Dating in my early twenties was a genius british tv show that lasts for about 7 episodes and if you binge it you want to kill yourself. I dated my highschool crush for I think about 3 weeks but she had a kid to another guy and I was so awkward it was like dating a tangled-up marionette who had never touched a lady. Doomed doomed doomed and rightfully so.
Spent some time fucked up by it for a while. Got into vodka and cigarettes and alt country. Vices are important on the emotional gravitron. Learned from my mistakes. Seek new experiences. Leave the old behind. I’d have travelled if I had like any money but I was empty as a pocket so I did free drugs my friend brought me instead.
Met another girl at a party. Writer like me. Hit it off and went on some dates and became boyfriend and girlfriend. Aint gonna get into the details cos that aint fair but things went south as it do when you put a couple of mental illnesses into a young and messy melting pot. Did a lot of crying and wanting to jump off stuff which is pretty baseline for me.
When we broke up I was living with my sister’s ex who’d just gone through a messy breakup. My sister moved out and took the bed I was sleeping on with her. I dragged a kid’s single mattress from a puddle of filth in the garage, laid it on the never vacuumed carpet, draped my oversized sheet over it and went back to drinking copious amounts of homebrew beer.
Started to get itchy on my dick. Happened when I tried to get to sleep at night and when I woke up in the mornings. Unbearable, and I weren’t sleeping good already on account of wanting to kill myself real bad. I’d just started going to a new gp for my med prescriptions. He was a gruff older guy and I was hoping for like a Becker situation where we’d build a relationship of mutual male respect but turns out he’d just tapped out and gave me whatever drugs I needed without saying much. The itchy dick probably didn’t help for mutual male respect either.
So I pulled my pants and undies down in front of dr begging for retirement and he looked at me and asked if I thought it could be sexually transmitted. I told him definitely not cos I hadn’t had sex in like 9 months and there went the final nail in the mutual male respect coffin. He gave me cream for scabies and I lathered it on my now slightly less private parts and prayed.
It didn’t go away, instead spread down my legs and my arms. I’d scratch so hard I’d bleed and then the wounds would get infected. Nights and mornings turned into a torture session, desperately needing respite to get my mental health in order but being jabbed in all my pits by mosquitoes.
I started wearing a rubber band on my wrist to stop my wounds from getting infected. I’d snap it hard against my skin whenever I started scratching to try and pavlog’s dog myself. Needless to say my friends were worried, but if I had a dollar for every time someone worried about me I’d have bought a fucken new bed.
I desperately needed rebound sex. I fell headfirst into rock bottom and there weren’t no trampoline, just tiny bugs eating my flesh. Went to bars with my friends and couldn’t even think of talking to the opposite sex. Just drank my self silly to stop the itching.
Older brother saved my life. Got me to move in with him and a friend who’d just bought his first house. I weighed about as much as a malnourished whippet so he fed me bulking meals. Bought me a zweihander and we started training for a couple of hours a day. Still had scabies but at least had endorphins and calories in me.
Changed houses and mattress and the bugs eventually went away, but the damage had been done. I was excruciatingly awkward around women and smoking weed a good 100% of the time. Had a couple of dates with a girl I met at a wedding but when she invited me over to her house I ghosted. Didn’t help that she still lived with her ex and thought I was making fun of her when I used “big words”, but the brick wall was definitely already there.
Didn’t touch a lady for years after the bugs. Probably learned something from this. I mean I learned a wealth about wizardry, and life, and addiction, and finding desperate hope at the utmost end of despair, but relevant to not having rebound sex after the misery of a failed relationship.
Maybe it would have been easier without the scabies and if I’d just had a one night stand or two and gotten on with my life. Ha fucken maybe. But maybe things aint supposed to be easy. Don’t know if that’s stockholm syndrome with my problems but it wasn’t going to end up any other way. Maybe the problem was me and working it out was the point. I can think of a hundred fucking ways I could have handled things better and maybe I wouldn’t be able to if the good lord hadn’t put me on the rack.
You know what I fucken learned. You don’t need sex to be human. And just cos you’re not havin sex doesn’t make you a victim. There is no friendzones or fucken chads or any of that incel bullshit. The universe does not owe you sex. If you desire that then make yourself desirable. Do some exercise, work on your personality. Not in a predatory fucken the game kind of way. Make yourself a better human because that is the fucken point. Ask your fucken parents to buy you a new mattress you idiot. Move back in with them so you can get off drugs and get a job you idiot. If you want to stop drowning in misery put the fucken cup down.
Ok done yelling at myself. Think I got somewhere with that. Hope that’s useful. I love you and I love me. I’ll see you all in fucken therapy.
Skydekkerix 