Bust Your Ass, Or Be Unworthy

For many years I was driven by a need that now sickens me. Day in, day out, for years on end, the only thing in my mind was: work, and work hard, damn you, else you are unworthy. Being self-employed, as I am, you need some kind of motivator, at least, to work hard. To work at all you just need to be hungry, or behind on rent, or bored to tears or something. For many, a boss watching your every move and/or the threat of getting fired if you don’t work hard is their motivator. For some, it is the conviction that their work is important somehow—some kind of invented meaning. Others just like money and luxuries so much they are willing to bust their ass for it. Yet others feel a burning need to develop their skills through work, to become all they can be. Still others just have to think of their family and feel their sense of duty taking over to go and slave away. The only thing that motivated me was the thought that I was unworthy if I didn’t work hard. I felt I could not find acceptance in the world, from my friends and family, if I didn’t do this. The need for acceptance, for respect, overruled everything else, dominated my life. They would know I was worthy if I worked so hard that it made me feel like shit.

Looking back, I truly don’t understand it. I used to wake up tired, just like I do now, and think, just like I do now, Oh no, not again, please, I don’t want to work . . . Fuck! Oh God, I hate it, please, no more . . . I can think of little more frustrating than getting up before you feel rested to do something you detest. Only this need for acceptance, for respect, actually got me to get up and hurry to ready myself for work, and bust my ass all day long, do everything in such a way that I felt terrible just about all the time. It even made me pay too little attention to the girlfriend. I actually thought that she would respect me for my hard work—impressing her with my apparently industrious nature was in fact one of my main motivators. Instead this was one of the things that pushed her away. I felt like crap in every way because of my forced overzealousness, but I felt I had at least earned respect from those around me.

I cannot recall any instance whatsoever where someone said to me, “Wow, you are really busting your ass. You’re truly doing a good job; I respect your hard work. I’m proud of you.” It might just be me, but I can’t remember anyone ever saying something like that to me. For years I had done everything in a way utterly contrary to my instinct and feelings, making myself feel like shit all the time, and it never gained me anything, except for some money. But not even that much, because I am a horrible businessman. I detest unfairness, hate overcharging people way too much to ever in my life make quite a bit of money, and even consider doing honest work at rates that would make me such an amount—more than I need for a comfortable, decent life—not even swindling them or anything, to be overcharging them. So each day I worked so hard I hated myself and life, for relative scraps in expensive Holland, never gaining what I was actually hoping for: this priceless respect.

Why did I think to gain respect by working hard? I have asked myself this for a long time now. We live in an industrious culture: you are expected to work hard and to not complain about it too much, because we’re all in the same boat. People bitch and whine about those on social security, sitting on their asses watching TV, sending out a half-hearted application every now and again because they have to. And I bitched about them too. I felt you only deserved to live if you made yourself count, if you contributed to society. But while ‘contributing’ I always felt wrong. As if I wasn’t doing at all what would make me happy. But I felt I ‘just’ had to. You are expected to. So if you don’t do it, you may survive, but you don’t belong, you are not accepted, you are not respected, you become an outcast. That’s how I saw it. How could a friend who liked me a lot, but who constantly frowned on my ‘laziness’, truly respect me? And how long does friendship last without respect? I needed this acceptance, this respect, and as a result I did exactly those things that made me unhappy.

Now I hardly do any work. I aim to do just what I need to to survive, buying hardly anything because I don’t want much—living cheaply. And you know what? I have plenty of friends who don’t care. Some probably resent me a little for it, because they do work hard and they think it isn’t fair that I don’t. But I never asked them to work hard. That’s their business. If they are truly bothered by this unfairness they should not work as much (secretly wanting this), or, though not desirable, break off contact with me. I would hate for this to happen, but what I would hate much more is spending such an incredible amount of energy each day and making myself miserable out of fear of losing friends for not working hard.

I am much more at peace now, taking it quite a bit easier. Having a little more money so I wouldn’t have to worry if I have enough to pay the rent at the end of each month would be nice, but this does not make me near as uncomfortable as doing work I hate, only to be able to pay my rent in time. Maybe it will work out, and maybe it will not. Death does not frighten me near as much as being miserable day in, day out, just because I have to work a shitty job to continue living. What value has life if you feel unhappy all the time?

Some people will never understand. Perhaps a lot of them won’t. “It’s just something you have to do . . . It’s part of life,” some of the more dutiful or dim-witted ones will say. “You’ve been given everything in your youth and now you need to give something back, to contribute to society,” others will assure me. You need to ‘contribute’ until age 70, they mean. Then, when you can hardly do anything, and if you’re not dead yet, only then can you finally get some peace. I am crazy for finding this completely unacceptable and ridiculous?

I remember wanting to contribute to society. I myself, some earlier, stupider version of me, could have said this bit about giving back a few years ago, disgusting though I find this now. But I hate this society. I truly hate it. I could tell you why, but it would take me hours, so just read my book or something. I don’t want to give anything back. I feel the only thing this society has ever done for me is destroy me. I don’t owe it a damn thing. If anything, I should destroy something in retribution. I will never do anything anymore to contribute to society. Just about the only reasons for doing anything at all now are serving my self-interests and being there for friends and family. The rest of the world can suck my crooked dick.