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Quarter to Life

August 3, 2000. 2:22 PM. Twenty-five years later. Something about the quarter-life sentiment struck the fear of God in me. Am I really at my quarter-life point? My father — three strokes and two heart attacks before fifty. Still hanging in there, somehow. My father’s father died of a stroke before fifty. My father’s mother died before forty, of cancer. I’ve already had open-heart surgery. Sure, they had their vices: smoking, chewing, sitting around. I don’t remember my grandfather. I never met my grandmother. The only biological grandparent I have left is sitting in memory care. I want veins on my arms and legs. I want clear piss. No acne. A jawline.  When friends ask me to hike Mount Timpanogos, I don’t want to debate myself. I don’t want limits anymore. Being active has always been the solution to everything, so why the hell have I avoided it? I want to feel better. Look better. Live better. I want sex to be better. I just want to be better. The uncertainty of what’s ahead flippe...
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On My Mind

There’s a push and pull underlying my life. Moving directly into the hive of it all, I find myself forgetting about the backlog of social atrocities I’ve committed. Atrocity may be a harsher word than I’d like to use, but I stare at the ceiling above my bed, overthinking.

I wish I could be brute, passive, maybe even forgetful of my past. Every conversation I have is like a data overload coursing through my brain. It’s so frustrating to be incapable of relaying simple replies.

What does this person think of me? What do they want from me?

It’s paranoia. Predicting the future relationship between me and this person. It’s fine to dissociate from people you don’t see yourself getting along with. I know that. But it’s different for me. I’ve found that it comes from self-loathing in ways that prevent me from letting them in.

How am I going to ruin this?

They probably expect this, but I can never live up to that.

Nihilism has killed most of my past relationships.

Eventually, she’ll see past the illusion I’ve created. Eventually, they’ll know I have no money. Soon, he’ll see I’m not who I say I am — whoever that may be.

So what’s the point of continuing this interaction? What’s the point of trying in this relationship if I know it’s going to end?

I’m writing this out because I’m still trying to find the source that created this deep, negative existentialism.

Is it because I fear what others think of me?

Is it from self-dysmorphia?

A fear of failure?

Failing to live up to what others expect of me?

Murphy’s Law is defined as: the more you fear something, the more likely it is to occur.

I feared failing the person I cared about the most. I failed them. I feared losing the “love of my life” because I was afraid of not giving her the life she deserved. I failed her.

Fail. Fail. Fail.

Where did this fear of failure come from?

On top of that, where did my fear of success come from?

Sabotaging myself in order to stay in a constant state of fearing the outcomes of socialization.

I’m fucking tired of this.

The silver lining is that I’m aware... out of fear that I might put someone else through my inherent extreme skepticism.

Do I hate happy people?