Old Atheists Uwanted

A lot of things can trigger a downward mental spiral. Tonight I’m fixating on age. That’s not an accident. I went to a conference today and there were a couple of panel discussions. One was on Intersectionality and Humanism. I don’t consider myself a “humanist” because, to be frank about it, I don’t think humanity’s all that great. The panel talked about seemingly every -ism under the sun. Anyway, someone, I think her name is Debbie Goddard, was asked a question about “ageism.” She said something to the effect that old women are the problem. For someone already struggling with a sense of being overlooked and worthless because I’m an old woman, this was really hard to hear. The “atheist movement” only wants young women. I feel so fucking unwanted everywhere. I’m thinking of going home tomorrow and not attending the rest of the conference. I’ve been crying all night. Actually it’s worse than that. I wish I could drill a hole in my skull and let out this pressure. I’m sure that’s not an accurate description of what’s happening inside my head physcially, but that’s how it feels.

As everyone who reads this blog knows, I really struggle with feelings of not being worth anything. I’ve always been told that I have low self-esteem by other people, but as I’ve aged and gained weight my feelings of sefl-worth have gone from low to negative. There seems to be a general consensus that suicide is a bad idea. It’s not absolutely necessary, but the conditions that could help me avoid it don’t seem to be on the horizon. Simply getting a hard cock in my cunt would probably do wonders, but no one wants to fuck an old woman. I’ve been toying with the idea of advertizing for a one night stand on CraigsList, but it’s getting late. On the other hand, I’ve also been vaguely wondering if there’s any convenient bridges to jump off of. I don’t know if I want to get fucked or to kill myself. That’s weird. Maybe it’s not so weird. Fucking someone would solve the lonliness problem at least temporarily and fucking someone would release all those natural opiates, I forget what they’re called, so that would probably make me feel better, too.

I wonder what the emergency room in Alexandria is like?

I was doing a Master’s Degree in computer science when the depression first kicked in and interrupted that.  It’s really hard to explain to people who haven’t known me for a long time, but I’ve been trying really hard to get something resembling a career going for the last decade or so. It’s not that I never tried before, but sometime in my late thirties I began feeling like I was running out of time. For some reason, actually for many reasons that would take an autobiography to enumerate, I was never able to find work that was anything other than just a temporary job. I moved from one job to the next and never could seem to move the next rung up on the ladder. In my late thirties, I tried going back to school. It wasn’t the first time. In my late twenties and again in my early thirties I’d gone back to school for education past a BA. However, those efforts never led to the fabled “career.” In my late thirties I started trying to be more hard headed about it. I’d talk about career and people would say “what do you want to do?” I’d respond that what I “wanted” had led me nowhere and I’d only consider things that had a future.

Anyway, I don’t even know what I’m saying. I feel like I ran out of time. Suddenly, I’m old. I’m lonely. I don’t know how to become un-lonely.

I live in Baltimore. I saw there was a conference in Alexandria, Virginia. I write about atheism, politics and similar subjects sometimes. I thought that it would be a good opportunity to get a little contact with people. I’ve moved several times in my life and I know that you need to put yourself out there many, many times and the likelihood of meeting anyone that could be a friend on any one occasion is low, but still getting out and talking to people is usually a cheerful thing. I’m a little bit of an introvert and a little shy, but I can usually manage. It can be stressful, but I can overcome my social anxieties enough to enjoy myself.

As I’ve mentioned before, it feels very clubby here. Actually, the audience isn’t that young overall, but the panels are.

In the context of everything else going on in my life being told that old people have nothing to offer hurts.

Anyway, I don’t know what I’m saying, I’ve been crying all evening and I’m still crying.