Testicular Fortitude.

I was going to visit Cliff anyway, today. He messaged me saying he needed advice. I kind of already knew it would be one of these conversations.

Prior to that, I fixed his little brother’s computers. To explaining to his little brother that I know a thing or two about computers, he stated that I built me own. Well, I did! Building Roxanne kind of means I know a thing or two about computers.

I hope he heard me. I hope he realizes that not too long ago, our situations were reversed. He was the one telling me that change was possible. Was he even telling me that? I don’t even remember anymore. I remember him telling me that I had “created an environment which demotes you”. I even used that line on him. I took it beyond just physicality. I brought up repeatedly how he hasn’t confronted his dad.

That is the linchpin, after all. He feels he can’t make it on his own. And I think I can? Sometimes I don’t know, but I keep trudging on anyway. Why? Because I had a choice to make. Either stay in the situation I was in and be completely and utterly miserable, or do something about it. Better to live on your feet than die your knees!

He doesn’t believe change is possible. In a way, I’m trying to lead my example. I brought up the concept of balance, which I like very much. Doing all one thing tends to not work every well for me. However, we ultimately tied this into how when I was little my Grandma would stress moderation. When he was growing up, he was taught that if you’re going to do something, do it perfectly. IF you can’t do something right, don’t bother at all.

Naturally, I told him to just chuck that garbage.

I don’t try to think too hard about what I say. I just follow my instincts. I’m not good with details. I just try to understand the feelings. I’ve learned not to take everything people say seriously, or to engage people’s interior monologues. I just try to make sure he knows I’m hearing him. I don’t think anybody can quite see him the way I do. In part due to my own perception of him, the way he will share himself with me, and just the years of experience I have with him. I walk the line between empathy and just telling him to get over himself. Comfort without coddling.

Every time Liz comes up, we agree that we’re more concerned with how she’d overreact. She can’t communicate that well, and she doesn’t really hear him that well. If he broke up with her, she wouldn’t understand. Moreover, as Cliff has proved, he’ll just continue this pattern of relationships he’s had with another girl.

Meaning. He wants meaning to his life. He wants everything he does to have a point, a meaning, a purpose, something to contribute to some sort of greater good. He feels heartbroken that it’s not possible for some perfect female to waltz into his life and “save” him. I pointed out that at no point do we ever just ride off into the sunset, as if to “zone out” like our parents have.

He’s too hard on himself. Wants too hard to be perfect.

But I try not to get caught in his interior monologue. I trust my instincts. I know our situations are different, I know we’re different. I believe his problems stem from a lack of internal locus of control. The obsessiveness, the feeling a failure over seemingly trivial things, that’s an external locus of control. It’s not something I can fully explain, because it’s just something I feel. I trust my instincts. This is something I know because I did it myself.

He said it himself, he has a pattern of avoidant behavior. That’s an understatement.

I remember those moments talking to other people and being told all the “right” things, as in the best possible things, and still not reacting in a positive manner. For me, it was as if I was unable to express hope. And while I was unable to express it at the time, it meant to much to me to be told that there was hope. So many of those thoughts are things I carry with me. I don’t know how well he remembers things I say, but I say things with purpose and meaning. That’s why I told him repeatedly to get a job.

He says he hates college. I told him he doesn’t need to. But I asked him if he intends to be stuck in that room when he’s 30. Of course he doesn’t. I asked him how he’s going to get out of that room. He said he’d need a job that can provide him with enough money to live. I asked him how he’s going to do that. He mentioned college. I asked what about after that. He said get a job.

And then get a better job. And then get a better job. I told him to put Erik’s dad’s voice in his head. An inside joke with us. We joke about how direct Erik’s dad is with him. “Erik, take out the trash. Erik, you owe me money. Erik, give me money. Erik, get a job. Erik, get a better job. Erik, give me money.” So on and so forth. Er, just focus on the get a better job thing.

He’s terrified of being his father. He wants a job that has meaning.

At some point, I told him that life has no meaning. I’m the most content I’ve ever been, and I think the question of “meaning” just seems to be missing the point. It’s a flawed, delusional perspective.

He grew up believing, thanks to his father, that your job defines you as a person. I think that was on the list of things I said “Fuck that bullshit” to.

I told him, “It’s just a job.” It really is.

I told him I believe he’ll more content if he gets job and some sort of hobby. Maybe I favored that specific advice because it’s exactly what I was told three and a half years ago. Of things I couldn’t understand at the time, but understand so clearly now. Balance may be a nice way of me understanding the world, but I sincerely doubt that eccentricism will carry him to a better place.

I can see him being a philosophy professor. It’s a secure job that would pay the bills.

He can’t see past himself right now. I hope hears me. He believes what he feels now is what he will either continue to feel or feel at a later point. I hope he truely respects the fact that I’m doing it, goddamn it. I hope he understands that I was in his shoes. I was there, I felt hopeless, I was avoidant to everything I should have been doing but was too afraid to do.

And then we somehow got on a tangent about our balls.

“I’d have to ejaculate all over you for you to understand how much comes out.”

“That’s okay, Cliff.”

He’s still claiming he ejaculates a rather large quantity. I naturally shared that I’m a dribbler and my semen control is rather easy. Though, he was also complaining about the literal size of his balls. He wants a ball reduction?

Keep your balls, man. You’ll make it if you believe in yourself. I do. I love you, Cliff.