It is time to call so many spades by their name. Any life that would allow me to linger in a state of major depression, do so much to keep me there, and solicit so little assistance, is a terrible sham that needs to be smashed apart immediately, regardless of consequence. It is a lie in which I have allowed myself to pursue connections with people that are as fake as any people I've experienced in my life.
In music, I surrounded myself with musicians who, frankly, weren't very good, but I thought that by surrendering any idea of musical quality, I could buy myself friendships and fun, but when they saw that I had organizational flaws, they simply left me to rot. There hasn't even been so much as a checkin from any of them to see how I'm doing. Now, the mediocre musical sub-scene that I worked so hard to help build is "flourishing" without me - concerts every week, everywhere - and they clearly find it more convenient to not have me around and they clearly don't give a shit about what's happened to me, long as the party I helped them throw keeps going. The one thing I can hold over them is that I know exactly what great music sounds like, and it doesn't sound like anything we made. Perhaps some of them have delusions about the musical quality of their work, our work, but I'm not going to contribute to those delusions any longer.
Like an Alzheimer's Patient, I have allowed myself to fall in love, again and again, with women who could not possibly love me (what women, though, could?). One, when she realized it, dropped me from her social life like a hot potato. She plays the loving earth-mother, but she's really just another social climber who would appear to have ditched me when I could not maintain control of my emotions. She might as well live in DC with the ethics with which she conducted, and seems to have ended, our friendship. I don't blame her or any other woman for ending a friendship over this issue, I blame her for presenting herself as a better, more ethical, more understanding, type of person than she now seems to be.
Another, when she realized it, has simply played a year-long game where she's continually used me for the kind of sexual teasing that gratifies her ego without taking responsibility for how much she might hurt the person she's using - and like the self-loather that I am, I've utterly let her. She's either immature and dense beyond any hope or a horrible manipulator. But what does it say about me that I keep coming back for more?
Earlier this year, I allowed myself into a relationship, my first ever at thirty-two fucking years old, with a woman for whom the term 'emotional abuse' has no meaning at all if what she did was not exactly that. Continual anger over every last organizational mistake I ever made, which she never ceased to take a kind of angry delight in pointing out. This was coupled with what would appear to have been an absolutely pathological need to think she should be able to 'fix' everything about the broken men she always pursues, and then using the fact that she inevitably can't fix us as an excuse to destroy them emotionally, and holding the most unbelievably narcissistic double standards in her behavior. She was not without her redeeming qualities, and could be quite caring at the right moment - all the better to use the intimacy of a few minutes previously for her to claim what a monster I was a few minutes later. I blame no one but myself for ever having allowed myself to be in this relationship. I did it because I was, and remain, lonely beyond anything, and I allowed a woman I knew was utterly wrong for me to be the most important thing in my life. After it was done, I began an attempt to pursue a friendship with her and invited her to a party, only to hear her talking shit about me in my kitchen. I spent the rest of the party trying to disguise the fact that I was experiencing a terrible panic attack. As ever, I have never had a sexual relationship about which I did not come to feel overwhelming regret.
I live in an apartment building in which my scarily imbalanced landlord lives directly upstairs from me. He is a right-wing conspiracy theorist who once tried to evict me over a twenty-five dollar dispute, and he's now moved directly upstairs with his five sons and wife. The gun I found just lying around our basement may or may not have been a toy.
Even if I wanted to find work or even compose or work on the play I was working on, I am unable to hold any kind of work for the last while except to write about how terrible I feel, and have to sit in my apartment while the banging from his children's hyperactivity makes head-splitting noise against my ceiling at night, and workers continually use power tools on their apartment during the day; both continually, inexorably, boring into whatever sanity I worked so hard to retain since moving to Baltimore. My lease is up in a month, but how can I possibly sustain the mental presence of mind for a move? I worry that moving back into my parents' house is imminent, and with it all the agonies of the same old fights with my father as ever before.
I'm sure a less difficult, less quick to be depressed, person would have nothing like this trouble - which is utterly self-fulfilling, but what can I possibly do about it? We all rely on our social safety net to shield us from the worst, but when your own weaknesses remove the safety net, there is nothing at all to prevent a free fall into agony, agony which will continually be my family's burden to shoulder.
Life was so seemingly tolerable three months ago. I woke up this summer and realized that all my dreams had turned to dust, and that's ok - incredibly relieving even - because for once, my life is tolerable, and and I have no right to ask for anything more. And yet, even tolerability has proven far too much to ask of life. There is depression, and only depression, only mental suffering, only inner horror, all the days of my life. The moment you let your guard down and think things will finally get better is the moment that everything in your life comes crashing down without you being able to do a thing about it. Events completely beyond your control give you nothing but mental torture.
No one has any reason to worry about the continual deterioration of my mental state - living on to complain loudly about my misery is my way, not self-harm. And even if they did, it's too late for me to solicit their approval. I do not approve of the values of such people that would let me fall through the cracks like this - anyone who would allow an alleged friend to fall to such an ignominious state is no friend at all. It is time to smash everything in my life up, and even if things get worse in the meantime, it is unacceptable to maintain the status quo.