Dwelling on things achieves nothing, but ...

... it is hard not to do.

Lying in bed at night, paradoxically when I am least in a mood or frame of mind to set into a deep and meaningful conversation with Nina ... when such a conversation would make me feel more put upon or under scrutiny than perhaps at any other time ... that is the exact time when I lie there awake and dwelling on everything that is wrong with me. The other time is when I am alone walking places ... which is every day.

I know it achieves nothing, yet it is somehow like a drug that I cannot give up.

And, of course, this blog is a little bit the same ... how often I think of writing something ... yet usually the moment passes by the time I am able to sit down, or I get distracted with other things.

Last night's mental self mutilation continued for an hour or so before I rolled over to get to sleep.

I feel like a failure in life ... and feel as thought my life is worthless, and that if I was to cease to exist tomorrow, nobody would notice ore really care. I may not exactly believe this, but I feel it ... almost to the core.

I've probably written all this previously, yet with the passage of time these feelings are not disappearing - they are instead becoming like a tattoo that is always there, even if it is not noticed at the time.

As a carrier of genes, I feel like a failure because I have not passed them down.

As a man, I feel like a failure because I have no real purpose.

As a husband, I feel like a failure because my marriage feels like I am a guardian rather than a husband.

As a sexual being, I feel like a failure because I am obviously useless at it ... effectively being a born again virgin just a few years of marriage (and celebrate now for exactly 6 years (8 if receiving one sympathy fuck is ignored).

As a productive member of society, I feel like a failure as I don't really feel like I am contributing anything of any value to the worth of the world.

If I look back on my life, the words failure, loser, and worthless are the ones that I fear best describe me.

Of course, I don't feel like I can discuss any of this with Nina because she has her own problems (though writing this blog is a way of trying to share with her). She is battling her own demons of depression and feelings of worthlessness, and the last thing I want to do is add to them. Additionally, any discussion is likely to turn to one where I feel like she turns it into an attack / denial response, or a unhelpful "that's the way it is" ... so if she doesn't really care, what is the point ...

I long for intimacy, but never get it ... the only exception being when she occasionally holds onto my arm while walking down the street (every week or two). When we kiss, she seems to recoil like a snake ... as if it is a concession that she wants to get over and done with as quickly as possible, and she often turns away form me or pulls back when I touch her ... it is a rare night where I don't feel rejected.