How we see ourselves

A gay bloke in the office once commented that he wasn't attracted to me cuz I was too geeky. Don't get me wrong, I wasn't looking for an entry point to the rainbow army. It emphasises the point that a lot of the time we don't see ourselves the way the world sees us.

When I was in my teens, I saw myself as cock of the walk, the leader of my gang. However, my gang was made up mostly of outsiders, so was I a large fish in a small bowl? The king of the also-rans?

Now of course, I see myself as a broken man. Someone who pissed away any potential, who has trouble formulating anything that could remotely be considered interesting conversationwise towards the opposite sex, and who is anything but the self-image I had in my teens.

I guess we do become a bit more wiser as we age, or maybe just a bit more pragmatic. I don't think I ever felt I could give Fonzi a run for the title of Cool King, but my self image has never been as low as it now.

Who knows, maybe my deflation has finally brought my self image in line with how the world's seen me all along.

Holy depression Batman

No matter how hard I try, I can't seem to get enthused about anything and I always find myself just on the right side of incredible depression. It's always the small things that keep me from the brink... things like pancake day, and such.

It's just that the crushing routine we all have to play along with in the corporate rat race game makes for a very soul crushing existence. I seem to only live to work and if that's not fulfilling, then what am I living for?

Of course, Catholic guilt is always rearing it's ugly head. I'm barely holding it together, but at least I have both my leg, all my senses, a decent paying job,e tc. So what right do I have to complain to collapse mentally? None. I should, by the book, be a happy chappy. Then why am I not?

I don't recall feeling this desolate when I lived in Toronto. Maybe it's something to do with being back in the UK? The hardships of trying to get ahead in London? Who knows.

I'm always worrying these days - will I have enough money for a downpayment of a flat, will we get broken into while at work, will I ever get rid of those CDs I shouldn't have bought, will I ever find love? All the questions they set up dodgy 0900 numbers for.

I guess the stress of unfulfilled everyday life can take it's toll. There has to be some reason I'm listening to the Manics.