Lost_in_necropolis
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- Joined
- Jul 10, 2015
- Messages
- 18
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I had such a promising start. I was on a path of personal development that combined both athleticism and intellectual pursuits. I was on track for a dream job. Because I had a vision for myself and the world around me, high quality women were drawn to me. They didn't come in droves - but I could rely on the likelihood of a high quality partner coming my way at least once every several years.
My back injury in 2009 changed all of that. I lost the ability to lift weights. Having lost the ability to train, I also lost the ability to manage my stress and tackle my dream career. Without those things, I am now just a shadow of my former self. When you lose your orientation in life, you quite literally go through a grieving process for your old life. While I was always something of a recluse, these years of grief resulted in even more intense isolation. Quality women no longer want anything to do with me because I am very open about my chronic pain issues. Like a fool, I internalized all the rhetoric coming from feminists about equality. In practice, most women want to be taken care of and protected. They don't want to be the caretakers for their men in the same way that men have traditionally been willing to be protectors of women. At least, this has been my experience. The fact that I am also no longer somebody who is pursuing his passion in life doubtlessly makes me much less appealing.
I know I am much better off than most. I can still work. I can still walk. But however I look at it, the real me died years ago with my injury to my lower back. What blessings are still present in my life are lost on me because I am, in effect, already dead.
The feelings of self pity are fleeting. I know when those feelings leave me all that will be left is greater inner strength and a greater depth of understanding. From a certain perspective, chronic pain is a unique chance to come to terms with all the things that really make human life meaningful - the ephemeral quality of all our joys and sorrows, the specter of pain and death which gives our lives a sense of urgency, and the chance to grow in strength and wisdom as we manage and overcome our constraints. Unfortunately, that inner strength does not translate into greater sexual market value. Nor does it necessarily make one very gregarious. So I will continue to be alone. My pain condition will probably progress to a point where I have to stop working. Alone trying to get on disability seems to be in the cards for me. If I do end up taking my life, I like to think it will be from a position of strength and contempt for a world where people with chronic pain are marginalized by society.
It's such a strange feeling to know that you've already seen your best days. All I can ever think of anymore is that quote from bladerunner - all those moments will be lost in time like tears in rain.
Depressive rant over
My back injury in 2009 changed all of that. I lost the ability to lift weights. Having lost the ability to train, I also lost the ability to manage my stress and tackle my dream career. Without those things, I am now just a shadow of my former self. When you lose your orientation in life, you quite literally go through a grieving process for your old life. While I was always something of a recluse, these years of grief resulted in even more intense isolation. Quality women no longer want anything to do with me because I am very open about my chronic pain issues. Like a fool, I internalized all the rhetoric coming from feminists about equality. In practice, most women want to be taken care of and protected. They don't want to be the caretakers for their men in the same way that men have traditionally been willing to be protectors of women. At least, this has been my experience. The fact that I am also no longer somebody who is pursuing his passion in life doubtlessly makes me much less appealing.
I know I am much better off than most. I can still work. I can still walk. But however I look at it, the real me died years ago with my injury to my lower back. What blessings are still present in my life are lost on me because I am, in effect, already dead.
The feelings of self pity are fleeting. I know when those feelings leave me all that will be left is greater inner strength and a greater depth of understanding. From a certain perspective, chronic pain is a unique chance to come to terms with all the things that really make human life meaningful - the ephemeral quality of all our joys and sorrows, the specter of pain and death which gives our lives a sense of urgency, and the chance to grow in strength and wisdom as we manage and overcome our constraints. Unfortunately, that inner strength does not translate into greater sexual market value. Nor does it necessarily make one very gregarious. So I will continue to be alone. My pain condition will probably progress to a point where I have to stop working. Alone trying to get on disability seems to be in the cards for me. If I do end up taking my life, I like to think it will be from a position of strength and contempt for a world where people with chronic pain are marginalized by society.
It's such a strange feeling to know that you've already seen your best days. All I can ever think of anymore is that quote from bladerunner - all those moments will be lost in time like tears in rain.
Depressive rant over