Answers Come Too Late

Dear Braxton,

People don't understand me. There are times where I don't understand myself even. I feel so alone, and I desperately want to change that, but I can't let someone get close to me without me shutting myself off and pushing them away. I look into the future and I don't see anything. I am a college student, but I don't know what I'm doing all this work for. For some job? That's the point, isn't it? To get money, and build a family? What family? I feel like I don't have a future. I'm currently in a relationship, but I don't think that will last. At the start I was funny and charming, but I know she's going to get to know the real me soon and when she does she'll be gone. People go away when you stop making them laugh and start sharing yourself. I'm sorry if this isn't coherent, I guess my main question is why should I stay alive?

Anyonymous



Dear Anonymous,

You could have called the Suicide Prevention Hotline, but you didn't. You contacted me, and Nancy, that about makes me as appreciative as hell. May I call you Nancy? You seem like a sweet guy, Nancy. A real tender soul. These things hurt, I know. It's tough to look out into the world with all its corruption and unfairness and see a place for yourself. But I'm here for you, buddy.

In my experience, chronically unhappy people are often missing the big picture. What I mean Nancy is that people like you are often buried in their own sorrows so deeply that they stop considering the whys and hows of things. Now, stop me if this has occurred to you (it hasn't) but who ever promised you a purpose? Who ever sat you down and told you that your life is special and precious and that not only will the world notice when you're gone, but it will boohoo its great big eyes out and wave little Nancy flags on Nancy Day over your glossy Nancy yearbook pictures? Have you ever thought about whether or not you even deserve to be happy? Why is it all about you?

None of those questions were rhetorical. I really want you to think of who promised you those things, a purpose and happiness and all that nice meaningful stuff. Do you know who it was? I'll tell you: your mom and Walt Disney.

Consider the sources.

The same goes for everybody else.

Now it's common in these cases to feel angry, but hold on there Nancy. What are you going to do about it? Your mom is your mom, she's the only person that will in your entire life truly believe that you're something else. And old Walt, well the worst you can do to get back at him is thaw his head out.

There's even an upside to these liars! This is America. Your mom will coddle you until you die, and because of Mr. Disney there are so many blindly idealistic teenage girls that you could stack them on your dick high enough for a brown man to run a plane into them. Live it up!

The truth is, Nancy, you shouldn't even be asking. Asking someone else how to find happiness is like waiting by your 9th grade social studies teacher's car, rehearsing how you're going to demand at least a hand job, wearing nothing but a knife and a smile: maybe you'll get what you're asking for, but it won't be the same as it just coming to you.


You really just need to shut up and stop thinking. Shut up. Everyone has felt this way. Buy a Nintendo. Go hiking. Fuck your girlfriend in a car.

Or, you know, kill yourself.

Choose meth,

Braxton



Dear Braxton,

my bff is sooooo clingy she never leaves me alone whenever im trying 2 b alone w/ a guy shes always txting me or if she can interupt in person i cant hang out w/ other people cuz if she finds out shell b mad what am i suposed 2 do b like your annoying what do i do 2 make her back off?

Rebecca KS




Dear Rebecca,

The solution to this problem seems fairly obvious to me:

A jug of gasoline and some black kids with no future.

That's a sleepover I'd go to.

Land of the free,

Braxton




Dear Braxton,

Can losing your virginity cause irregular periods? The first time he got in me there was some blood, but the next week when we tried again there was enough that I had to get new sheets. We tried a couple of days after that and there was less blood but still some. I'm pretty sure I'm completely broken now.

I haven't had a period since the last time we tried to have sex. I did a couple of pregnancy tests but they were both negative. Is this normal?

Mandy OH




Dear Mandy,

If you're not pregnant and you're not bleeding from your cock poncho I don't see what there is to bitch about, normal or not.

Periods are gross. I mean, grade-A-no-compromise-pregnant-Korean-dog-orgy gross.

Stop having them. Stop it.

If you quit eating they'll quit happening. You know now what you have to do.

Cow,

Braxton




Dear Braxton,

I say my girlfriend's name when I masturbate. Not like just at the end, but over and over. Like a mantra or something. I don't think I'm gay, but we've made out a few times. What do you think this means? Should I tell my boyfriend?

Katrina



Dear Katrina,

I think this means braxtonmakesitbetter@yahoo.com

I think this means if you have a Gmail account there isn't a size limit for e-mail attachments.

I think this means what you think it means. Click click, flash drive, Merry Christmas to me.

As for your boyfriend, go ahead, tell him. The mantra's a little weird, but whatever. I don't think it'll be any big thing for him. If I were him I wouldn't make a fuss over someone bringing a little autism to the lesbian orgy. Might even make it better. I usually can't look anyone in the eye after sex anyway.

Can you smell that?

What is that?

That's the future of a beautiful romance.

Say no to Birkenstocks,

Braxton




Dear Braxton,

I turned 36 today. I am a real estate agent. I date sometimes, but live alone. I just can't seem to find any energy by the time work is done. Every day I go back to my apartment, drained and depressed. I think I'm actually clinically depressed, I was just never diagnosed. I feel like I walked into a tunnel in my twenties and never found my way out. I need something, but I don't know what exactly. I feel like if one great thing could happen, I would never feel like this again, and my life could begin for real. How do I jerk myself out of this funk? Please, help me.

Robert PA



Dear Robert,

You've touched me. Really. Your pain is a hand that has reached into my chest and delivered the gentlest loving flick to my heart's clitoris. I'd like to share a story with you, if I may.

A couple weeks ago I got lost in the city. You see, every night I go for a drive to take the edge off the day. Nothing but a finely rolled joint, a Wendy's cup full of Jose Cuervo Silver, and the open road. One second I was ashing my joint out the window in the middle of downtown, and the next I was, well I don't know where. When you're high you can't remember what you were just doing. When you're drunk and high you can't remember where you just threw up. When you're drunk on tequila and high you can't remember whether you threw up on a hooker or just a normal girl, where your car is, or why you're in a neighborhood of about 25 Kanye Wests that are shoving you and trying to pull your pants down.

My point is, that tunnel you were referring to, we're all in it. There is no way out. So what do you do? You graffiti the fucking tunnel.

Life is what you make it.

The only way to spice up your life is to do something that could kill you.

And there is time to be filled.

The moments where you truly feel alive are the ones that fill up your time in a way you don't understand. Life is driving your faggot ass Prius into a lake. Life is doing drugs until you aren't racist. Life is buying your own personal breathalyzer and watching videos on the internet of dudes in oxygen tanks really giving it to dolphins and trying to blow a .08 before your load. It's pissing in someone's mailbox. Human tears touching your penis. Dropping acid without a baby sitter and going to a Baptist youth group. Bacon with peanut butter. Armpit sex on Thanksgiving. Wondering whether your butt is still a virgin.

Whoever kills today gets to make tomorrow.

Stop waiting for something great.

Go nuts motherfucker,

Braxton