Human Garbage

I posted something on STEEMIT, last week, that was very dark. A short piece describing my thoughts of suicide, of pointlessness. It was honest, it spoke from the heart, and I decided to redact it - because at a certain point you can't really delete something from STEEMIT, you can simply "edit it" into oblivion.

I moved back to Seattle this week - not because I really wanted to, but it was literally the last stop along the road, before ... well, before I decided to do something more drastic, more permanent. I am living in a home, of a "loved one", where everyone is convinced that "life is pretty good", and for their narrow paradigm this might be true. I'm a software engineer, so I'm getting calls about work - calls from people who barely speak English, and likely resent me, resent my existence, and since I bemoan my own life, there's very little argument.

At the end of 2015, I was more or less debt free. I had a job, as an engineer, working in Indianapolis. The company had problems, but it was probably no worse a place than many. Beginning with one strange event after another, 2016 became a nightmare, and its genesis came, primarily, from human optimism and concern. One after another, friends, co-workers, strangers, took advantage of me - and I allowed this. I decided to participate in a couple of "start-ups", and this sucked me dry further. By the end of 2016 I was a bitter, near nihilistic, shut-in. And then came "phase 2".

In early 2017 I became associated with a few people in the liberty movement, I got involved, once again, in start-up situations - all of which ended in failure, arguably a fair amount of this failure was my fault.

I'm deep in debt now, haven't paid several bills for many months ...

I don't know why I'm blathering about this - perhaps it is because of the article I read on ZeroHedge yesterday, the one about the mortality rates increasing for my age/gender/racial cohort (white, male, middle-aged). I suppose the brutal honesty of the article was welcome, but it also underlined how pointless my life is/was/shall contine to be.

I don't really want to die, but the misery of loneliness, failure, and heartless disregard, which is everywhere now, weighs on me. It is a dark morass, and endless see of pain - with no shore in sight.

I see myself as a middle-aged burnout software engineer, a failure, a loser, someone best consigned to the dust bin of history.

I am garbage. I don't know if I have any more dreams. What money I have left? - I'm making sure there is some tranche available for the "last exit", the last strategy or journey, left to me.

I'm not special.

I know there are many men, and women, of all races and genders, that feel the pressure of this rotten modernity - we are the discontents, not wearing skinny jeans, not clutching our iPhones as we walk, still wanting authentic human contact and realizing that on "Plenty of Fish" there is plenty of nothing.

Don't weep for me - I am very responsible for veering off the tracks of faux normalcy. On more than one occasion, in the last decade, I chose my principles over my comfort, and that catches up to you, eventually.

I can't say happy holidays ...

(I simply don't have it in me)