I’m not entirely sure I want anyone to read these posts.
Why do I do them? Is it because of the stigma regarding depression? Is it to expose the happy young man for the chronic depressive that he really is? Is it a cry for attention? Is it a cry of desperation?
My biggest worry about this experiment is that whoever is reading this will laugh at me. That they won’t understand the overweight man-boy with the overactive emotions that he can’t completely control.
If any of my ex’s ever read this, they’ll be thankful that they dodged a bullet. If any of my friends read this, I’m sure they’d just be sad. If my mum read this, I’m not entirely sure she’d be able to reconcile the boy that she sees with the things that I’ve written. Maybe they’re all just skimming through these pages to see if they’ve rated a mention.
I try so hard to put myself out there, to open my heart and love. But my biggest fear is of being rejected. I spend so much time telling myself that I will get rejected, to try and lessen the sting if I am rejected.
Sometimes I worry about rejection so much that I don’t even try. Easier to not try and believe you’ll be rejected, than to actually try and confirm the rejection.
This trip has brought out the worst emotions in me.
Why write so much while I’m here? Trips alone can be great but they also bring out the worst.
I got here, I was excited. I wanted to share that excitement with someone. I ran into hiccups while travelling, and I wanted to share my frustrations with someone. I get into the office, and I had no idea what I was doing, so I wish I had someone to share my anxiety with. The weekend was fun, I wish I could tell someone about it. This week terrifies me, why can’t I have someone to share my feelings with. A good afternoon, where’s someone to share my experience with? Fuck, why can’t I just have someone to share my life with? It’s not just about the sex, either. Fuck, if it was just about the sex, I would have taken up the guy who offered me a woman for AU$100 for the night. Jesus. No intimacy, poor girl and nothing worth it. I wondered afterwards if there was some way could have paid the guy and recused the girl, send her to the airport to find a better life. God, people suck sometimes. No, it’s not about the sex. It’s about finding a connection, finding someone with whom you click with so much that everyone else doesn’t matter. Give me home on the couch watching TV with the one I love any day over crazy ‘excitement’. I’m an old man trapped in a young man’s body. An ugly young man, but still. And not one of those creepy old men that are over here, complaining that they can’t yell at women on the street back in Australia and tell them that they’re hot (ie not so subtly throwing it out there that they want to have sex with the poor harassed woman.)
Update from the shower – goddamn, I am a fat bitch. I am so fucking overweight, it’s disgusting. I realise that in the past 10 years of being fat, I have only been with one person. Only slept with one person. One girl has been the only one unfortunate enough to see me fat and naked. Jesus, no wonder she cheated. If I was dating me, and someone hot came along and offered themselves, who wouldn’t forget the giant pig they were dating? Fuck, it’s why people go on holidays, right? To forget the bullshit they have at home? It would be like getting away from The Blob. No-one thinks of escaping the gelatinous mass that is the Blob and thinks of how warm and squishy it was, and actually it was quite relaxing not having to worry about breathing because they were being crushed on all sides. She’s probably thinking “Wow, I had forgotten that penises usually aren’t covered by a fast stomach and encased in giant sausage thighs”. Good on her for putting up with me for so long. It’s amazing how many people will tell you you’re a nice guy when you’re depressed, and hoe many of those people are happily married. So, 100%. No-one single tells you you’re a wonderful guy, because, fuck, you might actually imagine they had a thing for you, and no single woman wants to have to deal with The Blob. Better to kill it with fire.
Set up a charity “Supporting Tiny Girls Who Date Fat Fucks”. No, literally support. They buy scaffolding and trestles so the girls aren’t crushed to death when they have sex with the guys.
I wonder if I ended up getting hot again, would I lose all my comedy material, considering so much of it is about how fat I am? It’s alright, I can still dip into how I’m a loser and still live at home.
Last time I did RAW, I was told that my lesbian joke was offensive (I remark how people keep telling me I look like a lesbian, so apparently getting compared to me is offensive), and to stop being self deprecating. I suppose no-one wants a sad clown.
Feel free to leave a comment below about your experiences with fat people. *sigh* Have you always been scared of them, or was it after a scary train ride pressed against the stomach of a sweating businessman that they became the thing of nightmares for you? I’m listening, caller.