How to be Nothing 001
If only love were like a superhero that would come dashing to my rescue when I’m screaming at the top of my lungs. I want to be rescued from not having a reason to live. From this blanket of meaninglessness that covers every hour I’m awake.
Or, if there is a good reason to be alive, I’d like to be rescued from having no sense of what it could possibly be. All the shrinks and self help books couldn’t do it. I still wonder about love — since I don’t think I really know what it’s like to be loved.
I think when it comes to love, though, the more you scream for it, the more likely it will run in the other direction. Love has certain standards that it seems you have to meet before being rescued. Ie, not needing to be rescued. Ironic.
Am I worthy of love? Am I good enough? What if I’m just a shit person?
Society has two ways, that I’ve noticed, of dealing with shit people. It’s a little schizo about it.
Option one: Ignore it. Look the other way. Or even when the crimes are obvious, say, “She/he had no choice,” or “Everbody makes mistakes.” Instead of villifying them, exhonerate them, celebrate them. Crown them. Finally, learn how they got away with it and immitate them.
Option two: Cut them down while you can. Nip it in the bud. Never give them a break. Make sure once that person learns that they are bad, defective, and unwanted by society, never let them forget. Assume there’s no hope for them. Let them kill themselves, or do it for them.
Those who are more beautiful, relatable, or influential are the likeliest candidates for option one. I feel like if for some reason society ever came to judge me as a shit person, I’d only be able to afford the second option. Seems like a good enough reason to not let them think I’m a shit person.
I try to be good, I really do, but it seems like good is never good enough. Not good enough for love. Love still won’t come anywhere near me.
I’ve been in a couple of ridiculous, dumb relationships, all of which started long distance and culminated briefly after meeting in person. Those were the only types of relationships that were on the table for me. Even when I was younger and less ugly, my options were few and far between. I have been in love — desperately, intoxicatingly in love. I know how it feels to believe you’d die for somebody. But it’s never quite been two sided. Maybe people don’t take it as that much of a compliment when a crazy guy is in love with them.
Now I don’t even have friends. That’s weird.
I mean, it’s happened before. I was friendless at a few other times in my life. I just thought maybe it wouldn’t happen again. I was wrong.
Facebook, I loathe you. It’s not all your fault, I know, but I still do. I hate you because of the way you seem like a way out of this despair, but you’re not. Is it false advertising? Kind of but not really. You never promised me I would be loved. Or even liked.
Ahh, the Facebook ‘like’, the measure of a man. How I envy those people who upload a photo and get 100 likes. Or those people who get 10 likes. Yeah, they’re really rough competition for me. When I post a photo or a status update or a link to a video or some article that I think is super important for the world to see, usually my dear, beloved Facebook friends don’t give a dead rat’s crusty bum. If I get just one single ‘like’ from any of the fifty or so friends who can see my posts, that’s better than average. I guess the message I ultimately internalize is, “If I can’t even get likes, I’ll never be loved.”
I know, holy shit that’s a dumb conclusion to come to. But if you knew every other aspect of my life, you’d see how it makes sense in my head. Facebook and other social networks may not always be a fair representation of one’s satisfaction with life or the closeness of their social circle. With me, on the other hand, it’s pretty much dead on. I don’t get liked on Facebook, and I don’t get liked in real life. In the simplest terms possible.
Even people who’ve known me the longest — at least a few years — hardly ever message me. My friendship, if indeed it was once important to them, seems to have plummeted in stock value, and now nobody will invest any time in me. Nobody seems to miss me or want to tell me what’s going on in their lives. So it feels oddly obtrusive to hit them up now and just start prattling on about my life, assuming they still want to know about it. There are some people who I used to message regularly, then realized they would never message me first, and most of their contributions to the conversation were brief and impersonal. I tried backing off and giving them space to see what would happen. As predicted, months went by without hearing from them ever again. Am I just that uninteresting? What the fuck is wrong with my personality? You’d think talking to me was like doing taxes or something. Well, I’m sorry to anyone who’s ever thought so.
That leaves me in the familiar predicament I’m in now. On the internet, with a Firefox window open before me, wondering, “Should I even bother?”
Should I sign in to Facebook, to check for messages or notifications? To see if anyone thought about me for a second today? I’ll be honest, usually I get about a dozen notifications per day and they are all just telling me that someone has posted something in a group, or someone has also commented on… the same post as me?! It’s so exciting to get notifications like that. Don’t believe me, that was sarcasm. The best thing I guess that could happen is to get a message from someone that says they miss me. I don’t care who the hell it is, because I’ve already renounced the psychological sin of missing and wanting specific persons at specific times. It’s different when I do it because the chances of it being reciprocated are miniscule.
I don’t want to sit and stare at the screen and see who is online, and see that it’s just the usual handful of people who I don’t feel any real connection to. These people wouldn’t blink if I jumped in front of a train, would they? I’m afraid to message any of them and embrace the tidal wave of silence that comes back as they don’t respond. Are they busy? Are they ignoring me? Did they forget who I even am? Am I the only person on their friend list who messages them and then sits and waits for them to answer, because unlike them, I have nothing else to do?
I’m an embarassing caricature of a social outcast. I’m a lonely, friendless soul, a living and breathing abyss of neediness, who utilizes social media on the off chance that someone may end up ‘like’-ing him today, even if that ‘like’ means nothing in the real world. I have virtually no faith whatsoever that love will ever come rescue me, but if I’m still alive, that means I’m probably still waiting.
