Relapsed today. There was literally nothing I could do besides PMO. I'm dead. I died a long time ago. Saturday long weekend afternoon and there is nobody on the planet who would choose to be in my company. I stumble around, take myself on "dates". Take myself to the coffee shop, to the museum, to the pub. It gets expensive. Eventually I don't want to spend any more money and I can't stand to be around all the happy families and lovers anymore, so I go home. It's November. Too cold to spend a lot of time outside. I would get a library book or even do non-PMO things on the Internet, but everything that culture has to offer either bores or depresses me. It is likely that if I didn't harass pseudo-"friends" with phone calls I would never socialize again. Nobody takes the initiative to contact me, ever. I really mean never. There is no point in me even having a phone. There will probably be nobody at my funeral besides family. I could sit and stare at the wall or I could PMO, those were the only options. I have tried everything, absolutely everything. I have absolutely no idea what could make another human being care that I exist. Often I feel like I don't exist. I think I might be dead in the most literal sense, that I might be a ghost. The PMO was the worst hell imaginable all the way through. I derived zero pleasure from it. I watched the most awful video of the most cold and clinical acts imaginable. It was stripped of any hint of humanity. The woman was not attractive, she was desperately trying to convince herself that she was somewhere else. The men who were supposed to be abusing her weren't even feeling the sadism. Just a bunch of robots doing these things for no reason whatsoever. I was the same way. I couldn't wait for the video to end, but it kept going on and I couldn't stop watching it. Then I went to softcore and immediately thought "what the hell was I watching, this is so much better". That only lasted for 10 seconds or so though, then the softcore brought on a deep sadness, which I suppose is better than being dead, but was really hard to take at the time. Physically my body acted as if it was aroused, but I felt like absolute shit on every level and it wasn't because I was holding back and being of two minds about the thing. Even if I could convince myself that it was totally acceptable to PMO, there is nothing left in it that I could derive pleasure from. I had a shower when I was done and cried. Afterwards I forced myself to go to the store because I was out of dental floss. I was crying more and letting out hysterical screaming noises at that point, going into one of my psychotic breaks. I couldn't go home because I risked doing something that would get me evicted. I parked by the beach and thought of swimming out further and further and letting the ocean have it's way with me. Then I thought I didn't really want to die in such an uncomfortable manner. I thought of who I could reach out to, but there is nobody. Telling anybody half of what I experience would result in me being forcibly "medicated". I certainly don't want a long-term chemical lobotomy which I didn't choose, but I went for the short-term version (drank a beer). I'm really in a tough spot now because I would have to use deception to bring anybody into my life. I would have to not let on that I don't have any friends, but they would find out eventually and stop seeing me because they would think that there would be something wrong with them for associating with me. I entirely lost my sense of humor decades ago. I can't pull off any kind of social interaction in a normal way. People don't enjoy being around me. Either I make them uncomfortable or I am seen as something like a piece of furniture. When I was in high school somebody said that I was like the little fishes that attach to the side of a shark.