Where to begin?
I'm a tragic figure. Foolish and hopelessly lost. I'm 32 now. I would say my life was last on track, aged 20.
At this age, I was studying software development at university, achieving good grades— I had a promising life ahead of me. However, due to social anxiety, I struggled to make friends, I didn't fit in well. I met a girl the same age online, beautiful, creative, e&c. Over time we fell in love. Trouble was, she lived near London—300 miles away. I traveled a few times to meet her. The connection was amazing, she was the love of my life. Foolishly, I abandoned my studies, and used what remained of my student loan to rent a room in a shared house from an unscrupulous private landlord near London. To my horror, and complete lack of surprise, the majority of the residents seemed to be made up of good looking Australian rugby-player type young men.
Being an introvert, I watched in nervous silence, as they grew each day more and more intimate with my very beautiful new girlfriend. In the shared kitchen each morning, they would almost line up to kiss her head as she cooked. In a new place, feeling isolated, without any social support, I became overloaded with anxiety and jealously. Even her best friend was her ex-boyfriend, she would say: "Of course I love you more than Ryan, but don't tell him I said that!" She would also stay over his place at times. After 6-7 months, it was getting too much. All she wanted to do was drink with the young men in the house, she seemed overly preoccupied with what they thought of her. One time, she said she was going out to get drinks for another session. I left a regrettable note on our bed calling her a "slut", before storming out for a long walk. When I returned, I found they had locked me out, the men hurled ice cubes from their cooler at me from the window, swore and threatened me—she had shown them the note. It was only after I threatened to call the landlord, they unlocked the door. I found her dead drunk stinking of vodka. After some slurred histrionics on her part, she tumbled down the stairs. Whereupon the men, helpfully aided her to the top, by each grabbing a tit and an ass apiece. I had to convince her the water I was giving her was vodka before I get her to our room. Fortunately, not long after this incident the young men moved back to Australia.
Things seemed to run smooth again for the next 2-3 months, and for a brief time I was happy, deeply in love; and I she thought was too. Then, suddenly, she stops sleeping with me, she became standoffish and would react angrily to my pleas. Then, one night, she didn't come home. It wasn't until the next day, I saw her in our room, after work. I asked where she was the night before, I was worried sick and was calling her phone, and her friends numbers--no one knew, or would say. She said, she stayed at the "Palace Hotel" nearby to clear her head. The next day after work, I call into the Palace Hotel to check the logbook. It was a Palace "Hotel" in name only, it was a bar. When I told her this, she just grinned—I in saw in that grin, for the first time something sick in her nature. She would bat away all my questions as if they were the buzzing of an annoying gnat. The next night, again she is not home, but this time, I don't have my set of key to into the house. I call and call. It goes through to voicemail. I'm worried about her. I threaten to call the police, I'm sick with worry, and I'm locked out on a cold, frosty Novemember night. The hours go by, I'm calling and calling. Standing by the house, a car pulls up, a brand new BMW 250i, and there she is with this guy I've never seen before. And they just ******* stare at me, as I scream "who is this?" But I knew well enough. She drops the keys out the window and they drive off. I don't see her til the next night. At this point, I'm not angry so much, but completely crushed. I just want to move back to Manchester--but no money. I'd have to work another few weeks. I loved her so much. I have never felt such a world of pain. She seperates the beds, and I cry myself to sleep every night. I say, "so long as I'm here, promise me you'll never bring him into this house." She promised. But sure enough, a few days later, she and her friends and the fella are all laughing away in the kitchen. Whilst I remained locked in the bedroom. This humilitating routine continues on for 3-4 weeks. But the pyschological trauma didn't end there.
She knew, I would wait up at night, hoping she would return home rather than spend the night at his. I would sit by the window. One night, around midnight, they pulled up in his car and parked outside the window. She proceeded to straddle him, and messed him right there in plain sight. This incident, destroyed what was left of my mind. I had taken to shaking fits, and cutting myself; I thought about suicide constantly- I still couldn't afford to move back, because I was paying off our backlog of rent. I would write dark, sucidial pages of writings and stash them beneath our bed. She spread rumours, that I "had lost my mind -- "mistreated" her, was pyschologically unstable. Justifying her affair. And because she was a beautiful young girl, her friends all rallied to her side. I was treated like honeysuckle and a unwanted leper by everyone. I returned to Manchester. Broken. Mentally deranged. Hateful of women. And all humanity.
Once I got my own place, I became a recluse, and in time an alcoholic. To this day I have not slept with another woman—10 years. I never once sought out their company. In my early to mid 20s, I read a great deal of socialist literature. I became a Marxist, and joined a Trotskyist party. My worldview of contending classes, shaped my relationship to the economy; and my political outlook. Capitalism, was just another inhuman and monstrous lie. I lived by the philosophy of, "Travaillez Jamais"--- never work! And despite a several, 6-7 temp. admin jobs over this time, I never did. Preferring, instead, to shun society. To live on welfare, and spend more and more time in isolation. Many years passed like this. For 2-3 weeks I speak to no one! Years of this. I studied a four year PhD in English Lit. Before, leaving it incomplete, and now longer finishable; due to depression. A familiar, half-baked effort. My life since then, has been marked by cynicism, alcoholism, misanthopy and a rejection of all I see as false and duplicitous. Then, one day—this leads us to the final part of my story— a perverse desire struck me. A desire to suffer. To be exploited by capitalism, to be admist its most exploited—to feel my body abused, my spirit crushed by laborous, and meaningless suffering.
Luckily for me there was just such a job. As a picker for a well known company, in the middle of a nowhere industrial estate, known for brutally exploiting unskilled, foreign nationals. I applied and got the job. Sure enough, it was everything I desired. I watched as workers collapsed through exhausation, to be taken away by an ambulance. The work was so taxing, in our 20-30km day treks, that welts and blisters the size of garden peas would burst inside my steel toe cap boots, causing a glorious shower of pain. The more I suffered the more I desired to suffer. An endless loop of suffering-desire. And desiring-suffering. It seemed, I had finally found my place—at the very bottom of society. I never expected to fall in love.
Anna. The moment I saw her mid-20s, pale, uniquely beautiful; and later knew her empathy and intelligence. She reminded me of the haunting, oddly beautiful, old movie actresses: Mary Astor, Georgia Hale, Bacall... We exchanged a few work-related words. She was Romanian. Immediately, I rush home and start learning Romanian. I practice everyday, with a Romanian fellow on the way to work. Finally, when I can speak 2-3 sentences, I present her with my achievement: "Ințeleg puțin român. Dar voi învata mai mult în timp." I joke, and tell her I used to pronounce timp, as pimp; and how awkward that could of been. She replies with a sharp "Yes!" cutting me off, and hurries away. You fool. You should have known better. You've embarassed yourself-- she's knows you're not interested in the language, but in her! I chide myself.
Everyday, I work to exhaustion. I lost 10kg in a such a short time. Then, one day, sharing a bus on route to work. She descends from the upper floor, and our eyes meet. And though, I am preparing to tear my gaze away. Our eyes are locked for 3-4 seconds—and I can only describe it as a shared soul-seeing. A rare, suprahuman occurance. From then on, her attitude towards me changed completely. We would take any chance to talk about a whole range of topics, always with a joyful and intense participation. And how smart, and opinionated she was! I was soaring! My feet no longer blistered painfully, but carried away, by colorful dreams of a life with Anna. Anna, became a reason to live and breathe! To look on her, was to see all the beauty in the world manifest. She would touch my scanner and adjust its straps. She complimented, I was "the most one of the intelligent person here." Oh, Anna! I woiuld crawl on my stomach, like a louse to hear those words again. Then, it happened... She had a Romanian boyfriend-- not only that, he worked in the very same warehouse. I suddenly start seeing them together everywhere. At this point, I'm madly in love with her. And I'm desperately confused. Look, you recluse, you dreamer. Say, you do win her over, what kind of a life can a no-friends, no-direction recluse like you offer her? If you love her, you will want her to be happy-- she'll be happier with him.
Then, the moral confliction, its argument: "You know what it's like to lose the one you love. You can't cause, by your own actions, another man that pain. Besides, how do you know she even like you that way?" It would be painful to describe in too much detail, my remaining month there. In the canteen, on the bus, in queue to leave the warehouse, passing in the aisles or shopfloor. Everywhere, in the corner of my eye, I could see her pale, lovely face staring at me, trying desperately, to catch my attention. And on every occassion, I avoided eye contact -it was obvious to everyone- and where I could avoided her company. Inside, it felt like I was sludging around raw tuna for organs. On my last day there before I decided to quit. It seemed she had enough, walked down the aisle and head on into me, she stopped and gazed at me again, somewhat impetuously. I looked at her, sighed, and turned away. Only to see her back as she walked away. That was the last I saw of her- 9 months ago.
Since then, I thought about her all the time. A month later, I even walked to the bus station to meet her after work hours, but she wasn't there. Then, last week, I heard they were recruiting again. Having fallen into my old ways of reclusion and idle stupor. I applied and got my old job back. She is going to be, perhaps, frightened to see me? Even now, I question, whether she was really staring, because my behavior was odd-- or whether the whole thing was ridiculous, a premature bewitchment; and her many curious, and puzzled looks. There is even the chance, she will know I returned for her. And it may be entering into the creepy/stalker territory. I only know I love her. And I will have enslaved myself, again, for nothing, if she is not there tomorrow.
I'm a tragic figure. Foolish and hopelessly lost. I'm 32 now. I would say my life was last on track, aged 20.
At this age, I was studying software development at university, achieving good grades— I had a promising life ahead of me. However, due to social anxiety, I struggled to make friends, I didn't fit in well. I met a girl the same age online, beautiful, creative, e&c. Over time we fell in love. Trouble was, she lived near London—300 miles away. I traveled a few times to meet her. The connection was amazing, she was the love of my life. Foolishly, I abandoned my studies, and used what remained of my student loan to rent a room in a shared house from an unscrupulous private landlord near London. To my horror, and complete lack of surprise, the majority of the residents seemed to be made up of good looking Australian rugby-player type young men.
Being an introvert, I watched in nervous silence, as they grew each day more and more intimate with my very beautiful new girlfriend. In the shared kitchen each morning, they would almost line up to kiss her head as she cooked. In a new place, feeling isolated, without any social support, I became overloaded with anxiety and jealously. Even her best friend was her ex-boyfriend, she would say: "Of course I love you more than Ryan, but don't tell him I said that!" She would also stay over his place at times. After 6-7 months, it was getting too much. All she wanted to do was drink with the young men in the house, she seemed overly preoccupied with what they thought of her. One time, she said she was going out to get drinks for another session. I left a regrettable note on our bed calling her a "slut", before storming out for a long walk. When I returned, I found they had locked me out, the men hurled ice cubes from their cooler at me from the window, swore and threatened me—she had shown them the note. It was only after I threatened to call the landlord, they unlocked the door. I found her dead drunk stinking of vodka. After some slurred histrionics on her part, she tumbled down the stairs. Whereupon the men, helpfully aided her to the top, by each grabbing a tit and an ass apiece. I had to convince her the water I was giving her was vodka before I get her to our room. Fortunately, not long after this incident the young men moved back to Australia.
Things seemed to run smooth again for the next 2-3 months, and for a brief time I was happy, deeply in love; and I she thought was too. Then, suddenly, she stops sleeping with me, she became standoffish and would react angrily to my pleas. Then, one night, she didn't come home. It wasn't until the next day, I saw her in our room, after work. I asked where she was the night before, I was worried sick and was calling her phone, and her friends numbers--no one knew, or would say. She said, she stayed at the "Palace Hotel" nearby to clear her head. The next day after work, I call into the Palace Hotel to check the logbook. It was a Palace "Hotel" in name only, it was a bar. When I told her this, she just grinned—I in saw in that grin, for the first time something sick in her nature. She would bat away all my questions as if they were the buzzing of an annoying gnat. The next night, again she is not home, but this time, I don't have my set of key to into the house. I call and call. It goes through to voicemail. I'm worried about her. I threaten to call the police, I'm sick with worry, and I'm locked out on a cold, frosty Novemember night. The hours go by, I'm calling and calling. Standing by the house, a car pulls up, a brand new BMW 250i, and there she is with this guy I've never seen before. And they just ******* stare at me, as I scream "who is this?" But I knew well enough. She drops the keys out the window and they drive off. I don't see her til the next night. At this point, I'm not angry so much, but completely crushed. I just want to move back to Manchester--but no money. I'd have to work another few weeks. I loved her so much. I have never felt such a world of pain. She seperates the beds, and I cry myself to sleep every night. I say, "so long as I'm here, promise me you'll never bring him into this house." She promised. But sure enough, a few days later, she and her friends and the fella are all laughing away in the kitchen. Whilst I remained locked in the bedroom. This humilitating routine continues on for 3-4 weeks. But the pyschological trauma didn't end there.
She knew, I would wait up at night, hoping she would return home rather than spend the night at his. I would sit by the window. One night, around midnight, they pulled up in his car and parked outside the window. She proceeded to straddle him, and messed him right there in plain sight. This incident, destroyed what was left of my mind. I had taken to shaking fits, and cutting myself; I thought about suicide constantly- I still couldn't afford to move back, because I was paying off our backlog of rent. I would write dark, sucidial pages of writings and stash them beneath our bed. She spread rumours, that I "had lost my mind -- "mistreated" her, was pyschologically unstable. Justifying her affair. And because she was a beautiful young girl, her friends all rallied to her side. I was treated like honeysuckle and a unwanted leper by everyone. I returned to Manchester. Broken. Mentally deranged. Hateful of women. And all humanity.
Once I got my own place, I became a recluse, and in time an alcoholic. To this day I have not slept with another woman—10 years. I never once sought out their company. In my early to mid 20s, I read a great deal of socialist literature. I became a Marxist, and joined a Trotskyist party. My worldview of contending classes, shaped my relationship to the economy; and my political outlook. Capitalism, was just another inhuman and monstrous lie. I lived by the philosophy of, "Travaillez Jamais"--- never work! And despite a several, 6-7 temp. admin jobs over this time, I never did. Preferring, instead, to shun society. To live on welfare, and spend more and more time in isolation. Many years passed like this. For 2-3 weeks I speak to no one! Years of this. I studied a four year PhD in English Lit. Before, leaving it incomplete, and now longer finishable; due to depression. A familiar, half-baked effort. My life since then, has been marked by cynicism, alcoholism, misanthopy and a rejection of all I see as false and duplicitous. Then, one day—this leads us to the final part of my story— a perverse desire struck me. A desire to suffer. To be exploited by capitalism, to be admist its most exploited—to feel my body abused, my spirit crushed by laborous, and meaningless suffering.
Luckily for me there was just such a job. As a picker for a well known company, in the middle of a nowhere industrial estate, known for brutally exploiting unskilled, foreign nationals. I applied and got the job. Sure enough, it was everything I desired. I watched as workers collapsed through exhausation, to be taken away by an ambulance. The work was so taxing, in our 20-30km day treks, that welts and blisters the size of garden peas would burst inside my steel toe cap boots, causing a glorious shower of pain. The more I suffered the more I desired to suffer. An endless loop of suffering-desire. And desiring-suffering. It seemed, I had finally found my place—at the very bottom of society. I never expected to fall in love.
Anna. The moment I saw her mid-20s, pale, uniquely beautiful; and later knew her empathy and intelligence. She reminded me of the haunting, oddly beautiful, old movie actresses: Mary Astor, Georgia Hale, Bacall... We exchanged a few work-related words. She was Romanian. Immediately, I rush home and start learning Romanian. I practice everyday, with a Romanian fellow on the way to work. Finally, when I can speak 2-3 sentences, I present her with my achievement: "Ințeleg puțin român. Dar voi învata mai mult în timp." I joke, and tell her I used to pronounce timp, as pimp; and how awkward that could of been. She replies with a sharp "Yes!" cutting me off, and hurries away. You fool. You should have known better. You've embarassed yourself-- she's knows you're not interested in the language, but in her! I chide myself.
Everyday, I work to exhaustion. I lost 10kg in a such a short time. Then, one day, sharing a bus on route to work. She descends from the upper floor, and our eyes meet. And though, I am preparing to tear my gaze away. Our eyes are locked for 3-4 seconds—and I can only describe it as a shared soul-seeing. A rare, suprahuman occurance. From then on, her attitude towards me changed completely. We would take any chance to talk about a whole range of topics, always with a joyful and intense participation. And how smart, and opinionated she was! I was soaring! My feet no longer blistered painfully, but carried away, by colorful dreams of a life with Anna. Anna, became a reason to live and breathe! To look on her, was to see all the beauty in the world manifest. She would touch my scanner and adjust its straps. She complimented, I was "the most one of the intelligent person here." Oh, Anna! I woiuld crawl on my stomach, like a louse to hear those words again. Then, it happened... She had a Romanian boyfriend-- not only that, he worked in the very same warehouse. I suddenly start seeing them together everywhere. At this point, I'm madly in love with her. And I'm desperately confused. Look, you recluse, you dreamer. Say, you do win her over, what kind of a life can a no-friends, no-direction recluse like you offer her? If you love her, you will want her to be happy-- she'll be happier with him.
Then, the moral confliction, its argument: "You know what it's like to lose the one you love. You can't cause, by your own actions, another man that pain. Besides, how do you know she even like you that way?" It would be painful to describe in too much detail, my remaining month there. In the canteen, on the bus, in queue to leave the warehouse, passing in the aisles or shopfloor. Everywhere, in the corner of my eye, I could see her pale, lovely face staring at me, trying desperately, to catch my attention. And on every occassion, I avoided eye contact -it was obvious to everyone- and where I could avoided her company. Inside, it felt like I was sludging around raw tuna for organs. On my last day there before I decided to quit. It seemed she had enough, walked down the aisle and head on into me, she stopped and gazed at me again, somewhat impetuously. I looked at her, sighed, and turned away. Only to see her back as she walked away. That was the last I saw of her- 9 months ago.
Since then, I thought about her all the time. A month later, I even walked to the bus station to meet her after work hours, but she wasn't there. Then, last week, I heard they were recruiting again. Having fallen into my old ways of reclusion and idle stupor. I applied and got my old job back. She is going to be, perhaps, frightened to see me? Even now, I question, whether she was really staring, because my behavior was odd-- or whether the whole thing was ridiculous, a premature bewitchment; and her many curious, and puzzled looks. There is even the chance, she will know I returned for her. And it may be entering into the creepy/stalker territory. I only know I love her. And I will have enslaved myself, again, for nothing, if she is not there tomorrow.