The Worst Person in the World

Sunday, July 20

I smoked a bit of weed to go for a walk. I felt I was making a bit of progress. I felt like I understood a bit better the situation.

Then during the walk I started texting my father. “You wake up one morning and you suddenly realize that you're this lazy, narcissistic idiot with absolutely no opportunities left after so many people have praised your unique intelligence and offered you special opportunities, and you wonder 'how did that happen? I was so smart!' It's the worst hell." And then after a barrage of texts I said “There's this engineering job in ****. My friend works there. Maybe I can say 'I had this condition and now I just want to work as hard as possible and learn as much as possible'.”

The response: “Stop the same rants. Answer my email.”

Then something clicked. “I look like a crackhead. I act like a crackhead. I live like a crackhead. I can't put in any effort at all. I've spent the last year just complaining about how my life is shit and there's nothing left to live for because I've fucked up so badly. Why would anyone want to hire me?”

My legs are tired. I spent the last year just laying around and feeling sorry for myself. My mind is tired. “The worst hell. What do I have to live for? Why me? Epilepsy epilepsy epilepsy.” “I can no longer be a hero and win at life. Everybody knows the real life of careers and relationships but me. All my great friends are doing great things and have no time for me. I'm 44. There's not enough time to make a change. I've already lost. What's the point in continuing?”

Okay. Fundamentals. Everybody at work makes an effort to look nice and be pleasant. They have their own struggles. They don't need me being a black hole of negativity every day. “I need to get out of this place and this job. It's depressing me. Can I have a reference?” “Okay. Is a shitty person to work with. Makes no effort. Don't hire.”

I pay for a haircut and a beard trim. The first time since I got here. Eighteen months ago. I buy some stuff to clean up my place a bit.

I get home. OH WHAT WOULD NIETZSCHE DO? I'M GOING TO WRITE A BOOK ABOUT WHAT I LEARNED AND MAKE IT SUCH A MINDFUCK AND EVERYBODY WILL FEEL BETTER ABOUT THEIR LIVES OF HARD WORK BECAUSE THEY'RE NOT ME. LET ME TELL EVERYONE.

I start sending messages. Spoor will appreciate this. Sevil will laugh. **** will be glad I'm making progress. **** sees it almost right away. Total disaster. Of course. I couldn't have reopened old wounds any better if I had tried. FUCK! WHAT AM I DOING?? I delete my other messages.

No. No No No No No NO! It's just more narcissistic bullshit. YOU CAN'T WIN AT LIFE. THERE IS NO GRAND SOLUTION TO SAVE THE DAY. YOU LIVE. YOU LEARN. YOU WORK. AND YOU DIE. These people are BUSY! They have A LOT OF RESPONSIBILITY! Because they WORKED HARD IN LIFE. And they DEMONSTRATED THAT THEY ARE ONE OF A SELECT FEW THAT CAN HANDLE IT. Stop. Stop. Stop. Stop. STOP.

My previous life. Four degrees. Sixty countries. Judging everybody. ONE CHANCE AT LIFE! SAMPLE MORE! SAMPLE MORE! YOU'RE MISSING OUT! “I'm going to live life a different way. I have the special powerful brain. We're all working together to solve humanity, right? I'll get there first.” Why did my brain do this to me? Why did I have to be the one? One chance at life indeed. And you have no idea what real life is. Commitments? What are those? Compromise? What is that?

Maybe I can volunteer for the **** or the ****. There's a lot of work to be done. Nah. No win there. Suluhu: “You should try to get back into dating.” “What? Here? In this place? Pfft. Who's on my level? I would think that I had failed.”

Moon landing. ****'s wedding anniversary. Busy with his wife and kids and his engineering job. Barely enough time for himself. We chat maybe once a year. On the fifth year a couple years ago: HAPPY ANNIVERSARY! I REMEMBERED! [BECAUSE WE'RE GREAT FRIENDS!] WHAT ARE YOU GOING TO DO? YOU KNOW WHY I REMEMBERED? DID YOU READ THE CARD? DID YOU READ THE CARD?

God you're a horrible person.