important, one way or another. Maybe that would help.

But I know I wouldn’t believe anyone who tried to tell me that, and I tell myself it’s not worth the effort. Not that I have the energy to leave the house often enough to find a girlfriend anyway; it used to be a lot easier.

It was easier when I knew how to be with people. In groups I’m too dependent on one or two people to be there for me. I need outs, and I need someone who will stand with me so I never have to stare into the corner of a room while pretending to have a good time. And I don’t really have anyone who fits that anymore. I’m invited out a fair bit, I guess, but always alone. I’m always left with plans to meet people somewhere, and I imagine myself staring into that corner. So I stay home.

When I’m out I don’t talk to people I don’t know. I especially don’t talk to girls. I think they can sense how desperate I’m getting. I’m pretty sure of it. Though it’s easy to feel sure that other people get hints of something I’m overwhelmed with thinking about most days. Like the way I’m sure everyone must notice that my right eye is bigger than my left eye. It’s the sort of self-consciousness that only makes things worse.

There are so many hours I want just to sleep away. I don’t know what to do with them anymore. I put all this hope in a non-existent person who is going to come and make me feel better. I don’t even know that it’s happiness I’m looking for; I might just want a break from being lonely.

Or a break from being awake at 3:00 am with only the internet to talk to.