I'm a Loser

There is no escaping it; I'm a loser.  In fact, my memoir is called American Loser, and it is here on Amazon: https://www.amazon.com/dp/B00HQSO9RO In America (at least), white males are supposed to be successful.  They aren't discriminated against; women and minorities are.  As I've documented here, it is very difficult to be a loser in this society, where winners are always rubbing it into the faces of losers like me.  Turn on the TV, and you'll see plenty of them: successful TV personalities, actors, athletes, entrepreneurs, etc.
I write eBooks, and nobody cares.  The last one really hurts.  I think it is very funny.  I got the idea to tweet jokes from it: trying to attract attention to it.  No one has bought it.  It's a failure, and so am I.  Lots of people don't want to read.  I use the library a lot.  People very rarely put holds on books; I'm virtually always able to renew them.  People put holds on DVDs, because most humans want them more than books.  And I've read some great books lately.  Though they weren't new.  Maybe I'd have had trouble renewing them if I took them out when they were new.   
I am a loser.  There's no separation.  I'm not reading, or watching, the story of a loser.  I am living that story.  It's not fun.  Much has been written here about what it's like to live the life of a loser: shitty, boring menial jobs, living in apartments instead of houses (and having to hear your neighbors as a result), not having much money, and being alone, because it's harder to attract women.
Lack of money means a lot of things.  It means I'm less likely to treat my depression and OCD with medication, because it is so expensive in this country that has mastered greed.  And, yes, my mental issues are untreated, and it has been that way for far too long.  It also means I'm less likely to have a pet (I don't.), because of the extra cost involved (Pets aren't allowed in my apartment complex anyway; not having a house means less freedom).  And dogs make me happy; I know they do.  It means that my home is depressingly messy, because I hate cleaning.  I'd pay someone to clean it if I could afford to.  There are all sorts of safety features that other people have on their cars.  They are less likely to get into an accident, and they will be protected better than someone like me in the event that they are involved in an accident.  I don't know how much longer I'll be able to live the life of a loser.      
 

Broken Links

My father is a broken link.  He hasn't been a father to me.  He left my mother and I when I was 2 years old.  He didn't teach me how to use tools, how to build stuff, how to fix things, how to throw a baseball, how to throw a football, how to fight, how to be a man; though he couldn't teach me how to be a man, because he isn't a man, and he never will be.  I've complained more about my mother here than my father.  The reason is that my mother attempts to be in my life.  She repeatedly reminds me of her and how she brought me into this world of pain, misery, and death.  I haven't heard from my father since I was a teen (a long time ago).  Did he ever care about me?  And, if so, then for how long?  Certainly not long.  No, I am just the physical manifestation of a big mistake he made. 
I work in a national hardware store, which is sort of ironic, because I know so little about building and fixing stuff.  I suppose that is why I have remained a cashier, even though I could conceivably transfer to another area in the store.  I've heard about how customers react when they feel as though my coworkers don't know enough about the areas they are covering.  So it's strange to be surrounded by all these people who build and fix stuff regularly; for lots of them, that's what their job entails. 
I mentioned the regular customer, who I thought was a nice guy, and he is, but he likes to brag about his money.  He told me a little story, in which he mentioned his $150,000 car.  Doesn't he realize that, as a cashier, I can't afford a car like that?  Does he enjoy rubbing his money into the faces of those who don't have as much as he does?  Bragging about money is like school on Sunday: no class.  How did he learn how to use tools and build and fix stuff?  Perhaps from his father.  So you see the difference between a boy whose father taught him things and a boy whose father taught him nearly nothing.
In fact, the more I talk to customers at work, the more likely they are to start bragging about their money.  Money is what matters more than anything in this shitty society.  It is why animals are treated so horribly.  It is all too common for them to not get the medical care they need, because that would cost money, so, as a result, they suffer.  It is also why animals like pigs and chickens are crammed into small spaces, many of them not getting enough space to walk at all; it's cost-effective.   
So, as a result of not knowing how to build and fix stuff, the thought of being a homeowner is a daunting one.  Therefore, for the foreseeable future, I don't se myself buying a house (not that I could afford one anyway), so I'll continue to live in apartments, and hearing my neighbors will continue to make me miserable.