A Break from the Past

I'm taking a break from the journals of the 90s to reflect on the now.
It isn't good.
I turned 50 a few months ago, and I have realized some pretty depressing things since then. I don't have a life. I am slowly losing the passion for photography that I once had. Part of that is a difficulty in finding guys to pose for me (now that Craigslist and Backpage have been shut down by the government) and part of that is lacking any energy or desire to go out and do anything that would be worth photographing.
And I started peeling at that onion. I'm not just losing my passion for photography - my one and only hobby - I've lost my passion for life. This became extremely evident during the two weeks I had off for spring break. I did nothing. Nothing. I barely left the house. I napped for hours each day to pass the time. I went to bed early each night. There were days I literally did not open my front door at all, sometimes two or three of them in a row. Other days I only opened it for the pizza delivery.
Now that I'm back at work, things aren't much better.
I wake up, go to work at 7:15, teach my classes and come home around 4pm. I will often change into comfy clothes, watch some Netflix rerun and take a nap. The nap usually lasts an hour, sometimes longer. I'll make myself dinner, watch some more Netflix, and go to bed by 10.
That isn't a life.

Years ago (I wrote about it in the journals, so it was back in the early 1990s) I was diagnosed with severe depression. I've lied to the doctors whenever I see them for my annual physical or my PrEP visits telling them that the depression isn't an issue. My medical records indicate it is in remission. Note they don't say "cured."
The question runs through my mind every now and then (frequently-ish), "What am I doing this for?" Why am I going to work, why am I renting a 2-bedroom apartment, why did I buy a fancy new car, why am I putting as much money as I can into my investments each month... why am I doing all this? It doesn't seem to matter to me at all. I have no reason to keep living.
I haven't got any family to support, nor do I have anyone who I can turn to for support. Since moving to San Diego two years ago I've made one friend; he's a casual friend, a drinking friend. I don't have anyone to talk about the dark shit with. I don't' have anyone to lean on.
You may recall that in the 24 hours of my birthday I had 5 different guys reach out to me with their thoughts of reconnecting. None of them ever followed up; when I reached back to them in January, none of them responded. It's like a sick fucking joke. Seriously twisted.
I've been over 300 pounds for some time now. I hate myself for it, but I also refuse to do anything about it. It means I don't enjoy going out at all because nothing fits me right. They don't exactly make flattering clothes for hugely overweight people. I went so far as to buy a pair of 501s that were large enough to fit my very thick thighs and took them to a tailor to have them sized to fit my proportions. It was a disaster. I can only wear those jeans with suspenders because there is way too much fabric in the waistband (my proportions in my hips and ass are way out of alignment with my waist measurement) to wear a belt. Another pair of jeans I bought and had taken in, the tailor just put two big darts in the back to narrow the waist. They look like bad mom jeans now. Nothing fits. I hate my body. I hate going out in public. I hate thinking what other people think when they see me. I'm only really comfortable sitting at home on my busted couch in elastic waist gym shorts and oversized sweatshirts.
This is my life now.
And if this is my life, why keep going?
I'm not suicidal - I have too much fear to do anything active to end my life - but fuck, why am I working so hard to have a nice apartment and nice things and a big bank account?
Why did I sit at home when I had 16 days off for school holidays? Why did I do literally nothing for two weeks?
It's like I've already given up, but nobody has told my body so it just keeps going out of habit. And that's not a life.
That is not a life.
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