I continue to be wrong about everything. Yes, everything.

And now, it is safe to say there is no joy in my life. After all, am I even supposed to be here?

And what about all that I have read in the last couple of years? The Subtle Art of Not Giving a Fuck. What to Say When You Talk to Yourself. Reinvention Made Easy. The Happiness Project. Sex Money Kiss. The Alabaster Girl.

Every one of these books designed to help chodes like you and me to overcome our inner demons. To escape the self-loathing. To escape depression. To escape mediocrity.

I read this incredible prose, and I believe. For a brief, shining moment, I believe I can overcome all of my bad programming—all of my bad decisions—and become extraordinary.

To be successful. To be loved. To find joy.

For that moment, I find success. She falls in love with me. I land the new project.

Yet, inevitably, the inner demon returns, saying, “She’s not interested in you. You’ve never succeeded in anything. Why start now? This is your life. You’re supposed to die alone. You’re not even supposed to be here.”

This battle is fought every. single. day. Is this enlightenment?

I understand anti-social behavior. I understand criminals. I understand suicide. I understand giving up.

Can I ever eradicate this bad programming? Can I ever find joy? Will it ever get easier? Will I ever get over myself enough to let that beautiful Latina into my life? Will I ever stop pushing her away? Will I ever not bore a girl into ghosting via text?

Today, I just don’t know.

What i'm listening to:

Ruin the Friendship
Demi Lovato
Tell Me You Love Me