I stopped going to most of my college classes 4 years ago and dedicated myself to self reflections, trying to write something worthy, to draw aesthetic manga. Then I investigated my old highschool crushes and friensdhips. They were doing fine, getting graduated, working, girls I loved dating guys better than me, full grown up mature men.
"What the hell?" I said to myself. "Why I can't do anything right?, I get easily bored in my college classes, still have to pass around 30 subjects..."
"WHAT THE FUCK AM I DOING?"
I didn't want to be the useless 34 year old manlet who lives with his mother and still isn't the owner of his life.
Alone, forgotten, a stain of dust in other people's memories. A pathethic loser. A piece of trash. A castrated young adult, incapable of taking care of himself. Of getting even a pathethic job. I tried that 7 times, I worked on a sports store for 14 hours and they told me I wasn't apt for that.
"You look so gloomy, This job isn't for you".
On a country that is literally fucked. Yeah, Mexico. Build the wall. I understand that Trump fella, I get USA has no time to deal with mexican thugs. Mexico, a bloody paradise of corpses and clandestine pits. Our economy is slowly crashing. Art and literature are looked down upon.
We don't need writers, nor artists or poets. They need corrupt lawyers, hungry politicians, insane hitmen, cold economists. I'm not needed. I'm disposable.
I barely take any classes (my essays get rejected). I can't get a job. At least my art is improving more than my writing skills.
Even if I finish my sci fi novel, who in the world would have the interest to read it? To publish it? I dreamed of wealthiness, of sleeping in a warm bed with the girl I loved that is gone now... taken away by a good, better man.
And my mother is old, a bit sick. My father... I made an oath since when I was a kid, that I'll never be like him. Violent, neurotic, mysoginistic, abusive of women. Yet I didn't became like him, but I was neither gentle or strong. I became glass. Fragile. Useless.
At least I won't bring more pain to this world. Won't and don't want to have a girlfriend or become married and have kids.
Like porcelain. My asthma is venomous dust in my lungs.
What am I goind to do?
I can't let loose more years. Yet time vanishes in my hands.
Why do I even bother to exist? Majestic stories live inside my head, and I don't have the skills to write them on paper.
Tell me, what Am I good for?
Do you have any dreams? Were they fullfilled? Or Broken? Is there any special person that is waiting for you?
My father once told me that I could never love or be loved. Almost every female I met in my life hated me. And I'm losing the capacity to feel. Now I just see women as empty beings. I cant feel anything for them. Nor hate or love.
Tell me about you. I want to know.