I am, depressed but not. A simple logical fallacy, either I am or I am not, a two faced coin of the same question that when flipped will result in one of two answers. Either I am or I am not.
Call me Joe, I won’t use my real name but I will use the most real experience I have to describe myself. And to put it simply but not simply, I am a failure. Genetically, socially, academically, I have failed in this grand experiment that we have all been trusted in completing. And I do not just feel that I have failed, I know that I have failed.
I turn 22 in April, end of April. And I can honestly say that I have let down my parents, my friends, my relatives, and any type of relationship possible. I have failed them all.
Tonight, I have realized something, that I suffer from the common cold of the mental illness, depression. Big deal, I know, pretty much everyone in the world has gone through some form of depression in their life and most have fared rather well. And I, I can only say this about myself as I have no idea what others think, do not like being in depression while also loving the fact that I am depressed.
I grew up in a shit hole town in the middle of the state of Nevada of the continental states. I am talking backwoods town so backwoods that it isn’t backwoods. The town was little more than a failed mining town turned trucker way station when they took the highway connecting fantastic Las Vegas to the more northern city of Reno Nevada. For the first 7ish years of my life I grew up in a place where the best thing for me to do was walk, walk and walk and walk out into the desert by myself. The natural landscape being dry dirt of the desert, brown for as far as the eye could see, covered in places by knee high, maybe waist high bushes and the odd tree that looked nothing like what we typically think when we imagine a tree. The wild life being lizards, snakes, bugs, grubs, mainly predatory birds, and coyotes; imagine Australia, a land where everything wants to kill you, and there you have Nevada.
The people there were odd. They either kept to themselves, or they were disturbingly friendly. Only through the innocence of youth were you able to meet other people, and those relationships never lasted long.
It was in Nevada that I lost a lot of my innocence before I was even a decade old. I sucked dicks of other little boys, saw girls naked, played with the naked girls and realized that I liked girls way more than other boys. So at least I don’t have to worry about suddenly figuring out my sexuality.
But enough of Nevada, it left its impression on me and I will never forget what I did at such a young age in those nearly lifeless hills.
When I was around 8 my family moved us to Texas, Houston area. From there I joined the boy scouts, well actually I was in the cub scouts back in Nevada and finished that up in Texas, but I joined the boy scouts when I was of age. And the troop I joined, Troop 44, was as great of troop as any. It was small, only a few dozen boys and a handful of fathers so it wasn’t so big that you got lost in the numbers. You knew everyone in the troop, it wasn’t a mega troop of hundreds of boys.
Well, I liked being a boy scout. It was fun, it provided social interaction. I was pressed by my parents to excel in getting the merit badges and going up in ranks to get Eagle rank, but I could care less. I didn’t view boy scouts as a way to learn a set of skills told to you in a handbook and instructed by the troop leaders. I saw it as a great way to spend my Tuesday nights with other guys around my age. And looking back, the few years I got to spend as a boy scout were some of the best I have yet to have in my life. But then Peru came.
My Dad got a job down in South America, he commuted there via plane and I hardly saw him. Granted, it didn’t bother me much as I had hardly seen my Dad before. In Nevada he was at the mine site from early in the morning before anyone was up to getting back around 5ish. The same schedule when we were in Texas, he would rise early before anyone was up, and get back home around 5 or 6 in the evening. Not much influence from my Dad as I grew up. Discipline and respect, those things were demanded and I bent to them, I learned very early on that you either did what was asked or you got spanked. And while I got spanked a lot, I never tried to get one.
Anyway, South America. The reason why I left Boy Scouts. I was about 14 when we went to South America, needless to say there wasn’t really a Boy Scouts of America where we were, so I stopped at the measley rank of Star Scout about two or three badges away from being a Heart Scout, which is one rank away from Eagle. All by age 14, I said that I wasn’t really into getting merit badges and going up ranks, but I was sure pushed along quickly by my parents.
So South America. Peru to be more exact, Lima Peru to be really exact. Not great memories to be completely honest. The city was dirty, loud, rude, mean, I stood out whenever I left the house and knew enough Spanish to know when I was called something I don’t really care to repeat here. I turned 15 while in Peru and that birthday was meh to be honest. I made one friend there, but not really a friend. He was the son of a man that my Dad worked with and I hung out with him and his other friend a couple of times. Actually, I think the only times when I did somewhat normal teenager shit was when I was in Peru. Going to a mall, hanging out, I even got to go to a concert in Peru, and that was where I lost more innocence.
My “friend” or rather ride to the concert had us all going around having fun. There were rides and shit to do. And he met up with some more friends of his. Some of these were girls. I was 15, they were 15, hormones raged between everyone, and somehow I got the short end of the stick. My ride took to one girl, his friend took to another girl and I got the last girl around my arm. And after a little bit of following the other couple of couples around we started to fool around. The others kissed, I was nervous and didn’t know what to do, she didn’t really speak English and I didn’t really speak Spanish. My ride took enough time from his own honey to whisper to me a few words. I nodded and repeated them as best I could with my clumsy American accented tongue. Next thing I knew, the girl I was with blushed deeply, some feat considering her naturally dark skin pigment. But she smiled at me, and I guessed that she liked with I said. Apparently, what I had said to her was something along the lines of “I want to eat you out” because she didn’t kiss me like the other two couples were doing. She pushed her jeans down, to about her knees, and spread her legs a little and looked at me.
My ride again came to my rescue and told me that she wanted me to lick her pussy before I fucked her. Now remember Nevada? Now 7 or so years in my rearview mirror at that point? Well, also remember me saying that I had lost a lot of my innocence there? Well, without knowing what I was doing when I was 6, I had already eat a girl out. Now, I’m not really sure even today if it counted. I was 6 and she was 7, neither of us were anyway close to hitting puberty at that point, which funny enough was the reason I got to lick her pussy. A little side story to make things clearer.
There was this girl that was my sisters friend, there were actually two sisters, both mine and them, but for the moment I will talk about Erin, the younger sister, the one that I lost of lot of my innocence to. Erin was half white half black, I didn’t really care about it back then, I was 6 and childhood innocence and all that. Well, being little kids in Nevada we played out in the desert. And aside from the sagebrush, or whatever the bushes are called, there are cactuses and dirtbike trails cut into the hills. Erin and I were out after a small rain running along these dirtbike trails like we did for fun. We found a piece of rotted wood and decided that it would be fun if we used it as a bridge across what we thought of as a small puddle. I placed it and Erin, being maybe 40lbs I guess, I’m horrible at guessing and this is now 16 years ago so I am most likely wrong about it, well she walked across the rotten beam just fine. It was then my turn. I got midway across the beam when it snapped and I fell into chest high water. Erin thought it funny so she jumped in with me and we splashed and played a little bit. Our clothes were soaked completely and I didn’t want to go home to get a spanking for getting soaked in the desert. So Erin and I went back to her house, along the way she kicked a cactus and got a couple of the thorns in her shin. I pulled them out, pricking my hands on the other needles of the cactus when I pulled the thing out of her. They weren’t deep, kicking cactus was nothing new to either of us just to be clear. You just wanted to be wearing pants when it happened, not shorts and sandals.
I helped Erin back to her house, she didn’t really need my help but I gave it anyway. Her mom saw us both and laughed, laughed before telling us to strip nude and hop in the shower to rinse off and warm up as we were now both chattering at the teeth from being drenched on a windy day. In that shower we both got a real quick anatomy lesson of the other. Erin grabbed my pre-pubescent dick and toyed with it, laughing at it a bunch saying it looked weird. Then I played with her little pre-pubescent pussy. She liked it a lot so I did more. We were in the shower, all warmed up for a decent while before her mom knocked on the door telling us to get out and dry off before we used all the hot water. At that time of interruption I was on my knees in the tub with my mouth on Erin’s lower parts going from where he pussy would mature to her asshole. She really liked it when I kissed there so that’s where I spent a lot of time.
Once we were told to get out of the shower we both grabbed towels and dried off in front of each other. We then got sat down in front of a TV and were told by Erin’s mom to wait while our clothes finished in the dryer. Well, two young bodies that just discovered that it felt nice to touch each other, or at least one really liked it when the other kissed and licked them, we didn’t sit still while cartoons were on. I played with Erin a lot. And we played a lot together until I moved away to Texas. I still wonder who Erin became sometimes.
Anyway, back to Peru.
There I was, face to face with the second pussy of my entire life and I was told to eat it out. Well I didn’t care so much for eating, but I did know that I liked to lick and kiss girls down there. So I fell to my knees, scooted up close and attached my mouth to this girls pussy. She squirmed and squealed. Looking back I knew nothing about what I was doing, but somehow I did it really well. I had no idea what a girls clit was or where it was or what to do with it. But I learned real fast that if I kissed her and sucked her in one place her hands would grab my head and pull me harder into her. My chin was soaked and I thought that she had pissed on me, but it didn’t taste bad, and it wasn’t watery like I imagine piss would be. She had come, and hard, and I didn’t let up. I was actually kind of mad that she had pissed on me so I used my teeth a little, she really liked that and I got more of the liquid in my mouth and down my chin. It felt like she was going to tear my hair out as well when I was on the ground in front of her.
I got her to cum four times, and I was working towards a fifth time not caring that what I thought at the time as piss was going down my throat. I really liked it, but things got cut short when we got found out and chased out of the quiet place we had found.
The girl, once she got her jeans back up and fastened, wouldn’t let go of my arm. Now I was raised in a household of women. I have four sisters and no brothers, and the biggest thing that was drilled down into my head by them was to be chivalrous. And letting a girl hold onto your arm was part of that. Well, I couldn’t complain and wasn’t about to tell her to let go. It felt nice, her breasts, which weren’t actually really big at all, were pressed into my arm and I liked it. But that night ended with us passing ways and I never saw her again. Never got her name and never got a kiss, hell, I didn’t even get a graze across the front of my pants from her for the four orgasms I gave her.
Not much can be said for the rest of my time in Peru as it was short lived after that. I came back to Texas, stayed for a couple of months before moving again for my Dad’s job. This time up to Canada, London Ontario to be more precise. I lived in three houses while in Canada, the first two were rentals and the third my parents bought. But none of that really matters as my second real sexual experience happened when I was away on a youth church trip thing, I didn’t really care for it as I’ve never really been super big into religion, unlike my parents and the rest of my family.
On this youth trip people were separated. Girls with girls, guys with guys. But like bible camp stories on this site, things got freaky. I actually got talking with a girl there, Cynthia, she was cute and around my age and was amazed at the fact that I had lived in Peru and Texas. Wanting to shock her and end out conversation, she wasn’t really all that interesting to talk to, I decided to shock her with my little escapade while down in Peru. Now, up to that point I thought that Cynthia was like everyone else there, super into their faith and wanting to stay pure of heart beyond the end of time. Instead, I found myself in a similar position with Cynthia as I was with my Peruvian honey. In the girls bathroom, she was in a stall with her pants down and my face between her legs munching down on her. This was a much better experience for me than when in Peru. Cynthia tasted better and while she wasn’t as vocal about it, I kind of liked that.
Now for some oddities about my situation though. Kissing, on the lips not the pussy obviously, was forbidden. Apparently that was only something you do when in a relationship. I thought it was stupid, but being 16 I didn’t really care. So no kissing. Now, while I thought the no kissing was stupid, I have to admit that I was also really, really stupid myself. The weekend trip was three days, I left Friday and spent two nights there and got back on Sunday. I met up with Cynthia the first night we were there and was down her pants that same night. I got her off three times before she headed off to bed, telling me that it was a sun for people to masturbate, even after what we had just done together.
The second night, I was in the bathroom giving her head and she was really loving it. I was getting better at getting her off as well, after six times, I had enough and got up. She looked at me confused as I stood in front of her, and she looked absolutely appalled when I asked if she could maybe blow me or give me a handjob. I didn’t think that I was asking for much, not after I had spent the past 4 hours between her legs getting her off half a dozen times. She balked at the idea of even viewing a boys penis and ran out of the bathroom.
I got home Sunday with blue balls to say the least and painted the shower with my cum for a couple of weeks after that. It was about this time that I really started to watch porn as well. I had seen plenty of porn before growing up. But after Cynthia, I started to devote a lot more time to stroking my meat while watching the screen instead of pursuing girls. I’d had enough of their bullshit.
When I moved down to Texas to state college, I was still pretty much off girls and on porn. When I started my first semester at a community college I met a group of people who I now recognize as the lower society of community colleges. Every college probably has them. They take one or two classes, and spend their entire day not studying and getting great grades in their very light work load, but rather hanging out and pulling pranks on others. And at first I thought it was cool, but soon found out that they were nothing but leeches looking for healthy subjects to pull into their den of disgust and drain them dry. About the only thing I got from them was the chance to finger a girl, but I with my luck I knew that I wasn’t going to get anything else except sticky fingers and blue balls so I passed on them. She was my first black experience though, so that’s something.
I went to school and had a very uninteresting life. Didn’t make friends at all, until about a year ago when I was in a psychology class. Met a girl and wanted to date her, found out that she was already in a relationship with a guy so I decided to just be her friend. I thought that our friendship wasn’t going to last past that semester, was usually the case for me. But we ended up having the same federal government class the next semester, after that we grew close and I helped her out through some shit, all while being nothing but a friend.
We set up another class that following semester to be in, and I found a girl that would be my first, first girlfriend. We got together about halfway through the Fall semester and broke up beginning of December. I got told that we were expecting different things from this relationship, and that I had somehow mentioned marriage which freaked her out. It’s bullshit, I didn’t say anything about marriage to her, that was my other friend who we both hung out with at school. I know the reasons why she broke up with me. It was the date right after we had our first kiss together, my actual first kiss of a girl on the upper set of lips. It was, nice, so very nice. She was soft, I loved holding her, I really liked the contact that I was finally able to give to a person. In my family I don’t really touch anyone. No hugs, maybe a handshake. With her, I was able to hold her hand and hug her tight.
I also fucked up majorly when I touched her inappropriately in public. Thinking back, I still can’t believe what I had done. That wasn’t me, I take full credit and responsibility for what I did but that was not the same person who I am. And because of it all, because I was fucking stupid and took a goddamn joke from a fucking card game, cards against humanity if you were wondering, too far I lost the one person that I was able to touch, to talk with, to try and seek feelings for.
I also got told by our mutual friend, the one who I made in my psych class, that whenever we hugged, that she could feel me. And that was true. Completely true. I was told by our mutual friend that the problem was that whenever she was around me, she feared that all I had in my mind was that I wanted to do her. The truth of the matter was, I was around a pretty girl I found extremely attractive and couldn’t control myself. Her leg would touch me and I would be at half-mast. Her fingers could brush my arm and I would be completely erect. And I brought it up after our first kiss, which lead to several dozen kisses, no tongue just lips. I apologized to her about my dick, sorry that I was so bad at controlling myself. And she laughed, her pretty little chuckle, and she told me that it was okay. I guess it wasn’t.
So now I have no one. I am back to my old self, alone in a place where I am surrounded by people. I have been reduced to a sounding board for peoples problems, and I just sit there and listen taking it all in. I give advice tidbits here and there, I crack a joke to try and lighten the mood, but I never talk back unless asked directly what I thought. I do my best to understand what people go through, and I get filled up with their problems, and those problems mask the problems that I have myself. The reason I think that I am doing all of that is to just feel something. When I have a problem I just have a physiological reaction. Hair on the back of my neck standing up, pulse quickens, I never have a mental, an emotional, reaction except for the “how do I get out of the situation?”.
I think that I have actually become the type of college student I so hated my first semester in college. I’ve turned myself into a leech. But instead of money or rides, I leech the feelings from people when they talk. I have to, it makes me feel not so empty inside, it gives me the illusion of understanding others and feeling like how they feel. I hate it, I hate it so very much. I want to scream, I want to yell, I want to punch people, I want to kick them until they are dead, I want to hug people until they hug back, I want to carry them on my back, I want to do so much,
But all I end up doing is keeping my mouth shut and nodding along, taking it all in. I’ll always be a sounding board, a confidant that isn’t really a confidant. I never tell others about what others have told me, unless I know that other person knows about what I am talking about, but even then I just put out feelers to see how they react to it all, to try and understand how I should feel about what I have heard.
It is all entirely depressing. I fucked up the one time that I was starting to feel actual feelings like a normal person, and now we are just friends. It works, I guess. I still like her, and I feel like I want to try and get back what I lost, but I have learned and listened to enough people to know that is exactly the wrong thing to do. So I will sit back, listen to them vent, and speak when spoken to.
I really do hate what I have become. 21 years old, too afraid to venture out and attempt something I might or might not like. I live in a household where I have to go to church every single Sunday even though I just want to sleep in. And when I am at church I ignore everything that happens there, just going through the motions that I have learned through my life of being at church.
My friend, the one from psych not the ex. I’ve told her a little about all this. Not the empty inside feelings bit, but the sexual experiences, at least the ones from Peru and Canada, not Nevada. I went through very vague details, because the topic of my ex popped up and she told me about the “she said that she could feel you all the time when you hugged!” and that was a reason we broke up. My friend and my ex both know that I am a complete virgin. My ex got my first kiss, I sure as fuck didn’t want to try and explain away “yeah, I’ve eaten out two or three girls, depending on your view of things, well before you!” I figured it would have been a nice little surprise for her, and I would just chalk it up to being a natural at it.
Anyway, my friend said that I need to get a girl drunk and just fuck them. But I am not that type of guy. I would love to do that. But I also know that there are several things holding me back from ever doing that. One being that I still live at home, in a very religious house, no place to bring back a drunk chick to fuck. Two, I would never be able to walk up to a girl, in a bar, chat her up and get her drunk enough to get back home to fuck her. Third, I am dead afraid of a girl waking up and calling rape and me spending the next large portion of my life in jail for just wanting to lose my V card. But the final reason, reason number four, I am just not that kind of guy. I am tired of things going fast, all I’ve gotten from that was stinky breath, a damp chin, a sore jaw, sticky fingers and blue balls. I want to explore people, get to know them, I want to date them and truly understand a fraction of their life and see that we are compatible before I attempt to do anything. I’ve fucked that up already with my ex, even though we are still friends and surprisingly it isn’t all that awkward.
And then, it is hard to explain of convince myself that I am actually depressed. I’ve been flipping back and forth between my two options. When I am alone, away from the two people who I would consider to be my friends, and who actually are my friends I like to think, I do feel horribly alone and depressed. I can’t talk to anyone around me about the things I like or feel. But when I am around my friend and my ex who is also my friend, Amanda and Ashley, I do not feel alone anymore. I don’t talk, and I know that they could probably care less about what I like so I don’t talk to them about it, but even when they unload their baggage on me when they vent, I do not have that feeling of loneliness anymore. And even if it is just for a few hours twice or three times a week, a small fraction of time out of my entire week, I crave for it like an addict. I leave my house to spend hours and hours at school, sometimes up to an hour just waiting for a class to start to get out of my house, away from the place I feel the most depressed and lonely. And I hate that. I hate it so much, I hate myself for it.
I am not suicidal, I like to think that I am too intelligent for that to happen. If there is one thing that I do have, it is some form of higher than average intelligence. I just have an incredibly hard time conveying that, but I am fine looking stupid in front of people, I’ve been doing that my entire life so why try to change. I only end up giving people a surprise every now and then, so it’s not all that bad.
I just wish that I wasn’t myself. I have the typical wishes for myself like anyone. Wish I was smarter, more confident, better looking, had a bigger dick, more physically fit, better luck with the opposite sex. But if I was given the choice, between all of those wishes becoming true, or being able to be more normal, to create and experience feelings through myself and not by way of leeching them from others, I would take that choice every single time.
Writing this out has been, revealing. I’ve talked myself through all of this a thousand times in my head, but actually typing it out onto something even as simple as a word document, I guess you could call it cathartic for myself. I gives me horrible dread when I look back through my life and see the many, many disappointments and lost opportunities that have passed through me. And it is also completely heart breaking to see the type of person I am, and that is to realize that I am neither a nice or good person even though I so want to be. But still, it is completely cathartic and does something to help.
Take what you want from this, I just wanted to have a way to get this off my chest. And posting it here I know that no one from these stories will ever see it. No one from my family or friends, or anyone in my life will ever read or see this. Their names are there, I didn’t change them except for mine, not that I really needed to seeing as how I never mentioned myself in the third person.
Joe