Memories

If I were to write the story of my life it would lack structure. My life is a series of disconnected memories. I suppose this is true for many people. They are faded and lacking many details. They are like dreams and am often afraid I am mixing the two. I suppose it’s because there is a lot I wanted to forget, and a lot of living I never had. Am told I was the outgoing, outspoken child when I was very little. I guess I must have been competing for attention between my older brother and younger sister. I do have one particular cringe-worthy memory of that time. I put on a jacket, hat, and sunglasses to pretend I was a different person. It’s embarrassing to think about, but that embarrassment might be the only reason I remember it.

Much of my childhood only existed between two things. School, and the time I spent in my room. I did not have friends, not really. The only friends I may have had I convinced myself were only interested in my brother. I was just something that followed him around. I was a B student. Never doing more effort than was necessary. I slept on the bus to school, I did my homework before the start of class, I hid near other geeky kids or kids that know my brother. The worst was when I had to eat lunch alone. I know I did these things, but asking me to pick a single moment out of any of them would be difficult.

The most dreamlike of all my memories, however, were the times I was losing my mind. The times I had panic attacks or the times I was completely lost in despair. I’ve been on the ground, begging for anyone to help me, but unable to call out or even move. I have walked down the streets at 2am with tears endlessly falling down my face. It doesn’t feel real, nor did it then. It was like watching someone else, It would have been so easy to walk in front of a car, or step onto the train tracks. I know I know I once swallowed a fist full of pills then Immediately throw them up. I can’t tell you when this happened, but I know it did.

Perhaps I should leave it alone, perhaps they are better off feeling like dreams. But sometimes I remember something I completely forgot and surprise myself. Recently I remembered I was in some kind of choirs in middle school. We went to six flags, but this is the only thing I remember about it. Did I like it? Did I hate it? I don’t know.

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Any Day But Today

I procrastinate, things I enjoy, things I want to avoid, everything. Every decision I make I must question, painfully, as hour by hour goes by. Then I sit unfulfilled at my lack of action. Read a book, play a video game, even writing this very sentence is a long dragged out process. It’s painful. I grow up avoiding things that may hurt me, it has become second nature in almost all my actions.

This is anxiety of course. I tell myself to just take that first step, and it will be easier. It is easier, but it is fucking painful it is to get there. It is exhausting. I feel like my heart has broken after just a few hours of spending time with friends or family. “It is better to avoid it altogether” that little voice in my mind says. I would try to silence it with sleep but then I fall prey to a cycle of dreams I can’t see to awake from. I would spend the rest of my life in those dreams if I let myself. They are not happy dreams, they are painful and sad, but they have a sweet taste to them, a control over reality you can’t find in the waking world. Still, I wake up day after day.

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.

 

Shadow of death

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I have questioned life and death more than someone my age should. Struggling with thoughts of suicide for a long time. I was scared to die but wanted it. I can recall a moment of complete despair. A moment that in my heart that I know I was going to die. I remember the very feeling in my chest as I lay in bed. The sorrow I felt knowing my life would end soon. I don’t know why that moment clicked while I thought of death so many other times. I was not crying because I wanted to die, but because I know I was going to die. That I may not kill myself then, but my life would not last much longer. I mourned my own death as if it was a forgone conclusion.

Years have passed, many I thought would be the last year of my life. Am older now than I ever thought I would be. In many ways, I still mourn the life I killed as well as the life I wasted mourning it. Still, another year ticks by. That has to count for something.

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.

Time moves forward.

time

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.