An all round loser

I am on my fourth cigarette this morning on an empty stomach. I don’t eat breakfast and for the last two months or so I haven’t even been able to make myself get up 5 minutes earlier to make myself a cup of coffee. Two on my way to the bus stop, two as I get off the bus and walk up to work.

Today I feel exceptionally shit. It’s raining, of course, it’s raining, when does it not fucking rain? It’s that disgustingly invasive type of rain, accompanied by strong winds, the type of rain that was made to ruin your day from the moment you open your eyes in the morning, the moment you see that your bedroom is a grey colour and you can’t tell what time of day it actually is and you can barely make out your own reflection in the mirror. The rain and cold seem to seep through every seam of this “waterproof” jacket my mother got me for my birthday two years ago. Loooove the thought, but if you knew my mother, you would know that buying clothing for her 29-year-old, loser, waste of space, still living with his mum son, is a way of her saying “maybe if you put even the slightest bit of effort in the way you cut about town, maybe, just maybe a female would notice you and you would finally get out of my hair”.

Don’t get me wrong, she loves me, she fucking loves me. Matter of fact I am the favourite child of three for both of my parents. Yes they have told me this and yes that might’ve fucked me up, even more, having these expectations dumped over my head.

That’s another thing that constantly makes me feel even more shitty. I wish I could live up to that. I wish I felt like I deserve her unconditional love and a stupid weatherproof jacket.

I open the front door at work and before I have even become aware of my surroundings, my ever-eager as fuck coworker Linda instantly drops the cloth she was wiping one of the tables with, to run over, hug me and screech “Helllloooooo Philip, how are ya? The weather isn’t treating us today, eh? But that’s fine, that means we’ll be busy as hell all day and it’s going to run past like that!”, she flicks her fingers. How is it humanly possible to say all of that in one breath, seriously?

“I’m okay, yeah.”, I reply in a tone of somebody on their deathbed while sporting my fakest customer service smile ever. Sometimes I try to imagine what do I actually look like when I do that. I also don’t understand where Linda gets the energy to be this hyped at 8am. Okay, we work in a coffee shop and caffeine is available to us at all times but she must use crack as sugar, honest to God.

I, however, have been living with self-diagnosed depression ever since I can remember myself. I strongly remember turning 12 and becoming aware of how much life sucks. It’s not unusual, you just get used to it and continue existing. But recently I feel like I’m carrying a dead body within myself.

“I’m going to nip out for a fag, Linda!” My hair hasn’t even fully dried from the last time I was outside but I cannot bare 5 more minutes of her going on about her holiday without filling my lungs with the thick and warm cloud of poison, I have already chewed both sides of the insides of my cheeks. We get it Linda, you’ve got more serotonin than the average person.

Before I light the cigarette I lick my hand and smell it to check my breath to maybe try and smell the dead thing inside of me. Nah. All I can smell is the half bottle of “bedtime rum” from last night.

I have been trying to poison and starve the thing inside of me. That’s my excuse. It’s not a form of self-harm. That’s for cowards. Yeah, I’m not sure if it’s my ego or my unhealthy sense of responsibility for everyone else in my life but I can’t even kill myself. Suffering and not doing anything about it is much more hardcore, right?

Might as well spark up another one.

A month ago I did think I would get out of this more depressed than usual spell. I met a female whose company didn’t annoy the living shit out of me, a female who also hated small talk, liked dirty jokes, and serial killer documentaries. I was so excited to finally be fixed by somebody else. I put expectations on her, I had already imagined our wedding and our children who would be so beautiful they would be offered to star in “Huggies” adverts from the day they were born.

Being the self-centered mess that I am, I ruined it. I tried to be truthful about how I feel because I am so tired of playing games with people but I think I just came across as waaay too much. Why can’t it just be quick and easy? I told her I really liked her, I liked spending time together, I planned dates way ahead of time “Oh we should go do this, we should go and see this!” I was so desperate to share and feel love that I guess it creeped the hell out of her. Her text messages became more abrupt, she became more and more passive, I could feel her fading and the warmth she had brought in my soul in such little amount of time, slowly turned in a puddle of blueish-grey, cold mud from which my parasitic twin, who’s spreading within me, was born.

I feel like an utter idiot. I want to just forget it like a dream in which you’re naked in front of your Geography class and everyone is laughing at you. I want to forget it and never talk to anyone ever again and die alone. I also miss her and when I see something that reminds me of her like someone walking a greyhound which is her favourite breed of dog, or when every song on my playlist is our song, or a customer has the same name as her I feel the dead thing punch my gut. I want to ask her what is wrong with me, I want her to give me a review so I can be exactly how she likes.

I walk back inside and text her something about the weather and now every time my phone lights up I perk up hoping it’s her and that gives today the tiniest bit of excitement. She doesn’t text back, of course, but that doesn’t make me stop sending her a text every morning now...