The cat and existence

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Pierrot, the sad clown

It’s been a while since I have written anything. I wonder how many times I have said that. I’m never sure If I have anything to truly say. I am still very much the child that wants to be noticed but is terrified that someone will notice me. That’s why I write, I want to scream in agony. I want people to know I am in pain. The truth is, however, everyone is in pain. Being in pain does not make me special. But when am crying alone once again, I just want someone, anyone to know am hurting. That I exist.

I hit a cat with my car the other day. It just ran out into the street as if it was running away from something that scared it. I didn’t feel a bump or hear a thud but when I looked in my mirror I could see it on the road, making its last attempts at moving before dying. It took me longer then I like to admit before I pulled over. I walked to the cat and it was completely lifeless. I pulled him off the road, blood was pooled around his head, but I could not stand the thought of another car running him over. He had no tags or collar. Stray cats are rather common in the area. Still, my first thought was to wonder what makes my life worth more than his. I don’t like hurting others. I always sought to live a life out of others path. To live and to die without being an inconvenience to anyone. Now I wonder if I truly want to live, I will inevitably be in others way.

My Anxiety and Depression.

 

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The Taste of Sorrow
Rene Magritte

 

If you want to know what my anxiety is to me, it is being unable to make a new psychologists appointment after my old one left. Letting my pills run out rather than make a phone call. It’s avoiding a therapist for reasons I’m not even sure. It is a pain in my gut every time the phone rings. It’s finding excuses to push people away. Being unable to sleep in fear of anything that breaks my routine, anything new. It’s having high blood pressure because my heart races every time someone gets close enough to take it.

My depression is a call to the void. It is staring at train tracks and wondering what if. I hide in a hole building a wall of trash around me like a castle wall.  I think of the past and never the future. I feel a call that leads me deeper into the dark. I find sad story’s and music and weep to myself. But sometimes I find someone who is worse off than me. I use what experience I have and try to help them, not for unselfish reasons but because it makes me feel better as well.

Hiding and pushing everyone away would be so easy. Even doing things I enjoy bring on painful feelings. I’ve done it before, I dropped out of school, grow fat and suicidal. I wrote on my skin with a knife. As painful as it all it, it is easy. I slip down a similar hole all the time. But I still slowly crawl out.

 

Still Breathing

The holidays never seem easy. Nights grow longer and colder and so does my heart. I want to sleep…I never want to wake up from my dreams. As I lay in bed, loneliness and depression fall over me like a blanket. I’ve wasted nights like this.

Still, I must wake up eventually. No matter how much time I waste I still get up because am still breathing. Am still alive so I will continue to wake up. I will seek out the small moments that keep me alive. An interesting boo, a night in an empty movie theater, a cold dark drive on empty roads, or a hug from my sister who I haven’t seen in a while. Such moments are what keep me still breathing.

Days Blur

Days blur together for me. I can go a long time without really doing anything. Spending each day like a robot. Then all at once it hits me. Loneliness suffocates me. I wonder why I let things get this way, I blame myself. I lack self-confidence and lack the self-confidence to build more confidence. If I am to drown in a sea of my flaws I will keep doing my best to keep my head above the water.

Time moves forward.

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I have not written anything here for a little while. I’ve been unsure what to write. I write to make myself feel better but part of me also writes for a bit of validation. Not that I seek attention, but rather I just want people to know. I don’t even need people to understand, just a nod of their head telling me they at least heard or read what I have to say. Perhaps that part of me comes from being alone for so long that I never had people to even tell even my most benign thoughts too.

People have died in my world recently. Not anyone close, but not so far away as I would not notice. Death makes my problems seem petty and insignificant. In truth they are, it does not make them go away or change how I feel but I know they are. I fear for the future of my father because I can tell he does not believe he has one. He is stuck in a job he is too old to be doing, and all his friends are dead. I once said that I live in a manner that is just me committing suicide the long way around. My father is doing a much better job of it than me. All he has left are alcohol and a woman he dates simply so he won’t be alone.  This alcoholic who broke my heart a thousand times slowly dying ahead of me.

What about me? I grasp for moments of happiness. I do things for the first time other have taken for granted. I can actually be happy for short periods of time. It’s the moments before and after that trouble me. A night with friends fills me with anxiety. I have trouble making phone calls and am worried something will always go wrong. Then after, I feel regret. Not at a good time, I just had but rather that I never had such experiences before. I think of the past and fall deeper down a spiral of depression. Am lucky if the only thing I feel is just empty. The funny thing about time is that it won’t stop. Life does not stop for me, my problems, my father’s problems or anyone else. Even death does not stop the march of time, at least not for everyone else. So am alive, and I will keep watching the time slip forward for as long as I am alive. Just doing my best.

Camping with Mental Health Issues.

Growing up my parents would pack me and my two siblings up to go camping every year. It was always over a weekend and we have a family reunion in between. When I was little I really enjoyed the experience but as I grow into a moody teen I set up a PlayStation in a tent and never leave. As depression took over my life, I sneak off at night to cry.  They were beautiful quiet nights. My sobs mixed with only the sounds of frogs and crickets. However, I remember distinctly secretly wishing someone would hear me.

It has been a few years since then, and another family reunion has come up. I decided to try camping on my own this past weekend. I now have my own car, my own tent, my own money, I thought I surely be able to recapture some of the glory of my childhood. My Sister had similar ideas and was already planning a trip of her own as I was mine. We would have a chance to see each other for the first time in nearly a year.

The first thing I noticed about all of this was just how much effort my parents put into it. Booking a campsite, bringing food, water, clothes, soap, toothbrushes, and every other little thing that makes the experience a little more comfortable. I arrived on my own early Friday and was proud of my little set up. Things were going well. I managed to go for a swim in the pool and even strike up conversation with strangers despite my anxiety. My sister arrived in the evening with her boyfriend and we had a good time catching up. I made hotdogs over a fire.

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Then I was alone in my tent, and all I wanted to do was collapse and cry. The sense of loneliness that filled my heart was like a dagger. I texted my mother for support before finally falling asleep. The next day was the family reunion. Frankly I was disinterested in the whole affair. It was nice to see my grandmother, my aunt, and cousins, but I had little to say to any of them really. It was hot, and exhausting. I must of sweat my weight in water. The reunion was wrapping up when it started to rain for an hour. I ran around to secure my sight so that the rain would not ruin anything before the rain stopped anyway.

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Perhaps it was the heat, or dealing with the social aspects of family but I broke. I could only sob uncontrollably. I wanted to run away. I managed to walk for a while, the woods where pretty and reminded me of the times me and my brother would explore them. I followed a trail to a winery near the campground before walking back. It was here I made up my mind to just leave the campground. I turned some mail I needed to give my sister over, she was swimming in the pool, and quickly walked away embarrassed.  I hid in the woods, my back against a tree hiding from my sister and from myself. I was having a full on panic attack. I imagined what it be like to hang myself from one of the trees in front of me. I traded some emotional texts with my brother, mother, and sister. The sun came down while I was hiding behind that tree. Bugs crawled along my legs but I did not care anymore.

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I walked back to my campsite without any light and packed up my tent and things and got in my car. I drove past my sisters campsite, gave her a hug and drove away. Sobbing and crying along the way. I had to pull over to the side of the road to wipe my tears more than once. When I was about fifteen minutes from the campground I pulled over once more. I could only think that “If only I just jumped into the pool with my sister that we could have swam, made s’mores by the fire and everything would’ve been ok.” I know I was running away, all i wanted to do was run away. I felt humiliated about how emotional I got, making me feel even worse. I called my mom, as if asking for permission if it was ok if I just turned around and forget it all happened. My sister was still up, sitting by a fire, I still had a little time to change the outcome of the night. I turned the car around, went back to the campsite. I went to my sister campsite and managed to enjoy a bit of time by the fire.
I never did put back up my tent, I slept in my car with my feet hanging out the window. I was able to go for one last swim in the pool with my sister before we had to leave the campground. It was a stressful weekend over all. I feel like I made a fool of myself the whole time. However I did manage to scrape together a better ending than what could of been thanks to the support of my family.

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The story of my life

If anyone where to look back on my life I would want them to see me. Not some mocked up version of my praises. My imperfections and faults make up who I am just as much as anything I did right in my life. I spent my childhood hiding away, scared of the world. It is not something I would ever want again. I want people to understand the chaos that is my mind and not a mask that hides it all away.