Can it really be that you are nearing the end of your first half-century on earth without yet releasing your pent-up sexual energies? Surely, your inability to find an outlet for your desires other than your incessant doodling on your Big Chief tablets is the ultimate plea for help. One doesn't have to have several semesters of psychology classes under one's belt to recognize your hamfisted efforts for the soul-stirring cries for human contact that they are.
I know it was trying, but I wish you would again find gainful employment, like when you worked for Levy Pants, or Sullivan Perkins. There, painful though it may have been for your ununhealthfully bloated ego, your life had at least some element of direction and purpose, as well as the human contact you so urgently (and, I must add, somewhat pathetically) require.
Still, Ignatius, even I must admit that despite your numerous attempts at self-sabotage and refusal to face your many personal demons, reaching the ripe (in your case, extremely ripe) old age of 50 is something of an accomplishment. That's why it's all the more important for you to cast off the shackles that have held you back and blossom into the being I know you can be. It's not too late, even for you! There is hope that you can emerge a complete, sexually realized person without resorting to blue pills, degrading pornography or excessive self-gratification.
Please, Ignatius, it's not too late to live a little. I hope you will celebrate this auspicious occasion with an evening at an establishment such as the Night of Joy, where you can begin an Odyssey of self-discovery as you liberate the joyous sexual being longing to break forth from the shackles of your obsolete medieval theology.
With deep concern,