Writing this has been more for myself than for anyone else…

I’m 25 years old and often ask myself why I keep on going.   I am a social failure.  I have a horrible time keeping new friends or lovers, and the ones who actually do want to be friends/lovers with me bore me to no end.  This does not mean that I find myself disliking anyone who likes me automatically, but, coincidentally, virtually everyone who I like dislikes me and many of the people I dislike like me.

Even my old friends, or the people I used to think were my friends, seem to want nothing to do with me.   I only talk to my parents a couple times a month, usually very briefly, and they are the people to whom I speak the most.

The world truly depresses me with its dog-eat-dog mentality.  Everyone just looks out for them and theirs, and I am not among anyone’s.  Man is destroying the earth, and most people don’t care.   I am unemployed and barely apply for jobs because I’m so used to rejection and, honestly, I’m sick of trying to be “competitive”.  I have an honorable discharge from the US military after serving for four years, and I have a bachelor’s degree in psychology, and I still can’t find a fucking entry level position at any place better than Burger King, or even get a goddamned callback.  I wish I could say I cared enough to keep at it, but I don’t, even though spending ANY money is obscenely depressing for me knowing that I don’t have a lot of income.

This wouldn’t be so bad, of course, were I not lacking for friends.   I don’t know what it is, I just seem to lack the capability to make and keep friends.  I stopped trying to overanalyze it years ago.  I am a relatively nice guy, not exactly a saint but very compassionate and empathetic.  I am good looking and in good shape, generally charming, not deformed or retarded, and I don’t have bad hygiene.  In addition, I have passable social skills, or at least I think I do, so I don’t get why this is so hard for me.

And of course I can’t talk about this to anyone.   Between one person and another, I’ve revealed just about everything about myself to other people.  But I just can’t talk about this.  I guess it’s pride, but I don’t see it changing barring some ego-dissolution on my part, possibly drug related.

No one would really be affected if I died.  My “friends” and most of my relatives would be like “oh, damn, that’s fucked up…”   Some of them MAYBE (and I mean maybe) might be pretty sad for a few days, but they would all get over it.  No one relies on me for anything, and virtually none of them can be bothered to even make efforts to contact me, let alone hang out with me.   And it’s not for a want of effort on my part.  It’s just that, after a while, I don’t see the point of making someone a priority in my life if I’m barely a blip on their radar.

My siblings and my aunt would probably be pretty sad, but again, they’d get over it soon enough.  I talk to most of them a couple times a year, if that.   Family gatherings might be slightly melancholy, but the other 99% of their year would remain virtually unchanged.

My parents, unsurprisingly, would take it harder than anyone else.  And, for all their faults as people and as parents, I certainly don’t want to cause them grief.   But they’re rather old now and in poor health, and neither of them have long lives ahead of them, especially my mother.   Also, my parents are very well off, and I have six other siblings, so the chance of them actually needing ME to be there is unlikely in any event.

But forget all this: the question is, should anyone, as a human being, be expected to live a life of misery just to delay or reduce the grief in other people’s lives, ESPECIALLY when those people do not rely on us for anything?   And can suicide always be seen as selfish when generally it’s the selfishness of one’s friends and family that cause someone to want to kill themselves?

My suicidal feelings come and go, as they have for half my life. I’m not sure I am going to kill myself but the thought sure is tempting.  I’m don’t know what I’m hanging on for… a vague hope in the future, I guess.   Or should I say, a vague dream based on no substantial evidence.  How can I expect things to get better if this is how my life has always been?  Alone and lonely: sometimes less so, but always coming back to this baseline, this miserable and awful baseline which has become a despairingly familiar home…