Covid Is Killing Me

I wasn't sure where to start, and this seemed like the most logical place. It's the record of my life for the past 20 years more or less - longer than that when you add in my journals from the 90s which were transcribed here.
September 13 was the 6 month mark for being off work and home-isolating because of Covid-19. Those six months have amplified the issues I've been struggling with for over a year but It's gotten worse as I've been isolating myself.
I really have started to wonder what I'm doing it all for.
I'm not suicidal, exactly, but I really don't see why I'm living. I don't see why I should bother.
From the outside looking in, things seem great. I have a condo in the heart of the gay village of Hillcrest in gorgeous San Diego. I have a cute convertible to zip around the beaches in. I have the job of my dreams - teaching photography and English and I've been able to continue teaching and getting paid all through these six months of quarantine. I have a great side gig photographing hot boys in their underwear (or less) and get to meet all kinds of sexy nearly naked guys on the regular. I've got money in the bank as a safety against emergencies and the stock market keeps going up.
But on the inside I'm dying.
I have no friends. Literally no friends. There is not one person I can call up and say I need a hug or I need to talk. There is not one person I can talk about THIS stuff to, which is why I've resorted to writing about it on a blog. I have no romance in my life. There are people I really like, there are people I would love to be friends with, but either distance or indifference keeps me out of their circle. The people I feel closest to are people living thousands of miles away in Orlando and Chicago. The few friends I'd made in San Diego turned out to just be hangers-on who were happy to have me buy rounds of booze at the bars and introduce them to the hot boys who model for my photos, but not really there to support me or be a friend in my times of need.
So again, I wonder, why do I go on?
What am I doing it for?
Why work hard to be good at my job, why pay my mortgage each month, why save money for the future… I don't see any joy or happiness in my future.
Of course this is exacerbated by my weight gain during Covid. In the 18 months before Covid, I lost over 70 pounds with intent. I felt driven to… do something. But a year ago, coming back from Provincetown, I made a choice to cut loose my last (well, my only) San Diego friend and I've been alone since then. The six months between August and March weren't great, but the six months between March and now have been the worst in recent memory. I've gained back 50 of the 70 pounds in six months. I've been eating my feelings, for sure. That's been my trigger. Feel fat? Eat because I'm depressed. Eating makes me fatter, which makes me more depressed, so I eat my feelings.
I went so far this year (I started back in February) as to look for a houseboy. Someone to live here with me, give me companionship, maybe keep me motivated to eat better and do some walking and exercise. I figured if I had a person to help motivate me living here with me, I'd be much better off. I got close to finding the right boy and then - bam! - Covid. So that whole process stopped dead.
And so once again I am alone. I am alone with no foreseeable change in the future. I'm a fat 52yo filled with self-loathing at my physical appearance. I'm not likely to meet quality people walking around with that aura.
And yet, I don't care enough to actually do anything to change it.
I believe we all get what we want in life; if I am 100 pounds overweight it must be because I want to be this way. If I wanted to be different, I would do something to change but I don't do anything so I must not want to do anything about it. I must have given up, right?
And if I have given up on my body, that means I've given up on finding any kind of friendship or romance because if I can't love myself how the hell is anyone else going to love me?
And if I've given up on my physical health and I've given up on any relationships, then I feel like I've just given up on any kind of happiness.
And if I have no hope of happiness in this life, I return to the question: Why do I continue?
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