Communication Breakdown

Well, here we go again.

Ever since the news broke of what happened down at the UC-Santa Barbara campus, I've seen no end of people of both genders flexing their internet muscles trying to dissect and analyze Elliot Rodger, his well-documented motivations, and also use it as a microcosm for the problems facing men and women in the 21st century.

In many cases, the dissections have been done with all the subtlety of a chainsaw. Men calling out women saying, in no uncertain terms, that this is what happens when "we're not given what we want," like affection, love and sexual compatibility are mere commodities, or even worse, things that we inherently "deserve." Women, meanwhile, return fire with the standard rants about how men are nothing but neanderthal misogynist animals who are never content with the power they have over their female counterparts and this is another example of why they can never, ever be seen as the "victim" in any situation.

*Editorial Note - For the record, the almighty "Victim Card" is a gender-neutral construct in our culture. Both sides use it at the drop of a hat, over any perceived slight. I've used it way more times than I probably ever had a right to, and it's been used against me when there was no basis for it to be employed at my expense. The fact that it is the standard go-to in any discourse about the problems between men and women shows how fucked up the divide truly is.

It doesn't take more than reading a paragraph or two of Rodger's manifesto to see the guy had a very distorted view of the world around him and those who occupied it. Of that, I don't think there will be much dispute. I'm also not about to defend his views either, for they are of someone who has truly lost his grip on his reality, perception, self-image and self-control.

That said, and in no way does this fill me with a measure of joy or pride for being able to, but on a lot of levels, I can empathize with him. The degrees of separation which stand between me and someone like that are not many, and that comprehension frightens me like few things do.

The manifesto's thesis was that Rodger's actions were somehow justified because he was continually spurned and rejected by the women he was attracted to, so therefore his only remaining option was to view ALL women as the "enemy," which made the retribution he sought also justifiable. I don't empathize with him in that respect because I don't agree in any way with his position.

What I do empathize with him on, however, are the feelings of alienation, rejection and uncertainty about self-identity. Reading through the 137 pages, it was like going down a comparative checklist.

Early family breakdown: CHECK
Frequent relocations through childhood: CHECK
Emotional issues brought on by new parental dynamic: CHECK
Social detachment away from people towards technology: CHECK
Ostracized and devalued by peers: CHECK
Early attempts to form relationships with girls stifled: CHECK
Issues dealing with puberty and related development: CHECK

I make no bones at all about the fact that in hindsight, I was a bad kid. I was angry, withdrawn and incredibly socially awkward. I was also incredibly confused, depressed, wounded, lonely and desperate for both acceptance and more importantly, love, by any means necessary. When you don't get those things, you're left with two options for why you're somehow disqualified from what you see those around you, who you grow to envy immensely, have.

It's either everyone else's fault or it's your own, and I truly hate to say this, but the validity is there.

The people who decide it's themselves are the ones who ponder and commit suicide. Those who decide it's everyone else's, usually plans and then orchestrates ways to make them suffer for their indignity.

Yes, there's been times when I've thought about both. I guess what separates me from someone like Elliot Rodger is that I've always come to the conclusion that I was the problem and if I was going to take my anger out on anyone, I deserved it more than the other person. That doesn't mean, however, that the animosity completely dissipates, though. Like anything else, with repetition comes familiarity and familiarity is how we shape our perspective.

So someone who's had repeated success, adulation or moral and emotional support will have a much different view of the world than someone who, for whatever reason, never got any of that. It breeds bitterness, envy, hate, and an expanded lack of understanding.

You ask yourself the questions, "What is it about me that is so wrong that I can't have what they have?! We're both human! We're both intelligent creatures and came about the same way. Why do they have it so easy and I have it so hard?! Why can't I be like them?!"

When it comes to trying to forge a relationship with a woman, I am historically 0-9, going all the way back to when I escaped the little kid "puppy love" phase we all go through before puberty sets in and the hormones are unleashed like a supernova. Every single one of them never panned out. Sad, maybe, but also true. To be absolutely clear, I'm not holding those nine women completely accountable for that, either. In terms of responsibility for why it didn't happen, I'd honestly go no less than 80/20 on me for that.

The last time I tried to start a relationship, I remember very clearly saying to the woman I was interested in that I don't know the first thing about trying to be the "right" kind of man in the modern age. I'd like to think I have a very firm grasp on the basic foundations of respect, honesty, and trust, but everything else was still pretty sketchy, especially after a 16-year relationship with the only woman ever interested in me enough to go on a date, let alone marry me.

So I said I wanted to learn. I wanted to learn about her, what she was like, who she was and who she wanted to be, and I was hoping in some measure to learn about myself as well. What I was capable of as a man, as opposed to the wildly inaccurate machinations and ideas I had as I was developing into one.

Needless to say, as I am still single, that approach didn't seem to go over so well either, I guess.

I asked some female friends a while back what goes through their minds when the turn a guy down. Do they feel any sort of remorse about it? Does it bother them that they have to? Do the feelings and potential damage that might do to a guy matter at all? I asked not to be vindictive or snide about it. I just wanted to know if it hurt them anywhere near as much as it hurt me every time I got told to keep on looking. In their defense, they did say that it wasn't always easy and it depended both on the circumstances and the guy.

I love women. I love everything about women. But for reasons I'm still trying to figure out, I don't understand them and they don't seem to understand me much either. Elliot Rodger clearly didn't understand them. He thought he ""owned" them. That he somehow had a "right" to them just because he was a man and that's how it's "supposed to work."

He was a complete fool in that respect, but no one in his circle seemed interested in answering the questions he was asking his whole life. Along with the victims, that is the real tragedy here. Like so many other times before, this could've been prevented if ANYONE, be it a man or a woman, had ever sat down and bothered to listen.

Threshold

For the last three months, I've been spending a lot of the time not dedicated to job searching, reading, exercising and/or trying to have any modicum of sociality on finishing my novel.

I actually started it about 18 months ago, but with all the other work I was doing to that point, it was surreptitiously pushed to the omnipresent back-burner. Since then, however, I'd like to think I've gotten quite a bit done, with 16 chapters completed and only a few crucial ones remaining.

I've often wondered the same for writers as it is for actors in terms of bringing characters out of your creative being. Obviously, there is such a thing a "Method Acting," which allows for elements of an actors actual persona to permeate into the character they're portraying, be they heroic or evil. For every technique there seems to be for acting, there also seems to be twice as many for the writer.

The most cliched and overused trope is write what you know, as if any writer will sit down to craft a story based upon things for which they have no proper context or understanding. This novel of mine, while it dabbles heavily into the realms of speculative and science-fiction is still, at its core, a very personal story. I've poured a lot of myself into it, both through the characters I've created and the situations I've put them in. But I've had a serious problem over the last week.

The chapter I'm working on now, the twenty-eighth for those keeping score, is probably going to be the hardest one I have to write because to do so requires me to go to the parts of my own persona that I really don't like to go to. Those base, primal, angry parts of me that I know are there, but I just keep on either on an incredibly short leash or in a very tightly-sealed box and out of sight altogether.

To be clear, I always knew this was coming when I sat down and created the opening scene of the first chapter back in 2013. It was no small reason for why I came up with the whole idea in the first place, because as my protagonist will have to face his Yang, so was I going to have to as his creator, and hopefully, we'd both come out better on the other side.

But now that I'm here, I'm scared. Properly, genuinely, petrifyingly scared. I know what's on the other end of the leash and I know what's in the boxes. I put them there for good reason. They're dangerous and highly destructive and as much as I don't like to remember the fact that they're there, I try all the harder to keep them invisible to the people around me.

So what am I afraid of? I'm afraid of both how and what I'm going to feel between now and the end. I'm afraid I'm not going to be able to control it enough to get what I need out of the experience. And as weird as this is going to sound, I'm honestly afraid I'm really going to like it.

I have to take the plunge far enough to come back out with at least 4,000 words, and in the last three days alone, I've tried and bailed out three times. My fear is beginning to battle my growing frustration because I want it done. I want to get through this because I know I have to. Nobody else can do it for me. I have to do it for me.

I guess what I'm saying in all this is that for the next little while, things are going to get pretty rough over here. How much so, I really don't know. When it's over, though, don't be surprised if I start looking for people to talk to just to get me back to some semblance of reassuring normality and familiarity.

...and I'm probably going to need a good hug or two as well, if that's okay.

Happy Birthday

Dear Devin,

Long time, no see.

To say it's been a while would be both an understatement and profound recognition of the obvious. I'm sorry I've been gone as long as I have, but as we both know, things haven't exactly panned out as we drew it up all those years ago. It's because of that that I figured it was the right time to get back into the fold and also because, despite your continued apprehension to acknowledge it, it's your birthday tomorrow.

Thirty-seven isn't really a landmark occasion, I know, but considering the last five were both figuratively and literally ignored, I think we can and should make an exception for this one. Now I know what you're already thinking, (just a little habit I've picked up along the way, so sue me if you don't like it. Line forms to the right) but just hear me out.

Seriously.

I know it seems like things haven't gotten a whole lot better for you the older you've gotten and the evidence to support the argument is pretty compelling, except for the fact that you're ignoring everything you've managed to do in spite of all the crap you've had to wade through to get there.

I haven't forgotten any of it, either. All the moving around we did as a kid, jumping from one town, to the next, to the next, and so on. Having to make friends and say good-bye in the same year. The endless dysfunctional family routine. The first divorce, the second one, and then your own. Losing Erik. Losing your freedom, your identity and then when you thought you finally had it all put back together, your mind.

Do you remember those months we had to spend bouncing from place to place because we didn't have a home, spending the occasional night in that abandoned Hyundai in the church parking lot, thankful we at least had a coat to keep us warm enough to sleep and not shiver all night? The times we had to steal food or money to eat because no one would give us a job? Or all the days we spent behind those razor-wire fences and in those cells, trying to stay awake because sleep meant being left vulnerable to anyone who wanted to bash your head in or stick a shiv in your neck?

I do. I remember it all along with something you seem to have forgotten.

We got through it. Somehow, some way, we got through it, even when you were so completely certain that we couldn't.

Yes, there was no way either of us could have anticipated the toll it was going to take down the road. I don't think anyone else could've either, so blame yourself if you want to, but it's not entirely your fault, nor does it make you the person you've grown to believe you are. With all that's happened, it makes sense as to why you'd be so confused about that, and I admit, my not being around must not have made it any easier.

But consider this. You've still managed to hang in there, which means you're stronger than you realize. People have doubted and disregarded you and you've still accomplished things you never thought you could do. You went to college, earned degrees, gone to new places, done new things, met some amazing people.

Can you really tell me that was all a fluke? Of course it's not. You busted your hump and worked harder than anyone, including you, has ever really given you credit for. You knew it was never going to be easy, and at times, quitting seemed like the only logical option you had. Except you didn't. Not many people I know could look at things you've had to overcome and found a way to do precisely that. Sure, you didn't always take the best route and yes, you made it a lot harder than it needed to be, but the fact remains you still got to the other side.

To be fair, that's not something to boast or brag about to people to diminish them, but you have the right to own it and be proud of yourself for it. So do it, if for nothing else so you can stop being so afraid of it all coming back to haunt you. The ghosts of the past are just that, Dev. They'll dissipate if you let them.

I know things aren't exactly all sunshine and rainbows right now and that is also a frightening prospect. We've been in tougher scrapes than this though, you and I. This isn't anything really new. It may just seem that way because it feels like you have to get through it on your own. Only you don't. You've got people behind you. Friends. Family. They've been with you this far and a lot of them are still here. Why do you think that is?

Okay, sure, you got your heart handed to you. It happens to everyone at least once, like it or not, and yes, it sucks. It hurts like few things you can imagine. Does that mean you were wrong for caring about those people like you did, or still do? No. You can't make anyone love you if they don't want to, because you can't change them or their minds anymore than you they can change yours. It doesn't mean you have to forget about those feelings or to even stop loving them, but you do need to forgive.

Forgive them. Forgive yourself.

Falling love isn't always a choice and it's only a mistake if it ends up hurting you or someone else, and I know there were times when you said or did something that hurt someone you loved. Does that make you a monster or a "bad guy"? No, because I know you. No matter how angry you get, there is a line you've never crossed. I know why you haven't and I know why you never, ever, will.

You don't want to hurt anyone. You understand and recognize why there's no value in it. If you didn't have that strong of a moral compass, I would be a lot more worried about what you're capable of. The fact that you care so much and how much it bothers you when you even think you may have said or done something wrong confirms how good a soul you have.

Most people don't understand the dangers of their own strength. You do. You've known it since you were 10 years-old, having to stand up for yourself and your family to the man who abused all of you in one way or another. Standing there with a baseball bat in your hand, telling him if you ever saw him again, you'd use it. How you didn't then in that moment, even I don't really know. What matters is that you didn't.

It may not seem like much, but it does matter. It matters a lot.

But you are human, Dev. You're not always going to get it right and more often than not, it's going to go horribly and completely wrong. Welcome to life. It's not designed to be either simple or easy. If it were, you'd take it for granted and the path you've traveled is an object lesson in why you can't do that.

So why don't we start here. At this moment, on this birthday. No, you don't have to do something momentous to mark the occasion, but at least mark it anyway. You've made it to 37, when the over/under was maybe 25 and a whole lot of people were betting the under because it seemed like perhaps the surest thing in the world.

There's always going to be people who doubt you and what you're about. People who don't understand why you are who you are and why you see the world as you do. They come with the territory, but they're not worth stopping to visit. Take the people who care, the ones who love you even with all the mistakes and the awkwardness. The ghosts and the anger and the endless number of regrets, and spend however many days you have left with them. Let them make you laugh, think, wonder, smile, explore and yes, even cry.

They need you and you absolutely need them. Don't shut them out and don't keep telling yourself you don't deserve them, because you're wrong.

Now I've rambled on here long enough and there is a lot of work to be done. I'm not going to lie to you and say it's going to be easy, but if you can get through it, then maybe things will start getting easier from there. But for right now, let's not worry about that.

It's your birthday, after all. Let's make it a happy one, shall we?

You're going to be okay. You're smart enough and you're more than strong enough. I'll help you get through it and I'm not going anywhere. I promise.

Most Sincerely and Respectfully,

-Devin

P.S. - Don't forget to make a wish...and may it be granted.

Game of Questions

I've never considered myself to be much of a logician. That's not to suggest or imply that I don't use logic at all, but rather my brain tends to work on a more empathetic level, which often trumps logic in manners of thought, recognition and understanding.

Of course, it also works the other way, so in that aspect, I suppose it falls into the category of being one or the other, or among the rare few who can land astride the line.

I will concede that it is hard to find solid answers when viewing things through an emotional prism. They are, after all, tumultuous and unpredictable things, whereas logic is considered cold and analytical. It's why, as a culture, we're so fascinated by a fictional character like Mr. Spock or Sherlock Holmes, who can manage to take emotions out of the equation and just see things without that bias which can cloud judgment and alter decisions.

Myself, I've never been much of a Trekkie. Not to say I think Star Trek sucks, but I just never embraced it as my particular show of choice to geek out about.

*Editorial Note - Doctor Who and Farscape, however...now we're talking serious geek-fu fanboy.

My first foray into Trek wasn't actually even the show, but the movies which started coming out after I was born. Over the last week, while I was taking a brief sabbatical from writing, I started watching them again just to have some good escapist fare from the hornet's nest I inadvertently kicked open in my head. Most people are fans of the films by comparison to the many series and to each their own. I happen to like most of them.

*Editorial Note II - I suppose I'm among the few who like the first four movies. Most people hate The Motion Picture, but I happen to enjoy it. Final Frontier still sucks ass, though. There's no kind way in the world to put it.

In going back and rewatching them for the umpteenth time, I realized there's a consistent, underlying aspect of each story which Roddenberry and the screenwriters revisited often, but of course is rooted in a logical paradigm.

"One cannot give an answer when one does not understand the question."

Anyone who ever knew me growing up also had to share in my unabashed geekdom for Tom Stoppard's play Rosencrantz and Guildenstern are Dead, which, of course, takes Shakespeare's legendary Hamlet and completely turns it on its ear. My favorite part is when the two men square off on a tennis court, but rather than trading volleys with a ball, they trade questions.

I've come to understand that one of my biggest impediments to getting any better, and also why I keep seeming to chase my own tail, is because I am trying to get answers out of myself, without stopping to recognize the questions. It's choosing to just go on instinct and emotion, rather than getting to the root of the problem and determining the most simple solution.

So, with that in mind, time to start asking:

1.) Why are you not happy?

At the moment, I'm unemployed and looking for stability in a career I've wanted for most of my life. I have friends and people who care about me, but I feel detached from them for one reason or another, in no small part because of how the last few years have impacted me, my attitude and my perspective. I have ambitions that have not been achieved and I feel I'm at a loss on how I can get to where I know I'm capable of being physically, mentally and emotionally.

2.) Why are you so afraid of change?

It doesn't seem to make much sense, does it? After all, change from where I'm at would hardly be considered a terrible thing. What it comes down to, in a completely non-sexual way, is that the trajectory on which my life's gone has made me into a masochist. I've grown so used to be being down on myself and not branching out into new things that I'm only really content when I'm miserable and self-deprecating.

It's completely counter-intuitive, I know, but it's also the product of about 35 years of observation, interaction, feedback and most of all reinforcement, most of which was rather negative. The psychological myth is that love is something we're born with, whereas hate is an acquired trait. Over the span of my life, my identity is rooted in that acquisition, and to lose it means I lose how I identify myself, which is a very frightening thing to consider.

3.) Why be that way when hating yourself accomplishes nothing?

I get how the idea of self-confidence is an attractive quality to see in other people. What is overlooked is that it's also a finite resource and those who possess deep reservoirs of it are taught as children in how to find, cultivate, preserve and replenish that. I wasn't one of those lucky kids and have always had a deeper reservoir of self-doubt and self-rejection than I ever did the belief that I was someone special or even someone worthy of praise when I did something well.

Does that mean I don't have any faith in myself or what I can do? No, but it's like trying to find water in a desert. It's there, but if you don't know where or how to find it, you'll drive yourself mad in trying, if the heat doesn't kill you first.

4.) What do you want? Seriously, what would make you feel better right now and don't just say "I don't know," because that shit won't fly anymore.

A steady paycheck again wouldn't be a bad start, but there a lot of things I want. Get out of debt, finish my book and have it published, find a new home, have more time with my son, get my friends back in my life, settle the past, travel, explore, learn. I don't think any of those things are unreasonable or selfish and they're all attainable.

5.) You didn't mention anything about a significant other, though. Sooner or later, you need to try again, right?

Maybe, but not right now. First things first. Get my life back on track and get myself into being someone who is wanted, rather than someone who just wants what he can't have. I spent sixteen years in the only relationship I've ever had and while I learned a lot from it, there's a lot I didn't pay attention to as well. If I can get the other things done, I have confidence that this will come along with it as I evolve.

6.) So what's stopping you from falling back into the same old cycle this time? This is stuff we've heard before, and here we are again.

Fair point. The simple answer is I'm sure there will be times when the self-doubt threatens to overload any self-confidence I've accrued. It's part of the deal, unfortunately. You look at an athlete who's recovering from a physical injury and even if they're in great shape, there are times when they can aggravate it. This is no different, except I have to learn how to stop pulling short when that crippling fear and doubt kick in and just fucking jump.

I don't expect that to be easy at all, and no one should think it's a simple thing either because they may see it from a different vantage point. This is my battle, inside my head, and as much as I wish I could trade places when things are at their worst, I can't. So it's on me to figure a way past it, and I'd rather go through the pitfalls of trial and error than just give up.

Terrible, Horrible, No Good, Really Bad Day

I always liked this book when I was a kid, and it was kind of odd realizing this morning I hadn't read it in about thirty years.

Perhaps I should, because after how yesterday went, it might lend me some good perspective...

...or get me looking into how to immigrate to Australia, whichever comes first.

Because I live in a world where being completely open about such things is still considered an absolute no-no as it might alarm people into some form of action and/or reaction, I'll put this as succinctly as I can.

Yesterday sucked. A lot. So much so that the fact I'm even sitting here typing this out is not something that was guaranteed by this time yesterday.

It sucked because it was one of those really, really bad days where my mind goes to the places I try to keep it from going to, and it decides it's the perfect place to set up camp.

When I got up yesterday morning, I didn't feel quite right to begin with. I'd gotten some decent sleep, but as is my custom, didn't feel like I got any actual rest. Aware but undeterred, I ate breakfast, took a long hot shower and just tried to take care of myself. No real pushing. No forcing the issue. Just do what I've always done. Ride it out with the understanding that it's just temporary and I'll be okay.

Except by mid-afternoon, I wasn't okay. I was anything but okay.

I knew this wasn't just going to be an "ordinary" sort of bad day when I was trying to get more work done on my novel. Considering I don't have many more chapters to go, there is a definite feeling of excitement and accomplishment that is attached to each new page I finish. However, as is often the case in creating a story, I discovered I had a loose thread in an earlier chapter I needed to tend to first, so I can continue with the direction I was heading in later on.

I'd bet if you asked any reputable writer how many times they'd had to deal with this, virtually all of them would admit it's happened more than they can count. It's part of the deal, especially in a first draft when you're just throwing mental spitballs at a wall and hoping they stick well enough to make a relatively coherent picture.

But as I sat down and got to work, rereading the section of scene I needed to polish up, I came to a rather bothersome conclusion that I wasn't entirely sure of the motivations of my antagonist. And because this is a rather pivotal moment in the story, that is fairly alarming discovery to make. I racked my brain for about an hour trying to see if I could figure it out, but nothing seemed to fit right, and the big yellow snowball which had started rolling downhill when I woke up kept right on going and getting bigger and bigger and bigger.

Now this is the point where I should probably inform those of weak constitutions or who possess the opinions that anyone dealing with a "mental illness" or such "imaginary flim-flam" is trying to garner sympathy to probably go back to watching reality TV or whatever it is you do to escape from actual reality.

The rest of my afternoon and evening consisted of me finding things to do that kept my mind focused on something, ANYTHING, other than seeking confirmations and justifications for why this world and everyone in it sucks so much that it doesn't warrant my being here any more.

Six continuous hours of trying to not engage in an argument with myself about how much I hate people, how they take for granted lives I would gladly detonate a sun to possess, why everything they do is right and everything I do is wrong and how pointless it is to try to convince them to care at all when the evidence is clear that they both can't and shouldn't, so why even bother putting up any more of a fight?

Sure I could've called someone, but what am I really going to say? "Hey, sorry to take you away from whatever life-affirming thing you're in the middle of at the moment, but I'm in the midst off a stage three mental nuclear meltdown. Can you spare a few minutes until I can isolate the problem and get the reactor back on-line?"

When I was younger and was in that boat, I did what most people do and called my family. The usual answer I got was, "Suck it up and deal and quit being so melodramatic about it."

If you've ever found yourself in that sort of a spot, I'm truly sorry. If you haven't, well...let's just say it's anything but a picnic.

At that point, I decided it was best to just unplug and take the rest of the day off. I shut off Facebook, stepped away from my novel, went out and treated myself to some sushi and played Skyrim until I was yawning so badly that I could barely stay awake. Figuring I'd be able to just collapse into bed and pass out thanks to the extra shot of Prozac I took at the height of my lowest, I actually was ready to fall asleep about three hours earlier than I usually do.

And I still didn't finally get there until after midnight.

Even though I didn't touch a drop of alcohol, which I would've probably been in the right to do under the circumstances, I woke up this morning feeling like I had a hell of a hangover. My head was pounding and I had a hard time seeing straight, but I know for a fact that one cannot get drunk on almond milk.

Today I'm feeling a little better, and given the nice weather outside, I'm going to utilize it later on for a workout before hopefully getting back into my book and finishing up what I need to get done.

And yes, I am looking into getting into see someone about this. As I am on the Washington State plan under the ACA, I can do so and talked to them about it at the end of last week, in fact. At which time, they told me I should expect a call back soon for available people to go talk to.

I'd like to say it's been a while since I've had a day like this, but it's not. They may not be as completely bad as this, but I do have them. A lot. For the record, I don't wake up every morning in the hopes that I'll have one on the docket for that day either. I'd much rather just have a "normal day" everyone else I know has of getting up, going to work, coming home or spending time with friends and family and knowing that the next day will be a repeat of that, instead.

 I don't think anyone should have to withstand with days like this...even in Australia.

Another Year Older

So I realized this morning that April is quickly on it's way out the door for another year, which means May is fast approaching, and with it...my birthday.

I honestly don't know when I stopped really enjoying the idea of turning a year older, but as my 37th approaches, I realize that it's probably been about ten years at least since I really felt like "celebrating" my coming into this world.

Contrary to popular belief, it's not the result of the stereotypical "Midlife Crisis" or fear of getting old either. I understood a long time ago that there's no way to stop the progression of life we all go through, and I made up my mind that I was not going to be like people I knew who had to be dragged kicking and screaming into accepting they're not 21 anymore.

*Editorial Note - In fact, I remember waking up on my 30th birthday, rolling out of bed and feeling the same cracks and pops in my bones that I had the day before, so it was far from an Earth-shattering revelation that my 20's were now over.

This is where I was when I turned 36, choosing to run away and get lost for the whole week in a city I'd never seen before rather than stay home and try to find some arbitrary way to commemorate the occasion. But when it came time to actually acknowledge it, I didn't really do all that much other than treat myself to lunch in San Francisco's famous Chinatown (which ended up not being all that great, truth be told) and then going to a sleepy little dive not too far from where I was staying in San Jose called Singlebarrel and having a drink in a comfortable chair in a corner of the very dark space, drowning out the surrounding chatter and conversation with my iPod and scribbling down everything I was running from in my notebook.

Had I a job and the means to do so now, I probably would do the same thing and run away to somewhere else I haven't been to before, of which there are a great many places. Before I left last year, I posted a rather morose note to my friends telling them that I was, in a sense, doing them a favor by taking off and not having to go through the arbitrary paces of wishing me a "Happy Birthday," and for a while now, I've tried convincing them to treat it, (and I've told them this with absolute sincerity) as just another day and to really ignore it.

So why would I do that? Why marginalize, trivialize and disregard the fact that I made it through another year? As I sit here and rack my brain for an honest answer, this is what I've been able to come up with.

My continued existence isn't worth celebrating and even if it was, I honestly, truly, don't remember how.

Now I can already hear the comeback to that, "How could you possibly think such a thing?!" which is a perfectly valid question and also worth answering.

The answer is that looking at my life and what it is now from standing in the middle of it reinforces that opinion a little more everyday. I'm unemployed and frantically looking for a job wherever I can find one with next to no success. I'm single with absolutely no interest in dating or finding a girlfriend because my divorce and everything that came after eradicated my instincts and ability to trust either what I feel or the intentions whoever I might be interested in. I'm an absentee father to a brilliant little boy who is everything that I was at his age and I'm desperate not to corrupt him in the same way I was by my parents and the life of growing up in a broken family.

My days are spent grappling with extreme self-doubt and a total lack of both self-confidence and self-worth and even on the one when I go to sleep feeling good about myself, there's those inevitable swings back the other way and I consider my entire life to this point to have been completely and utterly wasted.

Now if I had a surging career, a nice house, less stress and all the things I've wanted, I'm sure I wouldn't feel this way. Those weren't the cards I was dealt so I'm trying to make good with what I have.

From my view, which is all I have to really go on here, there's only one legitimately positive reason why I should celebrate my birthday this or any other year.

Because despite all that shit and everything I've had to fight off, everything I want so badly to forget, and everything I want more than anything in the world to change...I'm still here.

Try as it all has to put me in the ground, and there have been many, MANY times where it was all but assured, it hasn't.

That has to count for something, I hope.

Love Thyself

The world seems to be full of epiphanic musings like this. I know because I've heard a great many of them in my life from people who've tried to convince me of what it is I'm lacking in order to get through this lingering state I've been in.

To be clear, I'm not the sort of person who believes that such advice is a terrible thing. On the contrary, being able to see yourself for who you are and accepting that reality isn't a bad thing at all, I'd like to think.

The issue comes when your self-image is predicated upon a foundation that was designed for one thing.

Maximizing self-loathing and self-hatred.

From an early age, I learned that being accepted by those around me would probably be the hardest thing I could accomplish. After all, going to school was a daily routine of degradation, abuse and rejection for a myriad of reasons.

If it wasn't the clothes I was wearing, it was the way I talked. If not that, then it was that I was smaller for my age. If not that, it was because I was smarter than most of the kids I was in class with and actually interested in learning. If not that, it was because I was descendant of a low-income family and not an upper middle-class one.

The one thing I never really understood is why it was that I became the constant target for such ridicule. I wasn't asking for it and I certainly wasn't encouraging it. I just wanted to be left alone, to have friends and to fit in, but it didn't happen because I was so different than "the norm."

As I went through all the calamitous crap I had to deal with in my late teens and early 20's, the level of self-abnegation I felt truly skyrocketed to where it's been ever since. No one ever walks out of a prison cell with a high opinion of themselves. They just don't. Why? Because that's not what it's designed for. Nor is the system which operates it.

The lie of this country is that we have a rehabilitative system for dealing with those who run afoul of the law for whatever reason. The truth is it's actually built around retribution. At no point did any of the shrinks I had to see ever work on building positive self-reinforcement. Not once. All it was, every week for five years was pointing out the worst parts of who I was perceived to be and hammering home how I could never have a "normal" life because there was something so wrong with me that I was no longer permitted to just be a regular person.

The severity of my self-loathing is not a sporadic occurrence. It has grown and been cultivated over a long period of time dating back nearly 30 years now and in that time, I have tried to figure out ways to circumvent that runaway train of thought and try seeing myself in a better light. Some days, I can, but it never lasts very long because there's always a trigger that sets my self-perspective back on what it deems to be the proper course.

Going through divorce and all that came after certainly didn't help either. If anything, it just reinforced the position I've always had.

Nobody loves you, Dev, and they're never going to no matter how badly you want them to. If they can't or don't, then there's really no point in you trying to either.

It's a vicious, self-sustaining cycle. You can only be accepted if you accept yourself, but it becomes harder to accept one's self if no one else wants them around either.

At this point, my self-awareness is so hypersensitive that I know both who and what I am probably better than I ever have before. I know what I've been through, the things I've achieved and overcome and every mistake I've made, be they trivial or otherwise. I live with memories, feelings and actions that I will always regret and wish I could change. I still have dreams for things I want to do before this life ends.

Love is an instinctual feeling we acquire from the moment we're born. Hate is something that is taught to us through outside influences. I know this because I only have to look at my son to realize that even at his age of three, he still sees the world in a totally different spectrum than I do, and I remember how at that age, I felt the same way. I didn't hate anyone and I certainly didn't hate myself by any measure.

But I still do now. I have for nearly the entirety of my life since. For me, it's much easier to exhibit love in an external capacity than an internal one and to me, it's no less real or valid. If someone ever hears me say the words "I love you,"to them, I honestly can't be any more sincere.

I can't because they're three words I've never, ever, been comfortable with saying to myself.