Monthly Archives: June 2014

I woke up crying again and I still have that shortness of breath. I know it’s just anxiety, but I feel like I’m having a heart attack. I no longer know how to help myself. I’m asking for help, but there’s no help out there. I know what they do in the hospital because I’ve been there. They just give you more pills. It doesn’t solve the loneliness. It doesn’t solve the fact that I know no one in Baltimore, Maryland, except my sister. So, I could go to the hospital, but I’ll just be back where I am this time next week. They won’t keep me that long, even, because I’m not crazy enough. Then I’ll just have one more black mark against me. Every time I read about how we need to lock up crazy people so they don’t kill anyone, I know they’re talking about me. I don’t ever think about killing anyone other than myself. I’m sad. I’m lonely. I want a friend. I want a lover. I used to have friends and lovers. I’m in a downward spiral. It’s hard to meet people when you feel bad about yourself. Then you feel worse about yourself because you have no friends. One thing feeds into another. I’ve been trying to break this cycle since long before I started writing about it on my blog. My mother and sister know how I feel.

We live in a harsh, competitive society where the losers are just left by the wayside.

If I go to the hospital, they’ll ask if I have a plan. I don’t have a plan. I don’t want to kill myself, I just want the pain to stop. You can scream in pain and they don’t care if you’re not a threat to yourself or others, and I’m not and they know that, so they ignore me and my pain.

I wrote the man I was with yesterday evening an accusatory text. I really feel screwed over by him. Really. I wrote that I wanted company. I made it pretty clear that I felt shitty about myself and that I was desperately lonely. I didn’t expect more than one night. I try to not expect things from men. I never push for a relationship. I know how men hate that. I never ask for anything. I don’t ask them to go to the movies with me, I don’t ask them for dinner, I don’t ask them for any of the things they say they hate. I just want to spend a little time with them and maybe have sex.

I’m self-effacing to the point of being pathological. I don’t know how I could be any less demanding as a girlfriend. Well, apparently I know now.

Don’t ask for a kiss.

I don’t quite know why I’m crying tonight. I’m having a hard time breathing. Suddenly I’m put in mind of something I read while trying to look for information on the internet the other day. It was something to the effect of depression being when your problems exceed your resources for coping with them.

This feels weird. I originally put up this blog to write about politics, society and related subjects. Somehow, it’s turning into some weird document of my ongoing breakdown.

So, after about two years of hibernation and dodging my problems, I’ve started trying to tackle some of the underlying causes. They’re not going to improve on their own, that’s for sure. Unfortunately, coming out of hibernation also causes emotional volatility. After all, I went into hiding for a reason.

What are my tangible problems? Nothing terribly original, I’m afraid. My career’s in the crapper, I’m living in a town where I know almost no one, I have no social life, no love life, I’ve gained weight and I feel unattractive. Unfortunately, all these things interact with one another, so fixing one without working on the others goes no where. Without a decent, steady job no one wants to date you.

Most recently, the loneliness has really been getting under my skin. So I set out to change that. I put an ad up on Craigslist. It wasn’t as crazy as what I said the other day, but it was still crazy enough that it got flagged and taken down. I looked at the rules for Craigslist and couldn’t figure out which one I’d broken. Nothing said that desperate, depressed people were barred from looking for a significant other. In the meantime, it was put back up. I guess the moderators there came to the same conclusion. Quite a few men wrote, concerned that I wouldn’t get the sort of responses I wanted. Well, I got hundreds. After a while I couldn’t keep up with them, so I only read the first hundred or so. The vast majority were actually quite nice. On average, the responses were no more rude than when I’ve put up nice, socially acceptable ads.

I wrote back to several people who for some reason or another struck me as promising, generally that meant near my age and seeming to share some sort of interest. I struck up a short exchange with one man. He phoned and we agreed to meet.

My ad had made it clear that I was lonely and looking for company, that I would be open for more but that I wasn’t expecting more. It was getting towards dinner time and I thought about suggesting a bite to eat, but I didn’t want to come off like I was expecting a man to buy me dinner or jump through a million hoops, so I suggested a pub that is located between his place and mine and threw a couple handfuls of nuts in my mouth.

We had a really nice time. We talked while sitting at the bar for at least an hour, maybe two, then we went to his place. When I got home that night, I realized that for well over two years I hadn’t had a long, in-depth, ambling conversation with anyone other than my sister and my mother. I thought to myself, no wonder I’m going nuts. That’s just not healthy. I also thought back and remembered one point in the evening when I was shirtless and draped over his lap. We were talking and while we were talking he was fondling my breasts. It’s funny because it’s hard to say whether I’m uncomfortable with my body or not. With some men I am, and I want the lights out before taking off my clothes, and with some men, I’m not. I took it as a good sign that I was feeling so comfortable with him. I feel slightly uncomfortable talking about someone else, so I’m leaving out details, but I felt we had a lot to talk about. In any case, he drove me home and said he hoped to see me again soon.

He contacted me. Because I’ve always been told that men are afraid of clingy women, I would have never contacted him first. I made it clear that I wanted to see him again and any more would have felt too pushy.

Tonight, by coincidence, we were meeting around dinner time again and I thought of asking if he wanted to eat together, but again I was afraid of being too demanding and made myself an early dinner. I’m just always so afraid of being one of those demanding women. Admittedly, he wasn’t feeling well when I arrived and things seemed slightly awkward all night. The previous time, we didn’t engage in vaginal penetration and I was eager to get him inside me. When we were fully undressed and lying on his bed I tried to kiss him and he pulled away. He said it was too intimate. That made me really uncomfortable. Establishing intimacy was part of the point of wanting to kiss him. Then he said that he felt that we didn’t have enough of an emotional history between the two of us to have sex. Since I’d already performed fellatio on him the first night and had been licking and fondling him earlier in the evening, this struck me as odd. The first night seemed fine to me and we had even less of an emotional history then. In order to alleviate the awkwardness, I asked if he wanted to talk about it and we spent some time talking about his ex-girlfriend. Then he commented that he had to get up to go to work in a few hours. I got up and put my clothes on and I was crying as I was leaving. He made no move to comfort me or even ask why I was upset. He seemed to think that the crying came on suddenly, but it had been building up ever since he refused to kiss me. He walked me to my car. I asked him for a hug before getting in and leaving and I can’t help wondering if he would have done or said anything at all if I hadn’t asked.

I have no idea if he wants to see me again. I’m not sure I want to see him again if he does.

A decade ago, or even five or six years ago, this would have been no big deal. It would be just one date that went awry. Maybe there would be a little bit of a puzzle about what was different between the first night and the second. But I don’t have the emotional resilience that I did then. I’m not sure if I feel like taking a chance and writing to any of the other men who wrote to me, and I’m not sure when I’ll feel like going on a date again. I’m unlikely to meet someone by chance since I haven’t in several years.

So, I’ve been crying and I’m not exactly sure why. It feels like a rejection, but not a big crushing rejection, more like a slow grinding away. I feel like I’m running out of resources. I don’t have the emotional resources to engage in normal dating. Maybe I should put the ad up in the casual encounters section and just have one night stands and not even hope for anything more.

Towards the end, he said something about his attitudes towards sex changing, but I really didn’t understand what he was talking about. It’s hard these days to find someone who is open and excepting about a woman being a sexual person outside of marriage without being treated badly.

I don’t know that I ever want to marry again. I don’t want live the rest of my life without intimate contact with another human being. I have the distinct feeling of drowning and being unable to breathe.

I have a date tonight and I’m as scared as shit. You see, I’m a little bit hairy. Not feakishly so, but ever since I was nine body hair removal has been a major part of my life. It’s one of those things that women aren’t supposed to talk about. There it is – starting with puberty, which arrived early for me, I had pubic hair, hair over my entire legs, both thighs and calves. There’s no real line of demarcation between the pubic hair and the hair on the top of my thighs. The hairless area comes in by the joint, but there’s no true gap on the inner thighs. I also have hair under my armpits. Most embarrassingly, I have hair around my anus and between my butt cheeks.

You might think this sounds normal, and to a great extent it is. Having pale skin and dark hair makes it a little more unsightly, but I’m under the impression I’m on the hairy side of average, but nothing bizarre. Except…

I can’t shave. I can’t wax either.

I’m subject to skin rashes and ingrown hairs. Because of this, I’ve had the laser hair removal done on my legs. For some reason, I can shave under my arms as long as I don’t do it too often.

The pubic hair. That’s a problem.

For most of my adult life, it wasn’t a problem then sometime about a decade ago men started complaining.

I’m a nice person. I’m smart. I can be funny, even when I’m depressed. I’m very nice to my boyfriends. I like sex. I used to be the sort of woman men wanted to know.

But men complain now. Why? Pubic hair.

I don’t know what to do. Should I spend the money and get electrolysis done? Will someone even do the area around my anus? I don’t even like the way no pubic hair looks myself and I ask myself if I want to spend the money, time and endure the pain in order to please a man who wouldn’t otherwise like me. For years, I’ve been holding out hoping to meet someone who doesn’t mind. Then I meet someone, I take off my clothes, and he starts complaining.

So, I put up an ad on Craigslist saying that I’m chubby and I have pubic hair. I have a date tonight and I’m having a panic attack. This will be the second date, so I know he’s okay about the weight. Will he say something negative if take my underpants off?

I’d take half an Ativan, but I have to drive. I hope deep breaths will do.

I’ve turned off comments on the last post because people don’t really get what’s useful to say and what’s not. I’ll probably turn off the comments on this as well.

I’m lonely. That’s it. That’s all. I want company. A psychiatrist can only do so much. We live in a society that values only beauty, money, youth, power. When you don’t have any of that, you wind up alone. You’d think that you’d be able to meet another broken person, but for some reason it doesn’t work that way. Men a couple of years older than I, with a slight pot belly and a balding head, are holding out for a young beauty. I don’t even have platonic friends these days. Once upon a time I did, but then I moved. Most of them had moved out of New York by that time anyway. You get past a certain age, and it’s not only hard to meet lovers, but it’s hard to meet platonic friends, too. Add to that having all the characteristics of a loser….

I have sought out professional help. In fact, two years ago, I put myself in the hospital because I was having a hard time getting the help I needed outside. It shouldn’t have come to that, but it’s harder to find help than you’d think. It has a lot to do with what insurance companies will offer. They’re geared up for emergency situations. Once you’re stabilized, then you’re sent back out, forty-eight hours and fare-thee-well.

Anyway, I do see a psychiatrist and I take medication. I think some talk therapy along with that would be useful, or could be, but finding a therapist to talk to you is tough, especially when all your talk is a perseverative, self-pitying mess.

A few years ago I tried online dating. In fact, I did it several times and did meet a several boyfriends that lasted about a year each. However, that was back before I moved to Baltimore and became depressed. Online dating is emotionally grueling. You have to be willing to subject yourself to massive amounts of negative comments in the hopes of meeting one person who isn’t a total jerk. There are plenty of nice people out there, but they’re hidden among people who range from neutral to mean. It was one thing to do that way back when, before I was depressed and when I had a reasonable level of self-esteem. Even then, the criticisms could have a temporary negative impact, but I was emotionally healthy enough to bounce back quickly. Now, I feel like it would be setting myself up for a potentially dangerous situation.

I’ve compiled a list of organizations and clubs to join, although so far I’ve only joined one. Meeting platonic friends can be even harder than meeting a boyfriend. How do you meet people? I just have to join a whole lot of things and hope for the best. I haven’t heard from my supposed best friend since January. He lives in another state. He never calls or writes anymore. I could email him, but why am I bothering? Why do I even still consider him a friend?

Complicating things a little bit is that I have a little social anxiety. That’s perhaps the only emotional problem I can remember having prior to going to college. It won’t keep me from going to any social events, but I find them very draining, so I won’t be able to load up a several week period with a whole lot of different things.

I feel like I have so many areas that need improvement, it’s like a juggling act and I’m trying to keep multiple balls in the air.

A boyfriend with whom I lived for a little while once observed that I don’t have a lot of “fun.” That was back when I was doing reasonably well. He was right, in a way. Everyone needs a little pleasure, enjoyment and fun in life. Back then, I was getting enough, at least for me even if it seemed paltry to him. But now, I really don’t have much enjoyment. Only part of that is the depression. A large part of that is reality. I really do live in a place where I know no one except my sister. These days, I wish I enjoyed television or movies, but I never really have. Just not a movie person.

I used to like dancing and I used to like going to hear live music, usually in a bar type of setting, not a big “rock concert” type of thing. However, those are past times for young people. I could probably go out and listen to music, but the sociable part of it might not be there because after a certain age you just become invisible. I don’t mean even flirting or picking up men, just interacting with people.

Humanity is brutal. When you’re weak, no one wants to know you.