At some point everyone needs to come to terms with the fact that the world is fucked, and you can only salvage a few precious things.
The question is, what are those things?
One thing I think women don’t realize, is that men get WAY more than sexual satisfaction out of a relationship. We all stereotype men as being “all about sex” without realizing that sex is the primary way a man feels emotionally close to his partner.
Women get emotional fulfillment from their friends, etc. Men usually ONLY get that kind of close, emotional bond with an SO.
It’s the ONLY source of that we have. For many men, our SO is the only person we can show our weaknesses to, the only person we can let inside our guard, inside our armor.
That’s why we are so desperate at times for female companionship. Imagine if an important vitamin only came in one type of fruit, and couldn’t be made synthetically. You would do just about anything to get that one kind of fruit, because it’s your ONLY SOURCE.
It’s interesting, men like to tell ourselves that we are not emotional about sex, which seems to be true, since we seem to be far more willing to have it. But this overlooks a crucial factor.
We are more eager to have sex because our emotional reasons for wanting it are far STRONGER than for women, not weaker.
Of course, hormones factor in a bunch too, I’m just saying that I think, at least for a good portion of men, the emotional side of it (even if they don’t realize it), serves a larger role.
So, to answer your question. We try again, and again, and again, and again, and AGAIN; because the only alternative is accepting that you won’t get something you desperately need.
I forgot how nice it was to be “home” when I visited my parents house this past weekend. I’ve been having a pretty shitty past few months but I felt a lot better after talking to my mom about some of the stuff that’s been bothering me. It’s really nice to know that I have a place I can return to and feel safe. Hopefully this will keep me going for a while.
Recently I’ve been feeling like every time I try to communicate with someone I feel like I’m being misunderstood, or that I am misunderstanding them, but by then it’s too late and the conversation has gone to shit.
It was easier when it only happened in only a few parts of my life because I could blame the other person but now that I’m beginning to see it everywhere, I’m starting to become more convinced it’s not them, it’s me.
I don’t want to live on this planet anymore.
I am 25 years old, and I live a very “day-to-day” life style. I have absolutely nothing planned for life. I have no savings, no long term goals, no specific dreams of any sort (other than the vague “contentment with life”). When asked what my dreams in life were, I couldn’t even think of a single legitimate answer. I know the future isn’t guaranteed to me, so there is that. I realize I am still relatively young, but is there a certain time when I should start panicking?
Panicking about what? You could die tomorrow or in fifty years. Either way, your dreams don’t mean shit. They never did, except to the extent that they keep you chasing after that vague sense of contentment, however distant and out of focus it always seems to remain.
Make a plan. Don’t. It doesn’t matter. Sure, it couldn’t hurt to start saving a little money. Lord knows when you’ll need it for a college fund or a Disney cruise or a halfway decent DUI attorney.
This is the part where you’re supposed to keep your head down and work. Be productive. Be a good little consumer. Earn. Save. Spend. Have your well-regulated units of fun on the weekend, but nothing too crazy.
You’ll blink and ten years will have slipped away. You’ll still consider yourself relatively young, but the teenagers will already have started to confuse you. You’ll realize that you’ve accidentally fallen into full-on adulthood. Marriage. Mortgage. Kids. Where the fuck did they come from?
Blink again, and you’ll be fifty years old, just as lost and clueless as you are today. You’ll catch that first real glimpse of your own mortality. Still, no reason to panic. The blood tests came back negative. It’s only a minor procedure. You’re going to be just fine.
One more blink and it’s all over, a day-to-day lifestyle stretched out to its inevitable conclusion, and if you’re very lucky, your last day will include good drugs and a comfortable mattress. That’s it. That’s the most you can ever hope for, because even in that final moment, you still won’t have a single legitimate answer. You never will.
So go ahead, make a plan for your life if you think it will help. Have a specific dream if it makes you feel better. Just be sure to work hard. Stay out of trouble. Fill your free time with yoga and book clubs and fantasy football leagues and cable news. Do whatever you can to avoid gazing inward into that gaping void, because the simplest answer to your question is yes.
Yes, there is a certain time when you should start panicking. Yes, that time is right now. Yes, every fucking second of your waking consciousness should be filled with existential terror at your utter insignificance and inevitable annihilation. Yes, the entire human experiment is nothing more than a sick and futile joke.
So yes, go ahead and start panicking. It still won’t do you any good.