I’ve been dropping out lately. It could be staring at the monotonous white tile wall while in the shower or my keyboard prior to typing this or a green light at an intersection. Guess you could say I’ve been quite low – and never being one for asking help – so I mustered up the energy to draft this entry. Lord knows I’m not in the mood to change out of the clothes I’ve been wearing for the past four days, shower, or make food.
About half of my twenties have been filled with sickness, depression, and loneliness. Maybe that’s normal but according to what I see, it doesn’t appear that way.
I’m thoroughly convinced that without a vibrant social life or definitive purpose in life, one’s vitality is essential for well-being. Normally, I’m full of energy; run a few miles in the morning, yoga by lunchtime, work done by dinner, and a good book in the evening. It’s kept me in good shape most of my life and can be done without relying on anyone else, which is the best way to stay consistent, no? In my early twenties, I seldom considered what life would be like if I was no longer able to do any of these things. Which brings me here today.
Who knew that when I grew up I’d be a collector of incurable autoimmune diseases?
Eight months ago, I started flaring up again. It comes out of nowhere and I tend to be extremely reluctant to put my workouts on hold or drastically change my diet. I tell myself, “Who knows how long this one will last? No need to turn your world upside down. That’ll only stress you out and make matters worse!” But everything gets worse anyway.
I know the drill by now.
- Chronic pain
- Fatigue
- Anemia
- Nausea
- Fever
- Depression
- Foggy head
- Anxiety
- Sleep loss
- Weight loss
- Mood swings
Besides rent, main expenditures switch from weekend events to pricey medical bills. (Gotta pay up for all the poking and prodding. Yay America.) It’s a sensible change since I never feel like going out anymore. Sure, some days are better than others but for the most part, socializing sucks up all my energy. In short, I become a diminutive shadow of my former self.
I feel ugly, sick, and stupid.
These are no easy feats to overcome. And it helps explain why I’ve been single for over 2 years now. And I should clarify what I mean by “single” because many people have adopted this word for other (more upbeat) means.
To me, it doesn’t mean serial dating. It doesn’t mean taking time to “find yourself.” It doesn’t mean that relationship you carry that’s not official or serious. It doesn’t mean a post-break up fling with a recent ex. And it doesn’t always mean a personal choice.
It does mean being in the market for a partner. It does mean crushing rejection. It does mean forgetting what holding someone’s hand feels like (let alone everything else). It does mean getting a look of unease from someone whenever they realize you seek love and intimacy like everyone else. It does mean feeling shame when you’re labelled as a cis white male who has supposedly benefited from the patriarchal subjugation of women. It does mean feeling a failure as a man for not being assertive enough. It does mean cursing yourself for wishing others would approach you for once. It does mean losing a sense of connection with others. It does mean forgetting how to communicate and deliver suave repartee that men are expected to know. And it can mean a lack of choice.
The way you navigate the world on a daily basis morphs as well. Stimuli that bring back memories of intimacy can be uplifting but they tend to be followed by a crippling crash. I don’t expect everyone to understand this but if our experiences were identical, I guarantee you would.
For example, on my morning subway commute, a woman’s scent may traverse the train car and get to me, causing a flood of feelings of how life was like when I had someone to call late at night, or someone to hold when the doctors found a tumor in my mom’s brain. Unintended touches from strangers yield similar effects. Maybe it’s the barista’s hand slightly grazing mine as she hands back my credit card, or someone brushing against my shoulder exiting the train. To be sure, I NEVER seek this out, as that would be a violation of personal space and vastly immoral. Regardless, I’m ashamed of these flooding memories and feelings from strangers, as it has nothing to do with them. Essentially, I’m triggered by these sensations since they are rare.
A note for all you happy-go-lucky extroverts that read this and think dude, you think waayyyyyyy too much. Live a little.
I fully understand the power of getting out of one’s head. Believe you me. Granted, that’s all I need to do but what I’m expressing is a long-term, formless feeling of self-doubt, insecurity, and dejection stemming from physical ailments and other circumstances that are only partially in my control. Therefore, it’s less about therapy, improv classes, meditation, support groups, etc. and more about riding this shitty wave out, welcoming that bewildering shock that comes from crashing on the shore, dusting myself off, and beginning again.
In the interim, I occasionally write to remind myself I’ve been here before, will be here again (hopefully, not too soon), and survival is most probable. Rinse and repeat; just add water; set it and forget it.
Such is life.
-Single Guy in NYC
@SingleGuyInNYC
dates. What I didn’t expect was that she retaliated with a paper stealth bomber. In actuality, she made a paper frog that you could bounce but it looked more like a aircraft to me. She had an equal or greater response to everything, as if she was returning the favor in an attempt to woo me as well. Boredom was not in the cards that morning, or any morning as long as it was with her.
Today, you fucking hate that vile shit. In fact, how could they even order such a ghastly dish to ruin their coffee on such a sunny day? You were actually having a pleasant date until THEY had to invidiously bankrupt it. Can you believe their insolvency? This is their response to your comportment? Jesus! Have they no common decency to themselves or – at the very least – human courtesy to YOU?!?!?
norms label the full gamut of emotions as taboo and in order to heed your duties of manhood, we shelter tears lest we be held accountable for them and written off as a girl or homosexual. Stemming from older generations where this was more rife, we are our father’s sons. (A close friend of mine still prides himself in having never cried. His wife attests to it too.) Stoicism, rather than perfunctory introspection, is widely understood as a masculine trait and until we divorce these characteristics from one another, men will continue to displace their sentience erratically, using women as punching bags, even if just verbally. To be sure, empathy is a muscle that MUST be exercised, so I encourage you to question yourself and challenge this archetype.
areas, make no mistake; this is a 
8) Sexual development. Statistically speaking, this can be understood as one of the causes of #9 (misunderstanding women). According to a study published by the 
stemming from an unloving parent? For one thing, the gratification from boxing is – by comparison – immediately felt. There’s quite a lot one can learn from the sport and from themselves but we have a grand tendency to square our vices in indirect ways. This categorical pressure is put on from everyone, which makes it all the more ironic when heterosexual males are emasculated by their female counterparts for not falling into their stereotyped gender roles. We as a society engineered these gender roles and the circumstances of their failure to satisfy our basic human integrity. (This, too, is madness.) Ask yourself, who was more of a manly figure in Fight Club; Pitt or Norton? Quod erat demonstrandum.
for flattering reputations that precedes you when it comes to attracting partners is undeniable in countless social circles. Consider this, my entire blog is based on 
Knowing that she’d have nowhere else in the city to go (she was from a different state), I stood in front of the door and begged her to stay.
However cliché, we have all considered what it means to be in love. (
Single Guy in NYC 