Destroying my E-Reputation

Well, here is what I wrote last night.

I have no idea why I'm posting it. It pulls back the curtain on who I am and hopefully gives a bit of context and insight into me. On the other hand, it shows how pathetic I really am. Posting this, if it got out on some of the sites I visit, is basically internet suicide.

This is slightly fictional, only in what I wrote took place over a couple days and I consolidated it all into one. It is pretty much a sum up of a day in the life of me.

I apologize that the writing isn't my best. It starts out much stronger than it finishes. There are two reasons for that 1) I haven't written anything really in years, so I'm a little rusty 2) The more personal and depressing the subject got, I was less in the mood for flowery prose. This was pretty much just a free flowing writing exercise. Putting everything that came to mind down on paper.

So continue on if you want. Just be ready to be depressed.


Every night, when I go to sleep, there’s a part of me that wishes I’ll never wake up. That I will just drift off into that eternal darkness, the inky black peacefulness and stay there. That never happens though. I’m never that lucky.

---

The alarm clock comes screaming into my head again, like the sound of a thousand ambulances racing by with their sirens blaring. My eyes snap open as I smack the clock, silencing it with one swift move.  My eyes struggle to adjust to the room, even though it is grey and only barely lit with the early morning sun.

“Fuck. 7:30 already.” I murmur to myself, barely coherently.

I make my way across the hall to the bathroom and shower, and come out in time to bump into my dad asking me about breakfast.

“Sure! Bacon, eggs, toast & hash browns! Just kidding. I know you can’t cook.”

“What?” He inquires.
“Nothing.” I say as I pull a frozen $.99 meatloaf TV dinner from the freezer. “I’ll just heat this up.”

I could cook myself something better, but I don’t have the time. I’d have to get up earlier, and I’d miss out on my sleep if I did.  Besides, I need my sleep much more than I need food.  My fat gut would agree with that. That fact is also why I barely touch my breakfast. I know, kids starving in Africa…I don’t think even those kids would like this shit.

As usual, I run out of the house and race to work, just to get there right on time.  I cut it close most days, but my bosses don’t really give a fuck. They can’t afford to. With the economy in the crapper, they have cut back to the point of just me and one co-worker, and with that they can’t fire either of us. If they did, it’d be “sorry folks, shop’s closed” and they’d be out on their asses. And we both know it, so we put in some reduced effort.

I make it to my desk and I’m greeted with a pile of work. A yellow post it note rests on top with some flowery blue writing. “Hey. I’m busy. I need you to take care of this for me. “  I get up and poke my head around the corner, noticing her browsing Craigslist.  Okay. Whatever. People have walked all over me for as long as I can remember, why stop it now?

---

My Junior year of high school is where things really started to go wrong. I went though my whole life being told how brilliant I was. “James, you’re one of the best students I have ever seen!” “James, your work is impeccable!” So on. I had straight A’s & B’s pretty much the entire time I was in school. Fuck, I even won the President’s Excellence in Education award in Jr. High. I remember how proud I was on stage claiming that thing.  But then came the last couple years of high school.

Everyone saw me as this star student. I didn’t need any help, I was one of the best! Sure.

I just started to get burned out. I stopped realizing how serious this was, the rest of my life would depend on these few years. My grades slipped to the point where I was barely passing classes, and I only graduated on time through sheer luck. I told my parents that I was going to take a year off, relax and go back to college afterwards. I never took the SAT. Never applied to any colleges. I was scared and had no idea what I wanted to do with my life. Hell, I still don’t know what I want to do with my life.

I’m sitting here now at my desk. 10 years out. I’m working a dead end, unskilled job. I loathe this job, but I am afraid to leave. It’s bad enough with the economy in the toilet now, but I have no further education. I leave here, I’m screwed.  

---

Somehow I have made it halfway through the day. My co-worker comes to my desk and says she has to leave 2 hours early today because she found something awesome on craigslist that she has to pick up.  That means I have to be back here in exactly 30 minutes. My lunch break is an hour. Whatever.

I walk into the house and my mom announces she picked up a pizza. Okay. I grab two slices and don’t say a word. I sit down at my computer and just start surfing the web. Anything to distract me from reality.

The reality is that I’m pushing 30 and I still live with my parents. I never moved out. Everyone else I knew sort of all moved on with their lives and I just stalled, stuck in one place. I don’t go out, I don’t meet new people. Because of that, I have no friends. All the ones I had drifted away. 

As you can probably guess, I also don’t have a girlfriend. I never have.  That can lead you to the next conclusion, which is that I am still a virgin. Hell, I never had my first kiss.  I’m so pathetic.  I’m so lonely.

The sadness and anger and everything rears it’s ugly head and I just get more depressed. But luckily at that point, I notice it’s time to go back to work. With that, I get up, speechless and with a thousand yard stare, and leave. I hear my mother sigh and hold back tears as I close the door.

---

My co-worker leaves as soon as I get back, and I have the best part of my day. I direct message with pretty much my only friend still in the world on twitter. All night. I work at my own pace, and as a result get out of the office about 4 unpaid hours after my shift actually ends. Still, this only helps temporarily, and by the time I pull into the driveway, I’m gone again, having thought of how much of a fuck up I am.

Once I get inside, I pour myself a really strong drink. I don’t say a word to my parents and I retreat to my room.  I grab my knife.

I curl up on my floor, crying. I hold the blade first to my throat, then my wrist. This is it. I can’t do this anymore. I’m a failure. It will never be better. I’ll just be miserable until I die, so I might as well just have that be tonight.

I lay there, slicing at the side of my wrist a couple times, nowhere near the veins. I want this over so badly, but for some reason I just can’t do it. I break down sobbing, wishing I was dead. Everything fades to black.

The alarm clock comes screaming into my head again, like the sound of a thousand ambulances racing by with their sirens blaring and my eyes snap open.