Not too long ago, I sent an email out to about 2,000 of my readers telling them that, quote, “I tried to kill myself recently.”
As far as ill-advised things go, that easily cracks the top-5.
It wasn’t true.
Not even close.
Am I a bastion of hope and enlightenment in the world?
Not even fucking close.
But I’d like to think that I have half-decent judgment.
That was not one of those moments.
That’s what this blog is about.
More than anything, it’s about poor judgement: moments in relationships, friendships and in life where I’ve fucked up.
Said the wrong thing.
Did the wrong thing.
Felt my human feelings.
And what I learned from those moments.
It gets dark, in there.
Trust me, you don’t want to go down this rabbit-hole.
I share some truly excruciating things — childhood traumas, deep sex secrets and other moments that I shouldn’t be sharing.
My life, before writing.
In college, I was a professional alcoholic.
What I mean by that is that I would troll around at the local frat house, import excessive amounts of light beer and bottom-shelf vodka into my bloodstream and export vomit (and sometimes blood) onto whatever surface I was conveniently located by.
One time, while in my Journalism 200 class or whatever, my teacher had to point out that, I think you have something written on your neck.
Or face, or something.
Who the fuck knows.
Anyway, she pointed it out in class and in spite of the fact that I’d had so much fun the night before, traipsing around sorority houses and getting my face drawn on and doing questionable things with my frat bros, I still felt ashamed.
That was pretty much the perpetual feeling I almost always felt in college — shame.
I didn’t really like who I was.
I felt alone a lot of the time.
I wanted sex and to be in a relationship but I didn’t really know what that would even look like.
(Or, like, what sex would even feel like, but I heard it was fucking cool and shit, yo!)
So, instead of dedicating my time and energy into something fruitful like writing or putting together something useful, I just became an alcoholic.
And so, I went into my teacher’s office after class to apologize.
“I’m worried about you,” she said.
I reeked of alcohol, she said.
And my writing had been regressing, pretty seriously, since the beginning of the semester.
I was letting booze take over my life.
And so, I just hung my head in shame and I wanted to cry.
I had a problem, I had to admit.
“I know, I am too,” I said.
And I left her office with that quote just reverberating in my skull.
Where my energy goes, now.
I wake up, every morning, at 5 a.m. and the first thing I do is write for 27-hours.
Then, I sip my chai tea whilst meditating.
I never masturbate.
And I certainly don’t waste any of my precious time on earth.
I have a life calculator that opens up, every time I open up a new tab in Chrome.
It’s counting down until the day I reach 35, because that’s essentially when I become a useless invalid.
I’m going to change the world, one day, but I won’t if I continue wasting my precious time.
None of this is true, of course.
Last week, I…
- Masturbated, like, two or three times straight in one sitting.
- Spent an entire afternoon watching YouTube videos.
- Sulked for an entire morning because I’m constantly questioning ‘what the fuck am I doing?’ with my life. And, do I have any friends?!
And, in that same week, I…
- Saw my website traffic quadruple.
- Started working on a partnership with a massive startup here in Denver for an event.
- Hosted a fun BBQ event with around 25-30 close friends in a local park.
Those lulls of self-doubt are normal, I think.
The message that I’m trying to share with the world…
Is that you aren’t fucked up or broken or a piece of shit for not being a deca-millionaire by age 11.
Depending on what you read, that might be the narrative.
Or, why aren’t you in a happy relationship by now? You’re 43. Get your shit together.
Or, 8 Things Kendall Jenner does while taking a bath in her Gold-Plated Tub Every Morning.
(And then you’ll ask yourself, why the fuck is Kendall Jenner even famous and who gives a shit?!)
The expectation that you’ll always be on and perfect and awesome, that’s unhealthy.
We’re all fucked up.
We all have bad days. (Or weeks, or months.)
And that doesn’t make us inherently better or worse than anyone else.
That’s simply the reality.
My goal, in life, simply is to share my writing and this message with as many people as possible.
That’s all I care about.
I have no lofty goals of exploring outer-orbit.
Or making a bong out of cheese. (Though that would be cool.)
I just want to write and share and stop giving a shit about what other people think because I feel like I spend too much time on that.
And even if you have no intentions of exploring outer-orbit or doing anything world-changing, it doesn’t really matter.
You’re doing just fine.
Keep it up.