This is a story about being alone...

Who do I turn to if I need to confide in somebody? Who will be nonjudgemental, accepting and supportive? Who will fight my corner and defend me? Who will help me to feel better if I'm attacked; bullied? Who's got my back?

My life fell apart, so what I have now is this blog. Here's where I come when I'm feeling hard-done-by. Here's where I come when I need somebody to listen to me. Here's where I come when I need a shoulder to cry on. Here's where I come when I need some love. I don't trust anybody else to be there for me when I need them. I've found myself all alone far too many times, so this blog is my safety net... it's my connection to the world.

I can't even write about what I want to write about. There are strings attached in my life. I have unwittingly agreed to a kind of contract where I pay an intangible price. There are expectations placed upon me and a kind of intrusion into my life that most people don't have in their adult lives. There's a certain amount of arse-kissing and ego massaging that I have to perform, seemingly in repayment of a debt that I didn't know I'd incurred. I have to watch my step; watch my words.

My blog is where I come when I'm hurting. Writing is what I do when I'm frustrated and angry, or insecure and upset. Without this outlet I don't know what I'd do, because I doubt I could have healthy relationships without being able to vent. The fact that I'm venting publicly is good - read if you're interested and don't if you're not. Writing publicly is important, because it means scrutiny. If I'm being an arsehole then everybody sees that I'm being an arsehole. If I'm making a fool out of myself, everybody sees that I'm making a fool out of myself. If I'm a horrible person, I've got nowhere to hide.

Important friendships have fallen into disrepair. I don't have regular healthy social contact. I don't have a big enough circle of friends. My life was profoundly dysfunctional, and it still needs a lot of work. I don't have anybody much who I'd pick up the phone to... and less so than ever before due to an event that affected a couple of friends.

I write at length about my distress, but I'm treated like I'm unaffected by anything. My instinct is to withdraw from life completely; to cut myself off. If you've got problems, I'll leave you alone. I'm just trying to survive in my little corner. I don't come and bother you, so don't make out like I'm a problem in your life. I'm just trying to cope in my own way, which boils down to pretty much just my writing. I've got an incredibly small footprint, when you think about it. I live mostly in complete isolation, and I'll keep it that way if it's so problematic for me to exist.

I think a lot about suicide. I think a lot about extracting myself. I think a lot about disappearing. It's not my mission in life to ruin anybody's day. I'm already feeling insecure enough. Sorry for existing.

I'm tired; so tired. You can't even imagine what it's like to lose your support network and have the very fabric of existence crumble around you. I have friends who I'm occasionally in contact with via messaging apps. Once a week or so I speak to friends. Compare that with the vast numbers of people you speak to at work and otherwise in your rich and varied existence. Compare my isolated existence with your own. I can go for whole weeks at a time without speaking to another person. I've lived my life out of a black holdall for longer than I care to remember. I never unpack. I never get settled. I can't remember what it's like to feel like I'm home and I can just relax - I'm always a guest; an interloper.

Exhaustion leads me to warped thinking. I imagine that the best I can manage to do is kill myself without making too much mess. I think about all the different ways I could kill myself, and what I could do in preparation to make it easier on those who'd have to deal with it. It's exhaustion that drives me to this. No matter how hard I work, it isn't good enough. I might as well give up.

I wonder about how far I am away from being able to live independently and regain my pride and self-esteem. I wonder how much stress and effort and time and money and energy it's going to take. I wonder if I can do it, or if it would be my final act before I hit the wall - I'm right at the limit. If you think I'm rushing things, you're wrong. Things have been shit. I'm trying to get away from intolerable and unsustainable situations. I want to collapse and not feel guilty about it. I need to collapse. You might not see the effort that's been put in, but that's your problem not mine. I couldn't write about my distress any more clearly than I have been doing. I couldn't communicate any more clearly.

I take constant risks. What will my girlfriend think if she reads this? How will this affect other relationships? Am I jeopardising the charity I receive? Of course, I've crossed a line that I didn't want to with regards to writing non-corporate-friendly stuff too. I'm risking this being read by some corporate drone intent on fucking me over.

I can't even care about that stuff. I'm at my wits end. I'm so close to making some breakthroughs, but there's still so much hard work to do. I can't cope with having to filter and self-censor. I can't cope with being all alone. I have to write. I have to confide and cope in the only way I know how. I have to get these feelings out of my head and down onto paper.

I'm not in a routine. I've not got anything to fall back on. The consequence of failure is destitution and death.

I'm random and I'm disjointed and I'm hard to follow. My writing is purposeless, but yet it seems to be causing a few ruffled feathers. You know what? Fuck you. My writing was here first and it'll be here long after you're gone. My blog is reliable, dependable - it gives me a sense of security. Fuck off and whinge to one of the many members of your extensive support network. Fuck off and meddle with somebody else. Fuck off and leave me alone. My blog is my consistent reliable friend, when I need one most.

What I write here might seem a little passive-aggressive, but here's where I work stuff out that would get worked out with my extensive social support network, if my life was all sorted and perfect, which it's not. I'm not going to have some kind of overnight transformation, because it would be impossible to instantly get all the things I need. What you're looking at is a work in progress. What you're peering into is the muddy water that hasn't cleared yet. If you want to judge me on this stuff, why don't you fuck off?

I don't know where this stuff's coming from and I don't know where it's directed. If you don't like it, don't read it - simple.

Tags: #writing