Of Punks and Paranoia

Well, friends, unfortunately I have to report a major setback as I slowly travel along the road to soft, pink mental health. It's a long story, but basically an 18 year old supercilious kid offered me "advice" to overcome bipolar disorder and anxiety; think positive thoughts and shun negativity. In retrospect, it was so painfully trite and quaint that I don't know why I got so upset. But even at the age of 18, he should have been intelligent enough to know that mental illness is quite a bit more stubborn than, say, having a song stuck in your head.

I don't really blame him for my reaction. He just doesn't know of what he speaks. And he chose a condescending tone, as adolescents are oft want to do. The profound heartache I felt in the wake of our little talk was due to my inability to rid myself of the stench of failure. I succumbed to paranoia and self-loathing that raged into a perfect storm. He was just being a jerk, something I have been on countless occasions. But I was being fragile, weak and gutless. This must be remedied if I'm ever to return to work. And if I ever give up hope of that happening, I'm screwed.

Something amusing did happen today, though. Actually, I'm sure countless amusing things happened, but I noticed this one so I'll relate it. An attractive man sent me an instant message via Yahoo!, and he made it clear that he was interested in getting to know me for reasons beyond mere friendship. He wanted to bang me, methinks. I'm bisexual, but I heavily travel in the heterosexual quarter, simply because most men are nasty little creatures. But who knows, he could have been the love of my life. He knew me from a discussion group for GLBTQ liberation online. He kindly spoke of how he thought I was wise and funny, and he thought my profile picture was "adorable." Sure! Then he asked if I had a full body picture, which I did. I sent him a picture of me waving the Venezuelan flag. There was a pause, and he wrote back, "I'm sorry, I like petite guys."

So basically I was rejected without even having made any kind of overture. Like losing a bet that you never placed, or getting sick from a sandwich from which you never took a bite. I expect a phone call from an employer telling me I didn't get the job that I never even knew existed, and for which I certainly did not apply. A new age of abnegation is at hand! One has to admit that antecedent dismissals are a great way to save time and energy. Forget about all those nervous days and nights leading up to the big moment when you ask the attractive girl in the cafe out on a date. Wouldn't it save time if she shot you down in advance, giving you time back that you would have otherwise wasted on nervous kvetching?

Sure.