Fear and Self-Loathing in the Heartland

You thought this horse was dead, didn't you? Well you were right, my probably long gone lone reader if you existed at all. I had bastardized myself to the point where I was prostituting my writing time for cheap and virus prone online gaming sites, and gleefully chatting about movies and other fare. However, while what I do and what I say is of little concern to you all, I made a promise to myself to be honest to this blog and I had not been doing that. So, to begin anew...
What brought this on, after so many months you may ask? Simply put, I was applying for jobs just before I took a shower this afternoon. Yes, us unemployed wastes of space do shower after our noon wake up time. First off, my father had sent me a site of technical jobs, and reminded me of the classifieds in the local newspaper. Upon viewing these listings, I came upon a conclusion. After eight years, over a hundred thousand dollars of debt, a destroyed credit rating, ruined friendships, withdrawal, constant stress over money, strained family relationships, and other fun things, I have absolutely nothing to show for it. My skills are virtually non-existent. Even as I hold back tears as I write this, the conclusion is inescapable. I am a morbidly obese, broke, talentless, absurdly hairy person, who can only be loosely defined as a man.
I laugh at those who think that 2 months is a long time since their last date. Hell, even the Comic Book Guy and Captain Sweatpants have more going for them than I. I care about nothing real, especially myself, or have any desire at this point truly to do anything.
Before you say that I am being too hard on myself, or are reaching for the local mental health facility's number in your speed dial, I want you to think about a few things. They say depression is a state of mind, but I have always wondered, "What if you really do suck?" Well, I have no prospects, for love or money, am an emotional and financial drain on my family and friends (of the few that I have left), and to top it off, have no real knowledge or plan to fix any of it. Would you say that is a reasonable set of circumstances to be sad about?
Furthermore, on the few attempts that I have tried to remedy my situation, in some fashion, each has been its own spectacular failure if I have had any hand in implementing it. Those done on my behalf have generally succeeded, but my touch seems to be malignant. For example, there was a woman recently who I was attempting to see on a regular basis. As to how this state of affairs came to what it is right now is quite simple. First off, my general nature with the opposite sex is of a glacial speed, due to my next to no confidence already. Secondly, I when not moving with the speed of an ice sheet, put on cheetah's legs, precisely at the wrong times I might add. And finally, when moving neither fast nor slow, I put my head in the sand like an ostrich and run in circles. Simply put, I don't kiss when I should, say the right things months before they are right, and make a total ass out of myself because I forget that I don't know any better.
The next thing that I want you to think about before calling Dr. Schwartz is to remember that modern psychology is complete bullshit, and the fact that you need therapy just shows how much a wuss you are. Yeah, I got some anger as well, so I am going to throw that into the mix. Real depression fits like an old baseball glove, and it comfortable. Which really means that I deep down, I want to be this way. I don't know anything different, which in turn make me more sad and angry. But, for those weekend depressed people, which is really almost everyone who has anything going in their life, this is the real chant. You are not depressed if you do anything to help yourself. Real depression and self-loathing precludes any self-assistance (aside from the shower masturbation). You hate yourself so much that nothing can change it, and in fact nothing will. Taking pills doesn't fix my life, nor does talking about it. These things won't get me a job, or a girlfriend, or fix any of the other problems that I have. The most that it will do is make me feel better, which in turn should depress me even further because I actually need to alter my brain chemistry to change my emotions. Real depression doesn't preclude momentary happiness, since this heightens the deep trenches that assume larger and larger sections of one's life.
On top of this throw on a deep hatred for myself. Hatred that I have wasted large portions of my life, in pursuit of things which in hindsight I should have realized were hopeless or worthless. Hatred of the countless minor mistakes that have with a dash of procrastination become large issues. Hatred of the inertia that I seem to have over everything.
Now after I have reduced my readership by at least half through suicide, I wonder, how should I end this beginning return into releasing my thoughts into the ether? I used to often try to end on a positive note, give some hope out there or just to say something funny. Now, I am not going to state that this won't happen again, but I think I am going to go a different route this time.
The real trouble with the depression and self loathing is that it seems God is just as cruel as I am towards myself. It seems that I have a built in mechanism that when things appear darkest, I can always see a small glimmer of sunlight. Like a fat kid in a cupcake shop, I will run and smother it whether I full sprint or try and act like I really don't care. And then it is gone, truly not as filling as I needed, which drops the fat kid head first into the brown swirly. And just before I can thank God that this time, just this time it is the last time and I will finally drown in my own refuse, I am pulled up and that bastard hope springs anew that I may make it out of this cycle. It would be far more humane to just let any hope die within me and let me drown.