6 years ago, I tried to kill myself.
Well, kind of. I wanted to kill myself. I held the knife to my wrist and I pressed. I pressed as hard as I could. I held it there while angry tears ran down my face. I pressed it while people watched. While nobody tried to stop it. I wanted to press it in, split the skin, and watch it bleed.
But I couldn’t. No matter how badly I didn’t want to be alive, I also didn’t want to be dead. I never managed to pierce the skin. I ended up putting the knife in a wall and walking away.
It was the culmination of a lot of years of depression and running from things. From growing up bullied, to falling for women that never wanted to be with me, to my parents divorce, to being jobless and broke. I had never dealt with anything, ever. I just pushed it all away and let it pile up in whatever space I could find.
It never went away though. It was always there, jut like the depression. And when the depression started getting worse, I became intensely introspective. This led me to find all of the things I tried to run from, and they came spilling out. I couldn’t stop them. I was drowning in them. I had no idea what to do anymore. Everything was pain.
On the night I had the knife, I was at a party. There were probably about 20 people in a relatively small apartment, with a fairly even mix of men and women. Everything was normal for most of the night. I was drunk and being more sociable than normal. I had even had a bit of luck with one girl, but then she left. The night was starting to wind down and I watched as people kept pairing off. Everyone was finding someone to hook up with, which is cool, but I was alone… again.
I’m not sure why this was the night that that was too much for me. It had always happened that way. There was never anyone around that wanted me. Nothing has really changed in regards to that. It always hurts when I’m the one that ends up all alone, but it was never that bad. I don’t know if it was the alcohol, or the growing depression, or what, but this was the night.
I can’t even tell you where I got the knife or why I had it. It was just sort of there. I think we may have been fucking around with them and trying to throw them into a wall. I can’t be certain. I was drunk and that part is hazy.
After I put the knife in the wall, I went back in and, as far as I can remember, tried to sleep. I slept fitfully for a while and then called my mom to see if she could pick me up as I didn’t have a car at the time.
I didn’t see anyone from that night for nearly 6 months. I didn’t really realize it at the time, but this was the final straw in a break with reality. It had been happening for a while, but that was when it all finally happened. After that, I stopped going out. I didn’t see anyone for months and I barely left the house. I pretty much didn’t leave unless I was getting food. I spent as much time as possible on the computer playing stupid little games to distract myself from all of the stuff that had piled up. However, I’ve written about all of this before. I’ve just never recognized it as what it really was: a break from reality. I took time away from the world to deal with all of my shit.
I don’t write about this with sadness. I never felt an ounce of melancholy while writing this tonight. In fact, I’m feeling better than I have in a good week. For some reason though, this story felt like it needed out finally. I wasn’t necessarily hiding it, I just didn’t know how to frame it and express it. I’ve mentioned it and sort of written about it before, but never in detail. It was time for it though. Time for one last tale.
I think this is a good final post for this blog. I don’t really have much need for it anymore. I’ll blog again, but most likely not here. This was the journey out of my deepest depression. While the story isn’t over and there’s still much I need to work through, this phase of it is done. It is time to move on to other venues and outlets.
So thank you, and goodbye.
The journey I sought was not one of worldly adventure. I didn’t want to travel the world and see the wonders of the world. I didn’t want to climb Everest or go on safari in Africa. I didn’t want to see the pyramids or visit the wailing wall. I never wanted to jump out of a plane or off a building.
The journey I sought was very different. I wanted to spend my entire life getting to know somebody. I wanted to live with her and love her. I wanted to start a family and have children. I wanted a house with a garage where I could work on cars. I wanted love, and that was all.
The journey I got was nothing like either of those. I ran from my fears and struggled to make it this far. I fell so far that suicide was an option I considered. I took the dark rode, the one you never want to see. I didn’t mean to. I ran, and I got lost.
The journey I have now is one of rebuilding. I’m trying to put the pieces back together, those that got broken on the way and those that were always broken. It’s a long journey and it isn’t easy. There’s still much left to rebuild though.
I’m sorry things got weird. We had a connection, I thought that meant it might lead to something more than friendship. The movies lied to me, they told me that’s how it works. They don’t bother telling me that most times, it doesn’t mean anything.
How was I supposed to know otherwise? Nobody told me that part. You just seemed like an awesome chick and we got along so well, so I thought we could be more than friends. I didn’t mean to make it awkward, I just didn’t want to be alone anymore.
I got confused. Nobody ever listens to me, so when you did, I thought it was because you liked me back. My friends never treated me that way, so I missed the cues. It didn’t help that you’re flirty, but I should’ve known it didn’t mean anything, it never does. I should’ve known I wasn’t special to you.
I still think about you; wonder how you are. I could ask, but it hurts to talk to you. I’ve gotten better about not looking at your Facebook profile, and I deleted the pictures you sent. I wish we could still be in each others lives, but I’m too ashamed of how it ended and too hurt by the loss. Maybe another time, but not now.
Goodbye, and remember that I cared for you once.
I really should know better than to think something good might happen without me busting my ass. Why would that happen? If I want something I have to bust my ass for it. I always seem to forget that when it seems like something good might happen though. I want to hope for the best and it always gets me when reality sets in.
I thought I was going to be able to buy a car, get a new computer. I was so wrong. I did get a new phone, some new clothes, and a few comfort items, but I’m still without the major items that I want/need.
What I really thought I was getting was a reprieve from years of struggling just to make ends meet. I’ve had a job for about 2 years now and I’m still struggling just to get out of these holes. I know that’s not all that long, but it feels like forever. I just wanted one bright spot where I could say that things finally turned around.
It’s rough seeing people around me in their mid to late 20s that have their shit together, doing whatever they like. Dating; living on their own; getting married; having kids; buying cars, houses, toys, whatever. I’m living with my mother, struggling to pay my bills and doing it all on my own. I don’t get to live rent free with my parents like so man others do. I haven’t had a car in 6 years. That has meant foregoing a lot of things because I can’t fucking get there.
I’ve been stuck here for a long time. It’s easy to overlook how much a car means until you have to rely on others to help get you around. I can’t go shopping unless my mom is home and lets me take her car. I can’t go out with my friends unless someone is willing to pick me up. I can’t go out and drive around just because I want to. I can’t just run up to this or that on a whim. I have to plan everything if I want to go out because I need to know how I will get there and how I will get home because I can’t just drive on a moment’s notice. It is very isolating, which is rough. Yes, I am a solitary creature by nature but it isn’t easy being forced into it because I can’t get anywhere. I can’t go to people and people choose not to call me when they do stuff because they know I can’t get there and they don’t want to pick me up (which is fine, it’s their choice and I’m not going to be upset with them for not wanting to pick me up, I wouldn’t want to either).
I’m doing a bit of boo-hooing, but, really, I’m still a bit further ahead than I was 3 months ago. It just sucks thinking I’ll be able to actually get somewhere and then have it taken from me. I’ll get there eventually by working my ass off, it just would’ve been nice to skip 2+ more years of struggle.
It just fucking sucks being poor.
This was the 4th drawing I made one night and the first in what would be an ongoing series dedicated to my own life. When I drew it, I had just switched from Holywood to Good Apollo I’m Burning Star IV: From Fear Through the Eyes of Madness. Until now, I hadn’t ever given much thought to how perfect that album title was for the situation. In truth, it was chosen because it is a favorite album of mine and it soothes me. I draw much inspiration from it, having heard it hundreds, if not thousands, of times since I found it. It is one of the most important albums in my life, and it seemed only fitting that I would listen to it this night.
The original plan for the drawing session had been to listen to all 3 of Marilyn Manson’s albums about his fallen god in order, but after I finished Holywood, I started to think about the woman I was kinda-sorta involved with at the time and how that relationship actually existed. Being in the state I was in, actually seeing that I was not special to her in the ways I needed to be special was threatening to collapse my psyche and throw me into a downward spiral. So, I hastily changed albums and settled on something that I knew would bring me back from the brink and put me back into a safer place. It was my safey-safe. And there began my journey in art and self-exploration.
The upper right – ‘I almost lost you’ – came about from nearly spiraling when the album changed from Holywood to Mechanical Animals. When it was averted, I simply wrote the line on the page. At the time, it felt like a note to her, but looking back, I think it was just as much a note to myself. I nearly lost my mind delving into a situation I really wasn’t prepared to deal with that night (it took me nearly 8 months from that date to finally confront it and I’m still dealing with it today).
The words are ‘*MROW*, ‘My Dear’, and ‘Whore in Sheeps Clothing’, which come from “Keeping the Blade”, “Always & Never”, and “Welcome Home”, respectively. At the time, they were written to my first. They were evocative of our childishness (the *mrow*’), my unrequited love (‘my dear’ crossed out), and my eventually pain and lashing out (‘whore in sheep’s clothing’). They are floating in the scribbles, buried in them and written upon them. They were always on my mind, as the scribbles represent. But they were also shrouded in chaos.
These words were just the ones that came through as I was drawing, but the entirety of the lyrics of the three songs represented here capture the emotion conveyed within. They speak of the pain of loving and having nothing returned. Of wanting and not being needed. In “Always & Never” the Writer says ‘I’m still waiting here, my dear/For one kiss from you’. While this, to me, speaks of loving and wanting, there is also a literal interpretation in my own life: I had just one kiss with my first love, a very chaste peck on the lips, and I have been waiting for the next one for the past ten years. Not from her, but from anyone. With ‘a whore in sheep’s clothing’, I am not wanting to call her a whore. More accurately, it is about her being something other than what I saw and my inability to cope or be with what she truly was. I loved what I thought I saw, but the reality was far different from what I wanted and needed.
While I had my first in mind when I drew this, it turns out that it was quite apropos to the situation I was dealing with at the time. So much of that played out as an accelerated replaying of my first kinda-sorta relationship. It’s eerie. Even the names were similar. I cared deeply for both of them and they both came about during very chaotic times in my life. Looking back, it seems that the last one was there to close out the first. Through it, I found closure. I was finally able to put her to rest and move on from her. And while I am still working on moving past the latest, I was not crippled the way I was with the first. This time, I am hurt but I am not giving up and running from it all. I have chosen to stick around and deal with it, even if I can no longer do it directly with her.
This series, taken from a single night of drawing, was drawn with my future in mind. When I did it, I thought it dealt with who I was talking to at the time. I wasn’t wrong, exactly, I just wasn’t right about what it meant. She was there, but not as I saw her. She was a ghost reborn and she exited far sooner than thought. I think that going over all of this and finally posting it all and talking about it will be my way to say goodbye. As I lay it bare to the world and analyze it in the written word, I am seeing it in a new light. I am finding things within it that I hid from myself before. It was far deeper than I ever expected.
I showed all of this to her, but it didn’t go as planned. I had hoped to share it with her, but I ended up just showing it to her. I think that was part of why I decided to leave. It was then that I realized that things were not as I had seen; that I had blinded myself to her because I was in need of closeness, which she could not really give. I had imposed things upon her subconsciously that she could never have lived up to. For that, I am sorry. For the rest, I am hurt.