Times like these…

I hate thinking about my past. I don’t dislike it, I don’t have a sense of non-appreciation about it, I hate it. Every time I think about my past, my mind fills with regrets, pain, hatred of self. I feel like I will go insane if I continue down this destructive path. But I can’t help it.

Why is it that the only memories I have are of bad things? Missed opportunities, bad decisions, even something as stupid as being too shy, or my timing being off. Or maybe I just sent the wrong signals, and maybe I was just an idiot for the decisions I made, or didn’t make, and maybe it’s just my fate to be a loser.

Maybe I’m just meant to be alone for the rest of my life.

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(30 minutes later)

After thinking about it more, I think I've figured it out.

There is one common theme that runs through all the bad times in my memory: women. Women are the source of my problems.

If I believe a woman, I get hurt. If I don't believe her, I get hurt.

If I do what she says, I get hurt. If I don't do what she says, I get hurt.

If I make a move "too early", I get hurt. If I wait, I get hurt.

All my problems directly involve women.

Or maybe it is just me.

Maybe I pick the wrong women... no, that's not it, I never get to pick the woman I'm with.

Maybe it's my personality. I'm seen as a "good" guy, a "best friend" sort of guy, the kinda guy you take home to talk to your folks when you're really going out with the asshole. I'm the guy you talk to about your asshole boyfriend when he's an asshole.

The problem is, once these women grow up and realize that the "good guy", the "best friend", is actually worth being with, it's too late. The "good guy" has been burned way too many times by then, and has become bitter, self-loathing, hateful. I could actually see myself, approached by one of these women, telling her "oh, well, too late now". The big "fuck off". I wanted to give you a chance before, but you and your kind pushed me over the edge, and now I'm smoldering in the pit of "I don't give a fuck". I wasn't worth your time and attention before, and you sure as hell aren't worth my time and attention now.

I could start naming names, but there's still that tiny, minuscule, almost imperceptible amount of "good guy" left in me to say "you know who you are". You've always known. And, I hate you for it.