The Disconsulate

You've got to be careful with the things that you believe. Sometimes, though, it can't be helped; your experience, unluckily biased as it may be, shapes the way you think and react.

I've had time to think and time to research at Google University. I feel justified and reassured in my recent decisions. We're pretty incompatible, after the fireworks of flint and steel that you have to violently strike together for a fleeting spark above water. But then I wonder, am I compatible with anyone? Compatible enough?

I have lots of reasons to believe I'm not. And the experiences keep adding up.

Leading up to my cousin's wedding, I am very tempted to give up. I've given it a good effort, I think. I've taken the time to figure out what I want, and I've reflected on things that I've done wrong, things that I could do better. In doing so, I have improved. But there's a whole lot that I can do nothing about. So much so that my own improvement is irrelevant. Meaningless. Wasted.

Improving oneself has seemingly no causative relationship with relationship success. You're better off being a shitty person, a manipulator, an abuser, or a stupid helpless victim. Or, maybe you're equally well off. Sort yourself out and you'll just end up finding people who were as fucked up as you were a few years ago, if not worse, and there's nothing you can do for them, and you just feel like a lifeguard who's trying not to drown too. What's the point?

Why do I bother? I stopped drinking because I believed that it was contributing to my life problems. But here I am sober and nothing has changed. Be careful what you believe. I'm lucky that I have plenty enough personal reason to stop drinking, for myself. But go get ripped, who cares, you'll end up with someone who only likes you for that. Go make a lot of money, you'll attract Amber Heard.

We're sold a narrative that there's someone out there for everyone, but I'm not sure I really believe that anymore. Perhaps, more accurately, there is theoretically someone out there but that doesn't mean you'll find them. Again and again I take the bait. And again and again I regret it.

I will be happier living alone, I think. This feeling is different. I no longer feel like I'm left on the outside looking in. I don't want in anymore. I'll stay outside in the cold street, with a sky above me, probably overcast, maybe solemn blue, maybe rain, maybe oppressive light. I will stay aloof. More and more people around me will go on experiencing something that I am not allowed. I will not allow myself to get close enough to be alienated by this inevitable parting of ways with people, as they get married and I don't, as they have kids and start lives together and I don't.

I still have faith. But it's faith that I'm better off alone. Relationships never cease to make me miserable and be a waste of time, leading nowhere fast. I'm not giving up; I'm getting a fucking clue that I don't belong, I'm the black sheep, there's something wrong with me, I'm not allowed in. I'm not deserving of a good one and never will because... there's no real reason why. "It's just not in my make up. Take me home. Give me the means to fade away, and I will fade all in good grace, all on my own."

Unplug. I only like women's bodies. They have nothing else they want to give me.

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An endless whisper of flitting pages, the shapeshifting shelves are full of books with no words. And yet here these souls look endlessly for a meaning that only they can create. Here they seek answers which can only be found within themselves.