Diary of an Oxygen Thief (Oxygen Thief Diaries)

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Hurt people hurt people more skillfully. An expert heartbreaker knows the effect of each incision. The blade slips in barely noticed, the pain and the apology delivered at the same time.” The "Oxygen Thief" in the title refers to narrator's low self-esteem. Because of his sense of self-loathing he seems to go through life unworthy of the very air he breathes. Diary of an Oxygen Thief is an honest, hilarious, and heartrending novel, but above all, a very realistic account of what we do to each other and what we allow to have done to us. ( From the publisher.) Did anyone listen to the audiobook? How could we interpret this book differently if we listened to it instead of reading it?

Anonymous’ logic consisted of “If someone hurts you, then you automatically want revenge. It doesn’t matter how long it takes, you want revenge. I thought if I hurt her enough, she would want revenge… And while I flattered myself that she’d seek revenge, I didn’t realize that leaving me to stew in my own paranoid juices was revenge enough.” Is his logic flawed? If so, how?Since the author of this short, anguished novel first self-published it in 2006, it has assumed cult status, with no shortage of readers testifying to its powerful effect. One can never know to what extent this first-person account of a broken-hearted advertising creative who once “liked hurting girls” before the tables were turned on him is autobiographical, and there’s a strong argument for it not mattering. However, if one chooses to read it as an unfiltered account of real events, the strangely feverish splurge of the narrative makes more sense. A fiction would have more logic, more shape; the wrongs done to Mr Anonymous would be more substantial and his outrage more proportionate. As it is, the reader becomes trapped inside the mind of a howling paranoid. Mentally, not physically, I never hit a girl in my life. Well, once. But that was a mistake. I’ll tell you about it later. The thing is, I got off on it. I really enjoyed it.

According to Anonymous, “Don’t worry, I got my comeuppance. That’s why I’m telling you this. Justice was done. Balance has been restored. The same thing happened to me, only worse. Worse because it happened to me.” Which Oxygen Thief is worse –Anonymous or Aisling?I believe that once you experience hurt and heartbreak, you should try to be a part of decreasing its occurrence, especially around the people you care about the most. Apparently not to Mr. Anonymous. I wanted to know the reason behind anyone being that way. I wanted to know why people would set out to hurt other people, why people would hurt the people they love. This book though, this book explained it clear as day. In the beginning, I thought the anti-hero is a pile of human trash, now I just find him pitiful. Pathetic is the best word to use.

There was Jenny. She was the one who threw the beer in my face. I was thrilled to have had a hand in causing so much rage. Then he meets Aisling. A young beauty from Dublin, with innocent eyes and an intelligent mind. He fell in love. Real hard. Obsessively hard. This story circles around one of the most disgusting men I've encountered so far. And I'll be damned if I say I wasn't curious. PDF / EPUB File Name: Diary_of_an_Oxygen_Thief_-_Anonymous.pdf, Diary_of_an_Oxygen_Thief_-_Anonymous.epub Why would anyone set out to break the heart someone they loved? Why would anyone intentionally cause that kind of pain? Why did people kill each other?

Table of Contents

Of course, at the time he didn't know that she is the female version of him. A woman who manipulates and prey's on the pain of men. Lures them only to ruin them. According to Anonymous, reflecting on being rejected by Aisling, “I was in a lot of pain, you see. But it had been caused by an abstract blade. What I mean is, the pain was physical, the cause wasn’t. I suppose some people would say I was suffering from a broken heart.” Do you think, before his relationship with Aisling, he ever equated mental abuse as being physically painful? Ocr tesseract 5.0.0-beta-20210815 Ocr_detected_lang en Ocr_detected_lang_conf 1.0000 Ocr_detected_script Latin Ocr_detected_script_conf 0.9244 Ocr_module_version 0.0.13 Ocr_parameters -l eng Old_pallet IA-NS-1300229 Openlibrary_edition And I lived for the moment. I was working freelance in advertising all through this period in London. As an art director. A contradiction in terms if ever there was one. It's what I still do today. Strangely, I Now, aside the fact that the book was narrated by an insensitive, inconsiderate bitter misogynist, I vehemently disliked it for its style; the writing was terrible, inconsistent and repetitive.

Here’s the thing: I don’t normally review or rate the books I dislike. I don’t like bashing them. Especially if the author is still alive. This one, however, is an exception. You may wonder why and I’d tell you because this book pissed me off. Like. Really. Pissed me off. The first time I stumbled upon Oxygen Thief was in my middle school library. British schools and all, don't ask. Being the rebel that I was, I stole it because I was bored. A fitting way to obtain such a book, methinks. I actually still have the stolen copy. I'm currently alternating whether I want to burn it or frame it on a wall. While the monograph was written in a “diary” style format, do you think the author takes advantage of self-reflection and critiques of his actions?My question is.....how in the seven hells did I actually read this as a 12 year old?? I don't think I even understood half the things this man was talking about and the other half.....well....it was filled with this: Sir, I literally could give less of a shit about pervy Brother Neddy or your daddy issues. So please take your shitty excuses and shove them down someone else's throats. When I found out this book was a fictionalised memoir, I didn't know whether I should feel excitement or disappointment. What’s most disturbing is that he realizes all of that, and he’s well aware that the shit he did will most likely catch up with him. I never looked like a drunk, I just was one, and anyway in those days advertising was a far more boozy affair than it is today. Because I was freelance, I could be my own man, so to speak, and I would keep myself busy by ensuring I had dates lined up. None of the girls were supposed to know this. The idea was to have an impressive queue so that when one girl neared maturity-usually after about three or four dates with some phone calls in between-another would be introduced. Then as one went onto the scrap heap, a new one would take her place. Nothing unusual about my method, everyone did it. But I enjoyed it so much. Not the sex or even the conquest, but the causing of pain.