I have just got back from performing at the Edinburgh Fringe and am feeling a bit deflated. Returning home has made me think about how nothing I do actually matters, and I guess I always feel a bit empty after finishing something that essentially has no purpose. I have a similar existential crisis whenever I finish watching an episode of First Dates. The only thing the hours I’ve spent watching that show have achieved is to bring me closer to death and further away from the hope that I could ever truly connect with another human being.
Towards the end I was quite excited about coming back home as in Edinburgh you can feel a bit isolated from what’s going on; you’re trapped in this giant bubble filled with narcissists –a kind of Big Brother for people too pretentious to have ever watched Big Brother. When I was waiting at the train station before I left, I really needed to urinate but there was a 30p charge to use the toilet; which was a problem for me as I’d promised myself a few years back that that the only way I’d ever pay to take a piss is if it was on Piers Morgan’s smug, disgusting face. The urge to go was becoming unbearable and so eventually I just got my dick out and pissed up against the barrier, while exclaiming, “here’s what I think of your 30p charge.” It was out of character for me, but I have very few opportunities to stand up against authority in my life.*
I’ve been trying to motivate myself to do more stuff over the last days, as being more productive stops me from worrying too much about the things that are wrong with my life. I find it hard to ever really be content though, because even if everything’s okay, I still let really trivial stuff upset me. Sometimes I try to read about terrible things happening in the world like Apple’s tax avoidance and James Corden’s snacks avoidance (he was funnier and more endearing when he was fat ffs!) and hope that it will put my problems in to perspective. But it doesn’t, it just leaves me thinking, “everything’s shit – and I’m all out of bagels.”
One of my biggest worries is that I’ll die alone, and that I’ll never find someone to share a miserable life with. Mainly, I worry that I’m not attractive enough for someone to want to be with me. People have told me that it’s all about confidence; that to be attractive, you’ve got to have confidence in what you are – it’s just that what I am is uglier than the average male.
I’m not always miserable, it’s just the average length of time between when I’m happy and when I’m sad again seems to be becoming increasingly shorter – my mental health is declining like an ageing iPhone battery. When I feel myself slipping into depression I try to switch off some of my anxieties, and put my mind into a kind of Airplane mode; although I’ve only ever flown to places like Benidorm, so all this does is make me even more anxious about the prospect of unavoidable bleakness. I feel like maybe I need to upgrade my life and perhaps find someone who actually understands what I’m saying when I mumble into them. Or maybe I just need to stop drawing parallels between my life and the deficiencies of an iPhone.
Anyway, that’s about it.
Cya x
*None of this actually happened, but fantasising about it made me half-forget about how much I needed to wee for a while.
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