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.
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.
Winston Churchill said “If you’re going through hell, keep going.” Yet I often feel like I stalled. I sometimes feel like I can no longer move forward. That this is my hell, and I should stay in it. I have trouble getting out of bed. Sleeping the hours away, wishing all my troubles could fade away like the dreams I have. I dream often, I dream of me dreaming. My guilty conscience creating fantasy out of my reality, If I refuse to get out of bed my dreams will chain me to it.
So why do I get up at all? My favorite poet said “Climb not out of stubbornness. Not out of a need to demonstrate the depth of will it takes to carry on. But because you owe you one.” I get up because I owe myself. Wasted hours, wasted years of my life sleeping. For all of my hard work to get this far. My road in hell may never end but I will keep putting one foot in front of the other. Sometimes I may trip, or fall down. However stopping long since become no longer an option.
What does it mean to be a Hero? I have a fear, that fear is for someone to be hurt while i was not paying attention. For my eyes to be cast away while someone needed help. I don’t want to be that person who “Watched.” I always keep my heart and eyes open for the suffering of others. I know so many suffer in silence like I did, crying for help but afraid to ask for it.
Perhaps i read too many comic books, or watch too much anime. Perhaps this mentality will end up getting me hurt, or killed. However, i couldn’t live with myself as someone who just stood there. But knowing another is in need, suffering, needs help, while I did nothing. That seems far worse to me than death. So keep your eye’s and heart open, know that everyone around you have their own thoughts, feelings, and perhaps need just a little help. I did once, and I will give my life if it means to help another.
I often practice self-pity
There is nothing I can say about it that is witty.
It’s just how I learned
All the times I’ve been spurned
Perhaps it was for the attention
Or a reaction to all the tension
Self-pity is always feeding
It can hurt more than bleeding
A gross eater
Tears come by the liter
You must keep it starved
Before your heart is carved.
I don’t, i refuse to keep my connection to suicide secret. I have spent so much of my life with its weight its hardly a wonder that i see it as part of who i am. I wanted to die, at times it scared me, other times i was at peace with the idea of dieing. Despite that, am still alive. My thoughts where on the subject so much, that even in a period of my life that i don’t want to die i still think often of the subject. Its personal for me, i often walk walk to the train station, visiting the memorial of two girls who stepped in front of a train as a third girl watched on the bridge above them. I think of what there thoughts might of been like, and compare them to the pain i had.
A close family friend died last week. She was like an aunt to me, and i will miss her. Last night her husband felt he could not take the loneliness any longer and tried to end his own life. He failed in his attempt, and his future from here is still very undecided. So my thoughts turn to suicide again, feeling great empathy for such pain that life is no longer worth living. The lack of knowledge others have on the subject does not help the matter. Many people do not know how to even talk to someone like this, and fail to try and understand.