What the hell happened to me?

I never thought I’d find myself back here. And by here, I mean on this particular blog in this particular state of mind typing yet another depressing and emotionally-driven rant about how much life sucks just to get it out of my system.

Did I think I was ever past this point in my life? A part of me was hoping so, but the hard reality of the truth told me otherwise. Unfortunately, this is who I am. I’m not very social, though I’m told I’m a great conversationalist. I can’t (or won’t, depending on who you talk to) do anything that would get me out of this rut. Why? Fear or laziness. You pick, because whatever reason I can give you won’t be good enough for you. And so on and so on.

A vicious cycle of the same thoughts over and over again. When they say things come around in a full circle, they forget that the motion of the circle doesn’t stop. It keeps going until there is a break in the cycle. And, yes, this cycle needs a break. A break so big that it completely destroys it.

So what have I been doing since I last posted on this blog?

Well, it’s clearly been over a year since I made the choice to go to SCAD. Sadly, I’m not there enjoying myself and attempting to get a Masters in Interactive Media Design. Why?

Well, this past February something happened to me that landed me in the ER. My balanced mysteriously turned off in the middle of work, and on the ride home I ended up getting a severe case of motion-sickness. Which triggered a panic attack, which is how I ended up in the hospital. I was given several prescription pills to deal with all of those symptoms, all of which would knock me out cold if I ended up taking them together. Which happened at least once because that’s just how the time table synced up. Needless to say, I was incapable of working, so I took the month off.

Nobody found out what was wrong with me. Instead, I had to pay off a medical bill somewhere in the $1200 range. Most of them were processed by my employee insurance, of which I was under for only a month before this happened, but I’m still getting some of the bills to this day. The most recent one took seven months to process. In a fit of frustration of just seeing the bill, I decided to pay off the whole thing in full by any means I could.

During my time off, I was thinking about SCAD and how much that school costs. Now, granted that the only debt I’ve occurred is my undergrad student loans, which totals out to around $30,000 for the five years it took me to get my BFA. Of that, I’ve paid back around $1,500+ (give or take $350 a month plus interest). SCAD costs $30,000+ a year, and the idea of going into debt even further scares the shit out of me. It’s one of the reasons why I don’t have a credit card.

Needless to say, money’s been on my mind for the last half-year. With the recession hitting my wallet, I’m also finding myself dipping into my savings more and more just to pay off my loans. Going to college would stop the monthly payments to some degree, sure. But it also means the loans would get bigger in the process.

The other thing that’s been on my mind that has been contributing to my depression is the fact that I’m 27 now and have essentially done nothing with my life. I’ve discovered that because of the four years of emotional trauma I call “high school” that my world view is several years younger than where it should be. When I graduated high school, I was told I had the mentality of an immature 16 year hold. These days, I’m finding out that I’m as naïve as your average 20 year old. I mean, I just had health insurance explained to me by my sister, and she turns 25 in a few weeks! How pathetic am I that at my age I didn’t know how insurance work?

And people expect me to get a driver’s license?

I’m messed up. The polite term would be to call me “damaged goods.” But there’s no escaping the truth of the matter.

I’ve graduated college, sure, but I’m working a minimum wage job in a field completely unrelated to what I studied. I haven’t produced any real art in the last two years since I graduated. All I’ve done is indulge my God complex by playing video games that allow me to control the fate of a digital avatar. A character that I’ve subconsciously projected myself in to, so that I can be that successful painter that lives on the beach and can sell his works for thousands of dollars at the local consignment store. A simulation where I can play out some of my fantasies right before my eyes, because that’s how the game works.

It seems both ironic and karamatic (if there is such a word) that my thesis was on escapism. During my public presentation, the question was posed to me of if I felt that my knowledge of this kind of escapism could put me at risk of developing the habit. At the time, I claimed I was in the control. I guess that was just part of the denial phase. I know now that I’m not in control and that I use these things to help me feel happy because I’m completely dissatisfied with reality. With MY reality.

I’m 27, a graduate in the study of fine art, a minimum-wage worker, a video game escapist, and a habitual viewer of porn. I have a trunk of things I’m ashamed to share with the world but yet open on a monthly basis so I could use them to help me feel happy. I have a dog whose companionship can’t give me the feeling of love and affection my psyche needs. I’m starting to feel like I can’t talk to people anymore because I don’t know how to approach them.

I want people to find me interesting, but I’m not interesting at all. I’m not even physically attractive enough to get beyond the daily comments of how beautiful my long hair is. I don’t even take care of my hair, and yet every woman that sees it falls in love with it! I wonder what happens if I take that approach with life and just stop trying. Maybe then things will get better.