Loser of the Week
January 5, 2018

I’m emotionally traumatized. Every day is literally a crisis. It’s like PTSD except I’ve never been to war. When I was a teenager, I wanted my parents to die so I would be free from their oppression. They didn’t die then. Distance didn’t do much to break the curse. I’m in my thirties and my dad died about 2 years ago, but guess what: I’m not free from him. I have fantasies about my mom dying but I’m so scarred (read carefully; I don’t misspell things) that I won’t be free from her after she dies either. I want to be better but I’m stuck in this shit life they gave me. I don’t know how to not be a monster. I’m so absorbed in trying to not be affected and trying to be normal but people know there’s something wrong with me. FMFL.

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  1. LexLoser LexLoser said: I'm sorry about all that. I'm in the same boat somewhat, though I don't wish for my parents to die. But I've grown to hate everything about life even women. How pathetic is that. I'm working on my weak points but there are far too many for me to handle.
  2. LexLoser LexLoser thinks you're a loser

Loser of the Week
October 22, 2017

I found a couple online definitions for “helicopter parent” and decided that’s the perfect term for what my mother did to me. She hovered and I could never escape her view. I was constantly interrogated by her. The easiest way to avoid it was to lock myself in my room.

One time when I was 14 I went rollerblading in the neighborhood. I was out for maybe a half hour when my neurotic mother sent my dad out on a drive looking for me. I was so pissed. I used this “exercise” to get out of the crazy household for maybe 90 minutes tops sometimes and she wanted to reel me back in. You’re not allowed to experience the sensation of freedom! Get back in your room where I know you’re safe! I didn’t blame my dad for being the search party because I knew how forceful my mother’s paranoia was. She had all of us, including my dad, under her grip.

This submission is supposed to be about my dad who was not a “helicopter parent.” He believed in letting me make mistakes; however, their conflicting methods didn’t allow for me to make mistakes because mom wouldn’t let that happen. I resent her a lot for the relentless psychological control she imposed on my existence. In short, she was neurotic and wouldn’t admit it. Her present method of deflecting that criticism is to blame it on my dad—that he caused her to overprotect her kids.

Out of 3 kids, I was my dad’s favorite. He never said it with words but it was plain to see. As youngsters, my mother tried to pit us against him and I’m the only one who “saw through it.” I credit the not buying into that hate as the reason my dad and I got along better than he got along with my brother and sister. My mother tried to use us as tools to assert control over him. I was generally a sweet kid and just didn’t fall into that trap. He appreciated that and helped me dealing with her neuroticism sometimes. I still get mad when I think about how open her manipulations were.

Sidenote: mom still lives under the fearful cloud of somebody is out to get her. At 67 years old, she thinks she’s subject to getting raped or attacked unprovoked at any time.

Another sidenote: they never divorced. He moved out twice in my recollection, the second time permanently. I applauded the decision the second time and told them both they were better off separate.

I knew my dad had demons. He didn’t hide that he was an alcoholic. He DID hide that he was a whoremonger and a frequent illicit drug user. After he moved out the second time, he lived in a tiny camper and moved from trailer park to trailer park, never staying at one more than a few months. We suspected he was telling a psychiatrist stories to get whatever meds he wanted. I also knew he had played around with synthetic marijuana but assumed he had the personal fortitude to not do anything more severe. He also called me sometimes asking for unscheduled installments on a loan he gave me a couple years earlier. Since it was his money, I did my best to make good on his requests.

I saw my dad at Christmas 2014; he picked me up from the airport. Every year he went through a ritual of being way too excited to see me and being indifferent or avoiding the other members of my family. Like he still had a strong desire to impress me the way he did when I was a kid. Even through our tensions, we still had a natural flow of conversation that I don’t believe he had with anybody else in the whole world. That year when I was in town, he had an episode where he actually forgot the trailer park he moved his camper to. Although they were separated, my dad came to the house for Christmas because technically it was his house and because that’s where I stayed. Mom was too incompetent to figure out how to locate the camper. After some pointed questions, I, the out-of-towner, made a few phone calls, talked with a volunteer firefighter in the town he thought he may have parked it in and explained that my dad, up in years, was getting forgetful and needed assistance locating his camper. My parents were to go to the firehouse and meet with the lieutenant who would drive them to some of the trailer parks in his town. Before they left the house, I told my dad, “take a shower and brush your teeth!” The lieutenant was able to help him locate his trailer. My dad was grateful to me that I had the capacity to think the situation through and come up with a solution. I felt good about being a problem solver, but really, he was just manufacturing problems. I shouldn’t have needed to solve anything. The suspected drug by now was adulterated/street cut K2 or “incense” as he liked to call it.

In early 2015, he got into a car accident by running into a telephone pole. An officer found him unresponsive at the wheel and foaming/spittling at the mouth. He was taken to a hospital and transferred to a psychiatric ward for a week when my sister signed for him. If he was not shown to have family to be released to, I assume he would’ve been locked up. As it stood, he received not even a ticket. When I found out he was SMOKING CRACK, I decided that while I couldn’t rightfully cancel the loan repayments, I needed the money more than he did so retroactively assigned an interest rate of 0%. He also expressed that he wasn’t going to pay my sister back for her out-of-pocket expenses related to his hospital trip, so I paid her and counted those payments against the loan. He was ticked at her that she “put him in a mental hospital” and ticked at me that I paid her for it with his money. I sternly told him that she single-handedly kept him out of jail or the morgue and he didn’t have the right to bring her away from her job and kids to deal with him because he wanted to get high. It’s hard to reason with somebody who is on drugs, but he actually saw what I was saying and called her to apologize to her.

My brother stayed out of all this. Everyone was fine with this. We knew he’s a sensitive guy and a little quirky/nutty, and he was not obligated under any means to be involved. No one held it against him. This was also before we knew my brother was batshit insane.

Mom is the default hub of communication in the family which has its drawbacks. You never know if you’re getting an accurate message. Rather, you can be pretty certain the message has been through her filter and things added, subtracted, or otherwise convoluted. There’s no way to backtrack to the pure message because the message is whatever she wants it to be. This habit of hers has caused problems among all our family members. There are countless portrayals of this kind of mother on TV: my two favorites are the mothers on Everybody Loves Raymond and Arrested Development. They hit the nail on the head except they are used for comedic effect whereas mine just causes real life interpersonal problems. I guess this paragraph was just an interjection.

Since my pick up and drop off must be coordinated, I expressed to my mom that for Christmas 2015, I’d rather not be in the passenger seat of a vehicle operated by a crackhead, and for that matter, I didn’t actually care to see my dad that year. I was so let down when I heard he was smoking crack. I really thought he was morally higher than that. I talked with him a couple times on the phone after the crack revelation and tried the understanding approach. I asked him nonaccusatory questions. He gave me what I thought were valid thoughtful answers. How long have you smoked crack? Ten or so years, maybe longer. Do you want to quit? More than anything else. Do you have any right now? I always have some in a hidden spot so I know I have it. When was the last time you smoked it? Recently. In his last few years, he managed, through his pure selfishness, to dash the little bit of self-worth I had, because to an extent I gauge my self-worth based on the people who gave me life. Doesn’t everyone do that?

He came to the house for Christmas 2015. He was never a very good gift giver but that year he actually brought thoughtful and pretty good stuff for everyone. He was also rattling and talking way too much and acting like the crackheads you see on Youtube. His thoughts were disconnected and he jumped from topic to topic. He demanded to be the center of everyone’s attention by constantly telling stories he thought were important to share. I voice recorded a couple minutes of his rambling and can’t bear to listen to it because it just hurts to know his mind was so lost. It was cringeworthy to be in the room with him, I can’t willfully repeat the experience.

In early March 2016, I got the call from my mom. Honestly, I had expected to get it long before then. For as much as he abused himself, he made it to the age of 64, most people would call that a full life. How did he die? He was found on the couch in his tiny camper by his homeless roommate no one knew he had hunched over with his head between his feet, a crack pipe in his fingers. His piece of shit roommate didn’t attempt to contact anyone. He took his cell phone and used it for a whole week before answering an incoming call from someone who expected my dad to answer. That person called my mom to tell her the news.

I know exactly what my dad looked like in his life. His face was rosy, his teeth brown and gnarly, he had started going bald in his forties and only had some wispy feathers left in his sixties. His eyes were blue and watery like an Irish drunkard, his jaw square and nose round. Pictures of him in his youth showed a handsome boy and young man. Because of the week between death and collection and the further two weeks before his funeral, his body and face were not suitable for an open casket. The funeral director asked immediate family if they would like to see him before the service. I said yes, so my mom and sister stood by me, apparently for support, although I would’ve rather done it alone, and from a few feet away we looked at his gray skin, the stitches on his scalp (I’m not sure what they were from because to my knowledge an autopsy wasn’t ordered), his white prickly beard, the scabs all over his face, neck, and hands. I thought it was necessary to look at him because up to then NO FAMILY MEMBER had performed a visual confirmation. While I hadn’t doubted it was him, wouldn’t it be a hoax if we thought we buried my dad and it turned out to be some other bum? It was him, no question.

I miss my dad but I’m also still mad at him. I should say I miss the guy I knew him to be when I was a kid. For the rest of my life, whenever I think about “my dad,” I’ll think of a crackhead. When my sister’s kids think of their granddad, they’ll think of a scary looking stinky bum who told purposeless stories and disheveled jokes. Maybe the point of my story is that I wish my parents were better people because I want to be a better person too. How could anyone expect me to elevate myself to a higher standard when what I came from so clearly set a path for me to continue in the ill-esteemed ranks of the lower class?

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  1. Digdug Digdug said: You really know how to paint a picture with words. Thanks for your posts. I see many similarities in our families
  2. Digdug Digdug thinks you're a loser

October 2, 2017

After 10 months, I still look the same

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September 2, 2017

Again, I face a decision I don’t want to make. My stupid brother and stupid mother are making this difficult for me, and I can’t act neutrally. Whichever decision I make will “mean” something. I am talking about visiting for Christmas or not going. Equally, I will regret either decision and that I should’ve made the other. No matter what happens, I will be full of regret.

My stupid mother’s favorite tool is guilt-tripping. My stupid brother’s favorite tool is blame. My stupid mother is catching on and also using blame as a tool. I am sure to catch both guilt and blame whether I go or not, and whether I decide to explain myself or not will also yield equally unpleasant, if different, results.

My favorite tool is predicting outcomes and telling people when I told them so.

Another regret I’ll have is if I decide not to go and my stupid mother actually kicks off before I see her again (I’ve limited family visits to Christmas and special occasions for 13 years). I moved far away because my stupid family drives me absolutely nuts but I’ll still feel bad. Her rapidity of talking about dying has only grown; while I dismiss it as her using her favorite tool, I know that one day or night, it’s going to happen. She has implanted that fear in me which means it’s a contrived fear. There should be no difference between talking on the phone and seeing her in person but she draws a distinction which means I am sure to feel guilty.

The reason this Christmas trip is contentious is my brother is fucked up and actually lost his mind—psychiatric institution style—and told me to bug off forever. He then told my mother that he said no such thing. My stupid brother and I have not communicated in over a year because I respected his request and stopped trying. Before he told me he’s not my brother, I was actively trying to maintain a relationship with that asshole, but now: fuck ‘em. If he’s just going to be a god-damn bastard face, then I don’t want to keep trying. In the unlikely event he tries to contact me, I will probably ignore him. Like I said: fuck ‘em. My stupid mother thinks I am responsible and that I need to call him and bridge the gap or some bullshit. She does not believe that’s exactly what I was doing when he had his months-long temper tantrum in 2016 (and as far as I know, still ongoing). She also does not believe that her sweet little boy would be such an ass-hat to me even though he has been to her and she knows he totally lost his mind, claimed rape while under care at a mental hospital, retaliated hard when I asked my sister to make calls for police intervention because my stupid mother thought it was better for him to stay in a rapey hospital while zonked out under who-knows-what meds, recanted his claim of being raped, and labeled me as manipulative and controlling for demanding the police get involved when I thought (because he said) he was raped. She’s willfully denying all these things and wants us to “just get along.”

Moreover, my stupid mother is trying to be an intermediary when neither my stupid brother nor I seek reconciliation. While I would be happy to forget that asshole, every time she brings him up, I just resent him more. I told her that if she is having any impact at all, she is only serving to make things worse, because while I might have accepted a call from him before, I am now determined to ignore him and avoid him.

He likely won’t show up for Christmas because he’s played that game for years, dangling it and making a family visit conditional upon family members acting the way he wants them to. Because I saw how openly manipulative that was, I decided that I would just show up once a year without conditions, act happy, and be honest, if pressed, about why I limit my family visits—but not try to negotiate about it. But now I need to consider whether I can even continue an annual visit because my stupid brother and mother have drawn me into their retarded game.

I am loser because that's what I come from. It doesn't matter what I do—I will not be able to escape it. More on my dead dad next time.

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August 5, 2017

I had a doc appt yesterday and during it was thinking about my hypocrisy in criticizing my brother for his meds usage and I do the same. For years, I have been unwilling to curb my Paroxetine usage because I was afraid of going back to the way I was when I was a teen. I DO still strongly believe Paroxetine helped me through some times but at the expense of learning how to deal with those times without medicine. That could be a reason people think I’m weird. I also tend to deny if something is affecting me when it may be clear to others I am affected. Getting rid of this secret medicine may help to remove the cloud of secrecy from my shoulders.

Wednesday was the last time I took a 40 mg Paroxetine pill. I missed Thursday and yesterday due to rushing out the door, which happens sometimes. Today is Saturday, the third day, and I’m intentionally skipping it. I took the missed days out of my pill reminder, and tomorrow, Sunday, my normal day to fill up the pill reminder, I will only fill it with multivitamins.

There are a few things I’ll need to look out for. Currently, I feel my life is meaningless about 3-4 days per week. Let’s call it 50%. I’ll need to see if that changes.

Before I was medicated, I had chronic upset stomach. It affected me mentally and physically. I had morning urgent bathroom trips and periodically throughout every day. I felt shameful about it, and my anus was always burning because of needing to wipe it so much.

Another effect of upset stomach was a chronic feeling of impending doom and gloom.

Another effect of upset stomach was very short attention span. It was very hard to pay attention to what anyone was telling me when I was in so much pain.

Since those days, I have learned a lot about dependencies and addictions. When I was a teenager, my understanding of addictions was that only bad people had them. I have since learned that the human capacity for addiction is used as a tool in social engineering on a conspiratorially large scale. Every person is susceptible to the phenomenon and must be wary of it.

Ultimately, I am responsible for what I put in my body. I am very aware that I have *chosen* to continue with my regimen of a mind-altering substance, believing the benefits to be greater than the drawbacks. At the age of 34 years and 4 months, I have spent approximately 15 years under the influence of doctor-prescribed substances because of the belief that I function on a higher level and am ultimately a better person under the influence of these medicines. Further, Paroxetine and its cousins are not intensely regulated distribution-wise, expensive, or hard to get a hold of.

But I still have this nagging feeling that I’m not normal because of my usage of this chemical concoction. I should be able to overcome my hardships by leveraging knowledge to change my circumstances. My answer to changing my circumstances has been to consume the drug. Yes, it physically changes my insides. My mind and gut function differently because of it. But what if I could do something less reliant on an industry which seeks to have me buy its pills for the rest of my days? I’m not delusional in thinking I can make it without buying products. I know I can’t. Should I draw a distinction between food and chemicals? I can’t strongly say one way or another. I have felt benefits and their opposite, simultaneously. Unfortunately, I can’t choose to both use and not use the drug at the same time.

In the last 15 years, my dosage has increased and decreased, changed brands, changed combinations, changed release mechanisms (continuous or extended release vs. non continuous or extended release), changed surrounding factors such as alcohol consumption, relationship status, and work environment, and changed consistency from never missing a day, to missing several days in a row, to sporadically missing a day here or there. If, at the end of my days, I am to be judged based on my array of life experiences during that time, I believe I will get a thumbs-up for variety but a thumbs-down for failing to achieve that variety without an industrially produced and sold to me for profit chemical altering my psyche at all times (and my insistence that I need it). I’m still not 100% convinced that I don’t need it, but at the here and now, I am ready to admit that I could’ve been wrong. Perhaps I did not tread the most wholesome or enlightened path. I am ready to attempt to live in a way that is less conducive to being strung along by those who seek to profit by telling me it’s good for me.

Begin 1 month.

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  1. Loser4life Loser4life said: hey , u probly not (cannot) be worse than me..so it sounds like you just have a brain/mind impairment. my sister and i have the same thing..its just a chemical thing in your head and sometimes it manifests worse in certain people, i kno how it is

November 26, 2014

I guess the thing to do is reveal my age and sex then tell my story. This story should entertain you because it's not overtly loserly but it does expose some of my and my friends' loserly characteristics.

I'm a 31 year old man.

I fell in love with a girl when I was 13. I never actually fell out of love with Angie, but now I would just call it a long-term crush. She's never been my girlfriend. When I lived with my parents I was strongly discouraged from having a girlfriend, so much so, you might call it disallowed. Because of this culture I was cowardly when talking to girls anyway, but I'm 100% sure she knew I was crushing on her because I was frank about it when my little junior high friends would tease me.

We went to different high schools but I didn't get over her. We even arranged "dates" sometimes, like twice, where we would timidly talk about who-knows-what. I would sometimes call her house, back in the days when people had home phones, and yes, even before Caller ID was a big thing, and get scared and hang up. Her image in my head was that of a goddess. Maybe something to do with teenage hormones or chemicals or whatever but she's permanently imprinted on my brain.

My first year of college I had three guy roommates, so four guys in one apartment. We had all gone to high school together and two of them were former crushes of my crush, so the three of us had this one chick in common. Follow so far?

You tend to bond with college roommates and in a moment of candor while out to lunch with Nhon one day, I expressed to him that I was still hung up on our old friend Angie. I expected teasing and a hard time like any good college roommate would provide and he provided, and I expected him to rile me for a long time and he did, which was fine and completely expected.

After I dropped out of college, one of the many books I read was Love in the Time of Cholera which told the story of a young man who never got the one woman he truly desired until they were old and wrinkly, and I comforted myself thinking I have a lifetime to achieve my woman. Even if she gets married, even if I get married, I'll wait for her, wait 'til her husband dies, then sweep her off her feet.

Between 16 and 21 we didn't communicate: I was probably non-existent to her. I moved a thousand miles away to a new city when I was 21. I felt I needed to get away from everyone I knew, which no longer included my love, so I could do my life my way without being told, "Do this, do that, you're doing it wrong." I had a girlfriend in my new city who I was infatuated with but not in love with. I still am in my city and go "home" once a year for Christmas.

Angie found my email online and messaged me in 2005; good for me! She had actively sought me out and opened a line of communication with me! We started talking on the phone and over several weeks I was open and honest with her. I apologized for sounding creepy and nonchalantly told her she was the one and always would be; I think she's magic and I couldn't be happier that she sought me out. We remained casual friends for two or so years before I decided she must think I'm a loser and I should stop bothering her. Although she's the one, it won't do anybody any good if I just annoy the piss out of her.

Our communication died off in 2007. I do know I have a tendency to be boring and it would be worse than death for me if she thought I was boring, worthless, annoying, etc. and it would be better to let her forget me altogether than for her to remember me as some loser. So a couple more years passed and she emailed me again. She must be between boyfriends and bored, maybe wants to toy with my heart like a cat plays with a dead mouse, who knows. But I got excited again, because this Love in the Time of Cholera theme seems to be playing out, like I'm a backup, and I'm ok with that! Call me anything you want! Just call me!

Our timid relationship lulled again, and for another couple years. Two years ago, to break the silence, I emailed her and made her promise we wouldn't take years between responses, that I valued our friendship and that she's an important person to me. We mostly text back and forth every couple weeks or months now, and that's enough for me, so long as she doesn't hate me or forget me. Remember, this woman is the one and I can wait a lifetime for her.

Now I'll talk about Nhon. He's a dickhead and we've been friends since we were teenagers. When we get together it's classic guy talk--we talk about girlfriends, hot booties, gettin head, doing inhuman horrific things to women, it's really a hoot & a holler. He mostly understands that Angie is a sensitive subject for me, and every once in a while will ask what's up with us but MOSTLY leaves her out of our dehumanizing conversations. As a a courtesy I also MOSTLY don't talk about his girlfriends. Occasionally we get in bitch fights and bring up sore subjects to rile the other motherfucker. Remember, when we were all 13, Angie had a huge crush on him, the same time I had a huge crush on her. He has ALWAYS maintained he was NEVER interested in her. He also sometimes makes a joke about going after her, fully trying to get a rise out of me. I always tell him it's not funny and we should talk about something else.

Less than three months ago, Nhon texted me a picture of Angie's OKCupid profile pic and dickheadedly asked me for my blessing to pursue her. Hell fucking no, I told him. She's mine, there are millions of other girls and the only reason he would go after her is to brag to me that he got her and I didn't. It's not a fucking race and she's not a fucking prize we're competing over. She's mine and that's that. Find someone else, asshole. While I found it perfectly plausible that they could encounter each others' profiles online just by browsing, I still believed that motherfucker was just trying to rile me and he wasn't serious about trying to date her. I got a text from Angie asking, "You didn't give Nhon my number? :P apparently he's been wanting to date me?!?!?" to which I replied, "Huh? No I won't facilitate that. You're supposed to be mine :) even if only in my mind." Nhon kept up his assholery and kept asking me for her number and I got really pissed and told him to fuck off. Finally I gave him the number 1-900-fuck-you and left it at that.

A week later:

"Still mad?"

"Depends on if u tried to have sex with her."

"Nope. Just catching up as friends. The message she sent you was taken out of context."

"You're still an asshole."

A month and a half later he called me again and Angie was not a topic. I spoke to him coldly but cordially and just updated him on current personal events.

Today he called me. It's the day before Thanksgiving and I long ago expressed to him that I'm pissed about his childish behavior regarding my love interest, so I answered the phone with pleasure hoping we could get back to our old ways. He asked about my job and love life and all that and I asked about his love life and he said he actually is dating someone. "Oh? Where did you meet her? Tinder?" "OKCupid." "Is it somebody we've talked about before?" "Yeah." "Are you messing with me?" "No." "How long have you been dating?" "About two months, well, that includes the time we were just catching up on old times." I gave him some test questions that he would only know if he had been talking to her in the last two months, which he answered. "Were you scared as balls to tell me about this?" "Yeah." I let him ramble on about how he's sure it woulda been me if I was living in that city, that it was just a matter of timing, that there's a great woman out there for me somewhere, that I'm a great guy and have so much going for me, blah blah blah, just keep doing what I'm doing and I'll find the perfect woman. Bullshit.

I've idolized her for 18 years. I know she's had boyfriends and she knows I've had girlfriends. She has broken my heart at least a dozen times and I always tell myself she gets unlimited chances. That I will always be available for her. That I'll drop whatever I'm doing if she indicated I'm the one for her. That I'll abandon my house and move back to her city if we can get married and live happily ever after.

They joined forces on this one to break me once and for all. At 31 I'm still lovesick over the same woman, the news made me nauseous, I dropped tears, I looked in the mirror and watched my lips quiver and nose drool. I imagine Nhon pissing lighter fluid on me after I'm shattered, then throwing a lit match and giggling as I catch fire and disintegrate into ashes.

Nhon's done. He knows it. But her. I'm such a loser I'll forgive her in two years.

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  1. OscarWilde OscarWilde said: There's a spanish saying "Amor viejo, ni te olvideo ni te dejo" it means "Old love, can't forget you, or leave you" Sometimes love is not enough. Even when two people love each other. Think about it. *Search for Pook and Anti-Dump
  2. RejectBastard RejectBastard thinks you're a loser
  3. loser2 loser2 said: You are awesome. It's like that you are from the fairy tale. Seldom do I know any man that is so loyal to a girl.
  4. LustyLife LustyLife said: forgot to say, you've described yourself and Nhon. But...why don't you describe her? Maybe there's something that doesn't match between you and her...
  5. LustyLife LustyLife said: I've got to say you're a really loyal guy, it's ok to be loyal and that shit, but sometimes those attitudes lead you to non fair people and situations.
  6. LustyLife LustyLife said: WOw, really interesting story!

October 20, 2014


I'm 31 and decided at 28 to go back to college to finish my degree. I stayed working but still need more money so borrowed from my mom. Now I'm a junior and am trying to get an internship. At my university they say it's practically impossible to get a job without having had an internship. My grades are excellent. My GPA is 3.92. I've interviewed at three firms and they all told me no. The first one said I didn't answer his questions in a proactive manner. He wanted me to address my variety of work experience and explain why that wouldn't be an indication of job hopping. The second one didn't give any feedback. The third one said I waited too long to go back to school, that I was being defensive about my variety of work experience, gawked at my age, and criticized where I live (in a poor neighborhood). One thing all the interviewers had in common was taking up issue with me moving from my home state to the state I'm in now. They all wanted to focus on it. They all wanted to call me nuts. Or a loser.

So far I've borrowed $18,000 from my mom. I've also borrowed $15,000 on my credit card for house improvements. I owe my dad $3,000. And I anticipate having to borrow an additional $18,000 from my mom before I graduate. So when I graduate, I will be not less than $54,000 in debt. And the gist of the three interviewers? If I was really valuable, I wouldn't have moved away from my home state. So I'll have a shiny degree that everyone insists you can take anywhere, a transcript that traditional college students would salivate over, and work experience that I think makes me more REAL than my competition. But every time I go in for an interview, all they can see is an old guy, a loser, who must've been running from something in Texas.

Here's my personal life. I had a girlfriend more than 4 years ago who would've made an excellent wife. Both she and her young son loved me and I loved them. I tried to hide my depression from them, and during a depressed bout I broke up with her. I've regretted it ever since. I think it's better for the boy because I said things he picked up and he was learning self hate even though I never intended that. Same way I learned it from my dad and I'm sure he never intended it.

The official line is I've been single since 2010. But in 2011 I began a relationship with a married woman. Losers bone other mens' wives. We talked about making it legit but neither of us was really serious about that. We were so stuck. I adopted a secretive attitude. Even boning a really hot woman I had a dark cloud over me all the time. The cloud stayed even after I got rid of her. Now I'm 31, never married, live in a nasty house in a poor neighborhood, no kids, crummy job, 17 year old car about to die, $54,000 in debt, worried I can't get a better job even after I graduate because my age, address, diverse work history, and I'm not a "local" in the eyes of my interviewers even though I've lived in my city for 10 years, no wife or fancy house, not any good women who would be interested as I'm past good marrying age.

Please vote Big L for me.

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  1. RejectBastard RejectBastard said: but ur not big a loser as me
  2. RejectBastard RejectBastard said: So much debt... Thats bad... Thank god for wi-fi. BTW contact some hookers won't you
  3. SatansBae SatansBae said: Hey mate I'm sorry to hear that things arent gong too well but it will get better xx
  4. SatansBae SatansBae thinks you're a loser
  5. Loohooser Loohooser said: It sounds like if you got help for your chronic depression you wouldn't feel so bad.