Here, Then No Where

5.13.2017

What is that makes one’s consciousness dream of fucking off this planet? Is there an evolutionary reason for it?

I truly don’t understand the root cause. Is it the realization that life, in the end, is sort of meaningless? Is it the quitter’s ultimate “Fuck it”? Is it the romanticizing of others’ demise? Is it lack of purpose?

I think for me it’s a desire for the ultimate numbness.

You see, when I have nothing going on, no motivation, no drive, no “purpose”, or when I’m in a routine that doesn’t benefit, satisfy, or engage me in any way I will feel a need to shut my brain down. On any given night I will walk into my apartment and immediately find a way to quiet my inner monologue. Silence the demons, if you will.

Turn the TV on.
Read.
Check my phone.
Listen to a podcast.
Fucking anything that will grant me alleviation and distraction from the fact that I have one life and I might be wasting it. But shit, I’m not even sure what a good way to spend one’s life is. I try hard not to, but I have nihilistic tendencies that sincerely fuck with my well-being.

Though I literally want to live forever, I would describe myself as “impatient”. That might not seem relevant, but if you take into account that we are merely insignificant specs on the cosmic scale, what’s the fucking point of existing in the first place? Not that I subscribe to this thinking, but if we exist only to die, why wait? Though I don't want to, and I think it's a horrible idea, I struggle with that argument. And people wonder “why?” when I openly talk about my desire to get a vasectomy. I can hardly justify my own existence, how could I ever father another sentient being capable of such thoughts and dilemmas?

And you know what? I’m a hypocrite. I’m only saying this because I’m not content with my current standing and that everything I’ve tried to do to change it has proved fruitless.

{Just for the record: I do NOT want to die. Seriously. I don't want to get a bunch of e-mails or phone calls.}

If you’ve read some of my entries (or if you hang out with me in person) there’s a good chance you’ve heard me refer to myself as “a miserable cunt”. I say this for both comedic effect and because I believe it to be true.

Often it feels like I’m wasting my god damned time.

I’ve felt purpose at times in the past, and what a great numbing device it was. I am deeply jealous of anyone who currently feels they have a purpose. On the other hand, I’m annoyed when people seem content with shitty purpose.

Religion.
A job they actually hate.
Their precious "identity".
Or any calling of any sorts that currently seems ridiculous to me.
Which of course is an absurd position to take because what the fuck do I know? Maybe that purpose is warranted. Shit, I can’t really knock it if I got none.

I guess what bugs me, is that people fail to realize they’re just filling the space of their existence with whatever brand of time-filler that numbs them best. But then again, maybe that’s the point of life?

I think I go back and forth on being happy/content and proud to be a member of the greatest species on this planet, and irrationally annoyed when we fail to realize that this life is temporary, meaningless, and probably shit.

I am full of both Love and Hate.
Good and Evil.
I am rational at times, and completely irrational at others.
I’m a walking talking hypocrite and I’m here to tell you all about it.

I don’t want to die.

Ironically, the only thing that leads me to believe that life might be pointless is that it ends. It’s the great tragedy of existence. I want to live forever, but that’s impossible. You’re here, alive and joking with friends, falling in love, having deep conversation about the current state of the world and then in a blink of the eye you’re not. I understand the desire for there to be an afterlife, but there’s not an ounce of me that believes in it. You’re here, then you die. Cheers.

I guess I don’t hate when people fill their time or numb themselves to the reality that death is coming and there’s not a hope in God that can stop it... I’m just fucking jealous of it. I’m being petty because I want that. I don’t want to think the way I do. I want to experience everything, even all this pointless filler, yet I constantly think about all this shit.

I’ve experienced “purpose” in the past through various means, so why the fuck do I dwell on things that lead me to be such a sad-sack?

For fuck’s sake, I’m a self-made miserable cunt. But at times, aren’t we all?

Maybe it’s just stress, depression, discontent, (insert anything I’m feeling right now), that makes me dwell on such horrible realities. Real they may be, but they’re just as pointless as any other time filler, and a god awful way to spend one’s time here.

OK, that’s enough. I’m clearly still working shit out in my skull, so let me leave you with a little light at the end of the tunnel:

I’ve got plans. I’m working hard. I envision a life for myself that is both full and happy, and just because I can’t see it clearly right now doesn’t mean I don't think it will happen. Just because I wrote this entirely self-indulgent and depressive piece doesn’t mean I think life is pointless. It’s the only thing we got. I love it even through the hardest of times. Though I both accept and struggle with the end, I’m confident I will find what comfortably numbs me and bides my time before I go charging into the oblivion.

Hope is a hell of a drug, but one worth embracing.

Until then, I’m going to go read –shut this shit down for a while.

-Matthew Numbs

Fleshy Vessels

11.29.2016

I haven’t written anything in a bit.

I’ve regressed.
I’m not doing “well”.
My routine has failed me -Or maybe it was me who failed my routine?

I’m either drinking too much or thinking too much. Both are equally debilitating.

If I sit down to write something, I have to confront myself and be honest about what’s going on. Sometimes that’s fucking hard when there’s a bottle of fun liquid that helps me forget whatever it is I’m struggling with.
I don’t necessarily think the booze is addictive, but running away from reality definitely is.
So dramatic.

I’m not even drinking that much; I’m just using it wrong. I will drink often enough to temporarily forget my blues and pass the time until the next sunrise, genuinely hoping that tomorrow will magically be different. Like a coward.

I know, obviously that’s not how this works.

I’ve got to grow the fuck up, take responsibility for any negativity, be a fucking man and handle my shit. I’m often far too good at dissociating. Ask anyone who’s ever tried to get a hold of me.

What am I running from? What am I trying so hard to tune out?

I don’t even know. Maybe I’m just generally not fulfilled? I’m not sure, but from what I can gather I have multiple conflicting desires or processes.

• I’m simultaneously lonely and wanting to be left the fuck alone.
• I’m both ambitious and able to check the fuck out for a chunks at a time.
• I am incredibly caring of others and at other times incredibly selfish.

The truth is, I’m not sure what’s next for me. It could go either way.

It feels like I’m on some strange journey trying to find a trail that leads to some life path that guides my way... but I could just be stumbling deeper into the forest of the unknown.
So fucking dramatic.

What do I do next?

My gut tells me I need to get back on a routine that is obsessively healthy and rigorous to live as joyful and as long as possible.

I woke up with a note I wrote on my phone when I was drunk that read:

“This fleshy vessel can be poisoned or prolonged through health and wellness. Neither way has been proved to be better, and in the end it doesn’t really matter, right? So don’t judge others for their poor habits. In fact, fuck you for thinking you know better.”

My drunk self was literally writing to the part of me that is obsessive about routines and health and all that other boring shit.

I don’t know who is right, yet.

I do know that I’m going to write more. A lot of stuff has happened since I last posted here, I’ve got shit to talk about.

Until then,

-Matthew Wonders

Where Is My Mind?

8.9.2016

The page is blank.

Well, I guess it isn’t anymore.

What am I going to write about today?

I can think of a bunch of things that I want to avoid, still.
I can think of a bunch of things I want to say, but probably shouldn’t.

Am I angry today? Am I upset about anything?
I seem to write the best when I’m one of the two. Those emotions seem to give me the extra bit of courage to be honest with myself and exorcise my demons. Or at least give me the ability to rant like a mf'er.

I guess I feel indifferent today. I'm not in the business of souring this indifferent mood. Better keep it light.

I've noticed that if I’m doing too well I start to feel like I’m bragging. You’d think I would want to share positive stories or aspects of my life here, right? I’m still not sure why it’s difficult to write those.
I guess I am constantly aware of how I don’t want to be perceived. Which now that I think about it, probably isn’t the healthiest thing to do.

Whatever.

I know that I don’t want to be viewed as: Arrogant, egotistical, self-centered, selfish...
(Hold on, let me look up more synonyms to drive point home) ...Conceited or haughty.

How do I want to be perceived? I have no fucking clue.

I think a lot of men my age would want to come across as the “dark and mysterious brooding type.” Ha!
If there is one thing that we can all agree on, is that despite my bitching and moaning, I am a true-blue goofball.

I mean, sometimes it seems like all I do is “brood”, just not in that sexy “I’m super serious” way.
It’s more personal and in private. But I do constantly joke about it. It’s no secret that I’ve always been a little moody. It's just not brooding. I cover all that when around other people.

I don’t want to be perceived like that either. I can brood with the best of them, but I constantly hide it. The "cool-guy" persona doesn't fit well with my personality.

It just seems exhausting. How do those dark mysterious types get anything done? Don’t they know how to compartmentalize this shit?

Jesus.
This is getting ridiculous. This page may have offered more when it was blank; it was at least full of potential way back when.

OK, now what?

Well,

I’m not very good at receiving compliments. Yeah! I can talk about that for a little bit.

Thank Christ! There is a topic! It may not be great, but we found one! A topic that is going to be all about me and therefore can be perceived as (choose adjective from the list above)... But goddammit, we found one!

I don’t have a low self-esteem, I just feel strange when receiving compliments. I’m a fairly confident guy in just about everything I do. Sure, I have my insecurities. We all do.
I just hate getting told things that I don’t necessarily agree with when the social norm dictates to not verbalize my disagreement.

Like when a religious person wants to gab about their beliefs and I whole-heartedly disagree, I just let ‘em talk. It would not be socially acceptable if I just started digging through my arsenal of reasons why it’s all bullshit.
(As long as they aren’t trying to convince me to join or believe, that is.)

It makes them happy. That's OK. I don't have to talk about things that only interest me. As much as I would love to be, I’m not the king of every conversation.

But I just try to look at myself as realistically and as honestly as possible. For example, I’m not a great writer. I’m hyper aware of that. I am pretty OK at conveying my thoughts while getting my voice across.
But... Sentence structure? Non-existent these days.
Typoes? Abundant.
Am I capable of delivering a precise and well thought out message? Well, I just started this with, “The page is blank.” and now I'm rambling, so I doubt it.

(No one is accusing me of being a great writer, by the way. I’m using that as an example because it’s right here.)
(Also, I rely heavily on these parentheses.)

When people do give me a compliment, whatever it may be, I immediately start pointing out how or why they are incorrect in my head.
Is that self-deprecation or just being honest with myself? I’d like to think it’s honesty, but more than once I have been accused of being self-deprecating.

I think I straddle a fine line in that department.
Of course, I don’t tell the person complimenting me any of this!
Oh god, is there nothing worse than when someone does that? When someone starts offering up reasons why the compliment shouldn’t have been given it just fucks with the flow of conversation. It puts a bad taste in everyone's mouth. Even if they mean it and they are speaking about their ACTUAL insecurities, it just comes across as fishing for another compliment.
It’s strange.

I just say, “Well thanks!” Followed by complimenting them. It’s a sure fire way to divert the conversation away from myself. I’ve gotten fairly good at it, too.
Is that bad? Who am I talking to? What's this post about? Where is my mind?
I feel like those people who are super confident and sure of themselves tend to be happier. Though, I have to admit, sometimes I judge them if it appears they aren’t aware of their flaws.

I definitely don’t judge the people who are super confident AND aware of their flaws. Especially if they are working on them. That shit inspires me to work on myself.
But, we all have flaws, so it's a little gross when people don't see their own. When someone is horrible at things and just acts as if they aren't, it's really weird. That's a flaw in itself.

One of my favorite things to do is finding other peoples’ flaws. It’s kind of a sick game I play inside my head. I just take note when I observe a flaw in someone.
I do it to everyone: Friends, family, strangers at the bar, people walking down the street, literally everyone.
I don’t think I do it in an asshole way, or even a judgmental way, it’s just the same thing I do with myself... It’s honest.

Or maybe I’m just a miserable cunt and by pointing out others’ flaws I’m subconsciously bringing everyone down to my level?

Wait, what am I taking about again? 

Well, shit.

-Matthew Broods