PostPoems Be Artistic. Be Creative. Be Inspired!

Before recently, I had never wanted to admit to myself how badly I needed some help. I was convinced that my depression and my self-loathing were all just constant overreactions to things that only I could see and be affected by. In short, I was bringing everything on myself, imagining faults that were never there and looking in the mirror only to see a ghoulish monster when there was actually a handsome young man staring back at me. But my insecurities were simply getting the best of me, all of the time. Now that I've gone to the doctor, gotten some medication and really taken a step back to analyze exactly how I've been feeling and acting over the past year, it's given me some perspective on things that I hardly was able to understand before.

I hadn't had any experience with prescription medication since I was a sophomore in high school. When I had taken Zoloft then, it altered my personality so drastically that I was honestly kind of disturbed by it. Sure, I was much more forward and loud and surprisingly enough most of my friends found that very endearing instead of just annoying, but I didn't care for it. It wasn't me. I wasn't the one saying and doing all of these things, Zoloft Rob was. And once I was off of and away from the stuff, I began to collect myself and feel normal again, despite my depression. It's funny to think about because the most consistent problem in my life rang true even then: I was lonely. I've always had a pretty healthy social life, and my family is very kind and loving towards me if not a little dysfunctional with each other. But no matter the love I feel from family and friend alike, it could just never compare to me against the draw of romantic love. Ever since I was a little boy I had dreamt of being "in love". Unfortunately, I raised myself to be a quiet nerd with little in the way of wooing ability (neither of my parents are or were ever anything like me, nor is my sister, so nobody's really sure where I came from). Despite having an interest in girls since kindergarten (cooties weren't really a thing to me), I didn't manage to get one's attention until middle school. Since then, that was the only clear purpose my life had: Find love. Find it, keep it, cherish it and don't let it go unless you have to.

Over the past year I've done everything I thought I was supposed to be doing in order to meet someone. On the weekends I go out to where many people my age gather, and I have a good time with my friends all the while keeping my eyes open for someone who looks pretty, interested and available. I've gotten a multitude of phone numbers from attractive girls, almost all of whom have refused to answer me when I try to get a hold of them. I'm not sure what the logic is behind giving me your phone number and then denying my call or text when it inevitably arrives, but hey, I don't claim to understand the female mind. I'm sure they simply felt guilty saying no and elected to, instead, simply ignore me when they were no longer looking into my eyes. Would I do the same if the roles were reversed and a girl approached me who I had no interest in? Yeah, probably. So I suppose it isn't fair to judge. But that doesn't stop me from being a little more disappointed every time.

At this point, we come to the spot of contention. I can look in the mirror and know, somewhere in my crazy head, that I am attractive enough to dodge any torch-carrying angry mobs without much strife. But when I set out into the world and am ignored and disregarded more often than not, it's hard not to wonder what it is about me exactly that makes me simply not good enough for so many women. Are they really able to sense how little faith I have in myself? Can they look at me, cast their gaze in my direction, and see or even SMELL how unhappy I am? Is it some sort of estrogen-based super power that my primitive man-brain will never allow me to understand? That's how it's made out to be. I've been told that I project a "victimized" image outwardly, and that if I ever want to be seen as appealing enough to possibly take someone home with me, that I have to shake it for good (or at the very least, fake it away).

The bad part of that is that I am simply too honest to be able to "fake it" consistently. And sadly, as I have been this way for the entirety of my life, I can't imagine it's going to change any time soon.

But now that I'm super-charged on anti-depressants (and they're working time!), maybe I'll be able to remain content until a sweet young woman comes along that is willing to accept me for me. I'm kind, artistic, deep and amusing more often than not. Some day, I like to think I'll run into somebody that just ... Gets me. Kind of like Christina did, or Kathleen. The difference being that I want someone to just accept me for who I am now, and not what they believe I am capable of becoming. I may never return to college, and I may never be a published writer. I may never leave Cincinnati and for all I know, I may never figure out anything more to want out of life. Kathleen wanted someone that rivaled her sense of ambition, and I could never even come close, but maybe someone else will simply see me on the level I occupy now. They'll see that I'm here, working full-time and maintaining my own clean, quaint home, and they'll be impressed with that. They'll see that I have good friends and a great family, that I'm harmless and sweet and that I only want to be happy in the end. They won't wait on me to go back to school, or to strive for a better job or to fight for a better body. They'll see me, as I am now, and love me simply for being Rob Ventre.

One unfortunate aspect of this medication is the inherent apathy that comes with it. I care less now in general and feel more detached from everything. This is fine with me in exchange for some relief from my depression, but it also has the unpleasant side-effect of weight gain. I've completely given up on working out, as it didn't seem to make a damn bit of difference to the girls I was hovering around, and since I began taking these pills I've stopped taking walks and stopped watching my nutritional intake completely. So here I am, gaining my gut back all over again. And you know what? I just don't care. I want to be attractive to women, I do so desperately, but every girlfriend I've ever had besides possibly Kathleen (who was never my girlfriend anyway so hey) has made it perfectly clear that no, they are not dating me for my looks. I want to be attractive and have a good body because it's only fair - I want a girl that's attractive and curvaceous, so it's not really right to not hold any sort of standard for my own looks. But nobody's looking, nobody's paying attention and nobody cares. I could gain 300 lbs. in two days and the only people that would notice would be my parents, who would immediately blame all the weed I've been smoking or something.

Right now, I'm just stuck here, and I need to accept that. I'm looking for a break from all the monotonous climes of my life; something new and exciting that might possibly allow me to meet some new people. But really, all of this simply translates to "I am so lonely that it is causing me physical distress and I need to be not lonely right fucking now."

Maybe I just need to get laid.