Working for the weekend

 I don't want to write. It feels like a thankless chore right now. Writing asks the question of how I'm feeling, and I don't want to answer because I've essentially wasted an entire weekend that I was looking forward to. I feel like I just plug into video games and just stop existing to the larger outside world. To which, my therapist will inevitably counter-ask:

 "what would you rather be doing with your time". 

To which, anything. Anything that I felt was productive and moved my life closer to a place I'd like it to be. But it feels like those options are locked away from me due to my inability to access them. They're difficult, and so I don't do them, instead I waste away my life playing games I don't even like. So I ask friends, hey, do you have any interest in any game, anything that isn't my playing games by myself? And I get no answers. 

Which, is fine. There's always been an undercurrent of feeling like an outsider with my friend groups, be it now or in elementary school. There was the core group, and then me as like, a side piece who would occasionally get invited, but more often than not I had to instigate it, I had to be the one to ask if I could join. Maybe they could tell early on that I wasn't one of them, or was, different, but they never said anything, they just, never bothered. 

There's a temptation to cringe at those middle school notes asking them to come over that weekend, only for them not to call, or message, maybe they'd go do a thing but I'd never know until the following week when I heard about it at school. Meanwhile I'd just, stay up in my room, playing the same games, being bored, and alone, every weekend. Grinding through the next week waiting for maybe the next weekend when they might be interested in doing something. I don't know if that ever changed, it feels like it did at some point, college maybe. When schedules were more flexible, social groups were wider, people were less busy. Now though, it feels more similar to those playground days. Alone, bored, restless, depressed, and feeling like there's no point to anything. I guess another metaphor is that of the dog excited for the owners to get home and play, only for them to leave again as soon as they got home. Well, I guess that's it, so, back to waiting. 

"Well what would you want to do"

Anything, it doesn't matter, something to make the week feel like time has passed with something to show for it. Something to ease the feeling of just wasting away for nothing. That I'm not spending countless hours of what should be comfortable adulthood doing all the things that adults should be able to enjoy, rather than wasting it doing a dead end job for 40 hours a week until I day with some worthless number in a bank account to show for it. Something that matters. And for so so much of my life I've done nothing that matters. I was always waiting for the next thing, the next phase. And now there isn't one, so it's just waiting for the next weekend. 

Side note, I'm uncomfortable with who might have access to this, so I'm likely going to move the whole blog to a new name/host. So, if this is the last your hear from me, Thanks, it's been real.