I know you guys are tired of hearing of my woes and depression as per the breakup. I wish I could be the funny girl you all met back when I started this page. I wish I had the mentality to back up the general comedic timing that is brimming behind the anxiety and chest pains.
Yes chest pains. I’ve had one anxiety attack after another, I realize I’m going to die alone. Not the quintessential ‘alone’ that we all die, but I’ll have no one to mourn my passing. I’ll never have a son or daughter, and I’ll never have a husband, or even a boyfriend to love me.
I know someone is thinking, “Maddy, that’s just not true.” But maybe it is.
Let’s look at this logically, you’ve read my encounters with men, at some point one has to face the facts. It’s not them, it’s me.
I’m the one who never learned how to meet people.
I’m the one who doesn’t know how to find good people.
I find users and abusers, I find horrible men who can berate and cheat. I have no bullshit-o-meter. And for the first time in my life I have no give-a-shit.
It’s over. I am not joining eharmony, or match.com, to spend hundreds of dollars to not meet anyone. I won’t re-open the POF wounds, or try to make OkCupid do some amazing feat. I will just fester and rot like an open wound in the summer heat here in the South (or Winter heat as the case may be.)
From now on my life is a series of bills, work, and sleep. I’m sorry if that gets boring after-awhile. I’ll try to write some fiction and throw it up here from time to time, (I’ll label it justly, so you know what it is) Hell maybe I’ll write my next novel here, during this time of nothing, this death of my dreams.