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Graveyard Shift Confessions: I put K-Roll to shame and probably get myself banned from here

Now I just want to clarify that I don't want to get myself banned from here and I'm not trying to say that I actively hate any particular group of people or any particular group or organization associated with Gawker Media. I love all the people here so I don't want to single them out, or throw any vitriol towards them, or even make them think they're wrong for a second. But, I'm going to share some heavy stuff here and I wouldn't be surprise if it results in my universal Kinja posting privileges being revoked, or even worse. And I'm going to tell you upfront right here: it even includes the possibility of no longer being alive. Something that right now I don't mind. Hell it might even be good for society. Something I've been looking forward to for a very large chunk of my life, even you can say most of my life.

Now before you go on and call the suicide helplines, read the whole thing (it's very long, so apologies in advance), because I know I just worded that exactly as a suicide note but I do not plan on killing or harming myself in any way, let alone harming others. I've made it through a few decades pretty ok so I'm pretty sure I can continue on.


First of all I've written quite a few write-ups that made it to the FP, and even more that didn't but made Best of OppoLock or received almost universally good comments, so I'd like to know how I'm doing. Could I use a little refinement in my writing style? What do I need to improve? Any attitude adjustments? I'd like to know how I can be more fair to the community and to everyone, FP staff, commentators etc.

Anyway I might as well get to my point and talk about what started all this. So I read this article (yes it's a Jezebel article as you can see). I can't say I'm very happy about it. I know, I know, here comes a wave of boo-hoos and grow ups and I should check my white male privilege (except I'm not white so there). I just honestly feel very sick and tired of feeling marginalized for being male, and expecting to take it and like it precisely because I'm a male. This is in no way an indictment against Jezebel - I very sincerely hope you ladies keep doing what you're doing and fight the good fight - but I feel like I'm being told that I should take a mallet and use it to keep hitting my penis until it tears off (and I'm very tempted to actually do that, for real). But I suppose I should introduce some background to that, because it's an issue more complicated than "I read an article on a Gawker site and it makes me so mad I want to rage-quit life itself." Because - and it doesn't excuse Nick for being a fucking creeper, but - it fucking sucks when you're on the receiving end of it, which has happened to be more than once.


I don't know if I'm old, but I do feel old. I can honestly say that I've been around for "decades." I still live with my parents for far way too long and I'm one of those over-educated Millennial dipwad societal sponges who would probably add more value to society by simply expiring. If you can imagine the biggest embarrassment of a human being, an embarrassment towards being alive itself, I'd be it.

I haven't had much in the way of a girlfriend because, well, I already went over how pathetic I am (yes it's going to be another one of those whiny FEELS "why don't I have a girlfriend boo-hoo" posts). For as long as I can remember - literally - I've felt a compulsion towards sex. As young as five years old I've wanted to have sex with the opposite gender, and if that sounds fucked up, it should. Given both that and how extremely socially awkward I am, it's basically been a constant living hell. Yes, despite my hyper-sexuality I'm still a virgin - I know this is embarrassing but at this point I really don't care, and when one dies one won't be in a position to care about it anyway, so I don't think it even matters. Relatively recently, just two years ago, I finally got my first girlfriend. On our first date the warning signs were there but I was too desperate to acknowledge them - she's a total unapologetic alcoholic. Other than the first time we met and (most of) our first date I've never known a second - literally, every second - where she wasn't drunk. She would be constantly drinking vodka, rum, you name it out of whatever container happened to be convenient and most innocuous-looking out of whatever was available. Still I loved her, really cared for her, and I tried to make it work. I guess even I had certain limits, there was a point in our relationship where I felt trapped, but I didn't want to lose her. Eventually we broke up because I had shit for money and I couldn't afford to take her to actual nice places, and yes, I kept making the alcoholism an issue. Either way, I tried but I guess I could try harder, but at that point some stuff happened. I still very much deeply miss her though. Yeah if that makes me a crazy stalker I guess I'm guilty as charged, so sue me.


Anyway that "some stuff happened" was cancer. Yes I'm a legit cancer survivor. I'll go ahead and tell you what kind of cancer: testicular cancer. Yes, the most embarrassing of all cancers, the one they don't write books about. Hooray, I'm half a man now. Given my shit-for-luck life I'm not surprised. So yeah, I got diagnosed with testicular cancer the same time I broke up with my alcoholic ex. From what they told me it was pretty damn big (the tumor was 2/3s the size of the testicle itself) and they figure removed just before it started to spread. Honestly I wish it did spread, though. The happiest time of my life was when I was bed-ridden during the chemo and people actually got to leave me the fuck alone. I hate to say it but I kind of wish I'd get cancer again so I can just lie in bed all day again and not have to worry about school or work or actually living and instead just get to watch Disney Channel shows and read girly teen books all day and live an ultra-idealized version of life in my head.

I also want to give a little bit of background on my ex too. There's a specific reason why she became an alcoholic - she was raped, twice, before the age of 16. Or I should say she was raped by two different people. The first one was from an extended and needless to say very inappropriate relationship where she was taken advantage of, and the second was actually from a gang-rape from a group of girls (yes, female-on-female gang rape) she was more or less forced to be around as the culmination of an extended harassment and bullying campaign. Ever since then alcohol and rape has pretty much been a central focus of her life. What do I mean by that? She would say things in semi-lucid conversation and let things slip about going to raves and letting random strangers grope her in exchange for booze or drugs, or drink until she literally passes out on the floor and let people grope her while unconscious. As I posted here, she once woke up completely naked in some guy's bathtub with said guy standing over her assuring her that he didn't rape her. And she bought it.


So yeah, I'm with the Jezebel guys (well, gals...ladies...women, whatever label they prefer) when it comes to women's rights. I've also made a few friends at some of the writing communities who are members of GroupThink and such, though I guess "friends" is pretty loose since I've only posted once or twice in those communities so far.

But anyway, needless to say my life hasn't been fun. Privileged? Maybe, but if I'm writing this in the first place then obviously something's off. I haven't had a real girlfriend since and I've been unable to get a date much (I've tried OkCupid and my experience with that has been pretty horrific, the enclosed link really tells you all you need to know), other than with someone who I found out was potentially even more crazy than my ex. I guess I just have that kind of luck or attraction, or whatever. Or maybe I'm just a total worthless shitbag who doesn't deserve anything. I suppose I'm going to get a lot of things coming my way about how if everyone's an asshole then I must be the real asshole, or boo-hoo, grow up, but at this point I really don't give a fuck. My point is, it's been extremely frustrating and the message I keep receiving is that it's well-deserved frustration, that I deserve to be alone and miserable for the rest of my life. Who am I to fight against the wills of society?


There's another issue too - I'm honestly wondering if my loneliness or my desire to have a girlfriend is masking another issue. I've struggled with gender identity issues all my life and I think the cancer and the messages that I don't deserve to have a girlfriend as signs that maybe it's time to undergo a sex change and become a woman myself. Maybe one of the reasons why I'm so obsessed with women is simply because I want to become one, and the expression of strong heterosexuality (likely too strong) is just an outward expression of my gender frustrations. I've already lost one testicle so I might as well finish God's work. As far as I'm concerned I think I can forgo the psychiatric counseling and treatment - obviously something's wrong and I don't need an overpaid shrink to tell me the obvious. I'm already just half a man, I might as well discard the other half, and hope that it'll make me happier. It's brought me nothing but extreme unhappiness all my life anyway, to the point where I'm wondering if non-existence is in fact happier. In fact, I'm extremely certain it is. The absence of feeling has to be better than feeling shitty. And I don't care if people all over the world has it worse than me, a shittier situation doesn't make a not as shitty situation any less shitty.


While I'm bitching and descending down this public road of madness I might as well share how frustrating this year has been so far too. Goddamn 2014 has been extremely shitty. I'm studying to become a teacher now but I feel like there are too many roadblocks. My first semester of student teaching has been especially frustrating and stressful. I know this is going to sound very stupid but the Broncos losing the Super Bowl was probably the tipping point. I'm also a major Giants fan (Big Blue Wrecking Crew forever!) and when Pat Brady set the NFL record for most losses to Eli in the Super Bowl I was euphoric at a very critical moment of my life (I was just starting my relationship with the ex I described above, among other things). I was hoping the Broncos winning would do the same - but no, they had to go and freakin' embarrass themselves to such a degree I honestly think it set the tone for the rest of the shitty year to come (and I feel so embarrassed I flat out want to leave the state - though there are some things about this country that make me wonder if I might be better off in Europe or even China). Early February was especially stressful as I was still trying to adjust to student teaching and I had a particularly awful professor in a class that is not only required to take for my program, but this singular, truly awful professor is the only one who instructs the class, so I'm stuck. I told her that I was under a lot of stress, that I felt like I was falling behind, and that I think I should drop her class and maybe take it another time - and that's exactly what I did. However, she seems intent on blocking my efforts to re-enroll in this class, which effectively means I'll have to drop out of the program. Never in my whole life have I met such a loathsome "educator" who felt it was her place to selectively judge and pass/fail her students, to embarrass her students for trying to ask questions to keep up with the rest of the class, and just be an awful person. I'm not the only one to think this as her class has a high drop-out rate even for students who perform academically well otherwise, and even other faculty have had problems with her (but she's tenured, which means I probably have to wait for the old bat to retire). I'm not even sure I want to be an educator, it's just something I decided on because I was desperate for a career and I figure that's the only career path realistically available to me (those who can't do, teach, after all). Except I guess not even that is an option so I guess I'm screwed.

Sometimes I really do wonder if the universe itself is conspiring to see if I can kill myself. I don't believe in a God, but I sure as hell do believe in Satan, and I don't need to believe in Hell because if you ask me existence itself is Hell. If there really was a God, why would there be suffering in the first place? Why would man (or woman) feel compelled to want to kill his or her fellow man or woman in turn? Why does suffering even exist? That's not Free Will, that's, as far as I'm concerned, an omnipotent being exercising his power to be a sadist to literally everything that exists. That's, as far as I'm concerned, quite literally the greatest evil conceivable. Therefore I make no distinction between God and Satan - as far as I'm concerned God's doing a bang-up job of being the greatest evil as it is. Anyway, even when I'm trying to write this stupid thing my wireless cut out, so I had to go down to the fucking library to finish it. This is just another shred of the piling evidence that is starting to make me wonder. Am I in a Matrix-style shadowplay, and am I being tested to see if I can figure it out and escape? Am I being held in some sort of weird limbo between comfort and torture to see when I can recognize things will go wrong, when I have to make a move or will I be too comfortable in my privilege and misery to make a move? And what is escape? Is it suicide, or is it merely to see how long it will take for me to die of natural causes, to see if I will stick it out or not? But I guess I'm getting too Detective Rustin Chole for this. And yes, I love that show. Maybe a bit too much.


Anyway, I want to emphasize that this is not a suicide note, so I beg you to not try to call for the suicide help lines and tell them that I'm going to off myself. I won't trust me. Besides, it'll only cause unnecessary undue panic to my family, who at this point honestly believe that psychiatric help is a sham (yes, they're a bit like Scientologists like that) and believe that depression and other mental diseases are products of a vast left-wing conspiracy. I did seek indepent psychiatric help at a campus I used to attend, and when my parents found out they required that I un-enroll from there and enroll at a different campus. That's been their attitude all my life, and I've tried to follow their recommendation and keep things bottled up, but after a while I just don't know what to do (hence my prone habit of spilling everything). They think they're great at teaching me how to deal with frustration but they've done shit (to this day the best way I can deal with personal frustration is break things and yell out the worst things I can say off the top of my head), and to be honest with you sometimes I wonder if they aren't lousy parents, lousy to the point where I wonder if I should've been pulled by child services decades ago if they had known, but they're my parents, I love them, and I'm stuck with them. I'm extremely strongly convinced that my mom has severe mental health issues herself, but nobody in my family other than myself even wants to acknowledge the existence of mental health issues in any context, personal or nationally.


Anyway, I suppose this is just thinking aloud. I give you my word that I'll be around for a good bit. I just wanted to tell my story, and here it is. I suppose if you've made it this far, well, I've probably just publicly humiliated myself bring a lot of calls to grow up and quit my boo-hooing and this will probably be the stuff of Encyclopedia Dramatica but meh, when we all die we won't be in a position to care about what stupid stuff we left on the net anyway. Not that I intend to die anytime soon. But if society thinks it's better off without me, then I guess I have a moral obligation to comply, and find some means of going away. Or maybe I'll just get lucky and get cancer again.

But like I said, I've made it this far, I think I'll be ok.

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