ninety percent of the time, i’m alone. this weekend i spent so much time playing a video game wherein i’m a farmer. it was this constant repetition–wake up, feed the animals, gather eggs, milk the cows and goats, then hop on my horse and harvest crops. by the time i was done it was about noon, game time, so i’d go off and fish or head into the mines to gather ore and defeat little slime monsters. i did this for my entire weekend. and i feel bad about it. and since i felt bad about it, i justified eating a load of junk food. a load. like i can put away a ton of junk food. and the thing is, when i do i gain some weight, sure, but it never looks like i’m overweight, so it doesn’t look like anything bad’s happening. since i can’t see anything, i keep going. it’s bad. it’s real bad. and then i feel bad for doing it and it’s this big long shame spiral. the worst is that i did so well. so well! for a whole week i was counting calories and hitting my mark and everything. then on saturday i decided i needed to “refeed,” or eat more calories on purpose to jumpstart my metabolism, blah blah blah, i ate everything in the universe.
but i spend so much of my time alone that i honestly don’t know what to do when i have someone who wants to be with me. i feel like fucking quasimodo or some shit. it’s like, why would you want to be with me, i literally can spend eight hours of my life pretending to be a farmer in a video game. now you come over and you want to do things, you want to be near me, you find what i say interesting. feels like a bubble waiting to pop. where’s the end, you know? i feel like an impostor around you, like i’m trying to be something i’m not. the truth is, i’m alone. a lot. and i’d like to be alone with you, if that’s something you’re interested in. and sometimes i want to be alone with you in the woods, and sometimes i want to be alone with you in a house where i play a video game for eight hours and you are there, doing your own work, creating your own things. playing your own video games. so if you’re the type who wants to run around outside constantly, i don’t know if i can give you that.
god, now i know why i’m alone, because i’m insufferable. i’m sorry. i’m an insufferable mess. i’m so nuanced with my needs and wants that i’ll never find any woman who will be able to satisfy all of them. you should probably go. you don’t want to be with a guy like me. i’m sad half the time, the other half i’m struggling to be content. i’m always quiet, i’m constantly writing or playing video games. yeah i’m fun in a crowd but it’s always so draining on me, plus lately i’ve been feeling alone even within a crowd, even among my own friends! how depressing. imagine dating me and having to deal with that shit. i’ll be fine for a couple weeks but once the infatuation wears off, i’ll be all moody because i don’t have this urge to recover my dopamine levels; instead i just wallow in self-pity. you should go, before i reveal myself to be even more of a wreck. plenty of fish in the sea, right? and i’m a fucking sea cucumber or something equally gross.
please, i know my neuroticism can be kind of funny but i’m not being funny right now. i’m wallowing in depression. festering in it. i’m like the hull of a ship bedecked with ancient barnacles too old to scrape off. i have dry skin and the flakes are depression. i sneeze and my snot is depression. i take a shit and that’s depression falling out of my asshole. you don’t want this. look at me for chrissakes, wrapped in an old sleeping bag because i can barely get out of bed. this is not the person for you, i promise. doesn’t matter what i create, it’s not worth your time, okay? no self-respecting woman would ever waste her time with a guy like me. and you are self-respecting. i see it in your face, in the kindness of your eyes. that’s the trap, you know. you are self-respecting and you’re kind and you’re generous, so i see it, that deep-seated desire to help me. but you can’t, and you shouldn’t. you should leave right now, just leave me be and move on. nothing good will come of you staying here. nothing.