Lost and Searching

Skeletons

Suicide and Saying Goodbye

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.


My Maleficent Protector

I torture myself with every word
Those said and those unspoken
Looking for the meaning behind them
Laying myself open to their truth

I bathe myself in it
Seeking those things that hurt
Just so that I can feel
Just to avoid the emptiness

Numb for years and years
Looking for solace in anything
I cut myself upon the words
Seeking respite in the pain

I hold it close to my heart
Seething and burning
Worn like a cursed saint
My maleficent protector

When there is nothing but pain
The violence escalates
Feeding on itself
And breeding its filth

Corroding and consuming
Eradicating and extirpating
Destroying everything it touches
Until I am empty again

Where once I found perverted solace
There is abject nothingness
And the cycle ends
Waiting to begin again

 

I would give it all to you
If I thought you could handle it
If I thought you could survive
But you are not my salvation

 

 

I never asked for any of this
I just wanted to be normal
Instead I found comfort in pain
And gave it everything I was

 

 

 

I do not seek your ruin
The way you seek mine
I’ll destroy myself soon enough
With your help or without

 

 

 

 

Do I go on
Or does it end here
Where do I find the will
To choose one or the other


Welcome Home – Part 1 of ‘The Ongoing Story of Him’

Welcome Home

 

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.


Embodying Pain: The Story of My Childhood

Growing up, I was always what people would call ‘weird’. I always marched to my own beat, never following what others did. Everything about me was different. It wasn’t always easy. It meant I had few friends. I never really hung out with the other kids, preferring to stay to myself and use my own imagination to have fun.

I don’t know why this is. I never felt weird. I did what felt normal to me. I did feel different, but usually not in a bad way. I know I was different. For one, I was (and still am) more intelligent than the vast majority of those around me. In 1st grade I was the only kid allowed to read any book in the school library; everyone else had to stick to the section set aside for their grade. In 2nd grade they did all the standardized tests and decided I should be in an accelerated program, so in 3rd grade I went to a school with a class dedicated to the smartest kids in the district. In 5th grade, I got horrible grades but that was only because I didn’t want to do homework; it was beneath me. I aced all of tests though, including the standardized tests. I remember very specifically taking the standardized math test and giving a sarcastic answer because I thought it was stupid. Still got a 99% on it. I was always the top student in standardized tests. In 6th grade I stopped studying or taking notes. I didn’t need them, I knew it all as soon as I read it and applied it.

I don’t remember most years after that very well though. At that point I was just doing what I could to survive school. Bullying had always been around, but it got worse in middle school. My first bully was in kindergarten. I don’t remember much about it, but I was told it was a girl and she used to harass me everyday. Even when I switched schools, a bully would find me. I spent most of my time alone because of it. It sucked in grade school, but it wasn’t too bad. I still liked school then. In middle school though, it got vicious. That’s when the kids got really mean.

It also got more physical then. I was never beat up, really. I was too big for that, but that didn’t stop them from trying. The biggest ones never accomplished much, but they would try. I was never really one for fighting. It just wasn’t my style. That said, a few managed to push me too far. One kid came up behind me and put me in a chokehold. he ended up flat on his back after I threw him over me. He never touched me again. Another one kept pushing me until I grabbed him by the throat and held him off the ground. I never heard from him again. The biggest bully in the school came after me one day and we got into an actual fistfight. He tried to wrestle me down, but I wouldn’t go. The bell rang for class before anything could get serious, but he never tried to start another fight.

That didn’t stop them from abusing me verbally though. That was far worse than any physical attacks. The physical attacks would have been better. I could have defended myself in those situations. I never had the ammunition to fight back against verbal abuse. Even though I was smarter and better read, I was never one for words. Still not, really, unless I am writing. Because of that, I never had the ability to fight back against the teasing. It didn’t help that I was guileless, naive, and trusting, but for the most part, I just couldn’t fight back.

So, I closed myself off. I avoided everyone and spent my time in books. I could escape in them. I read hundreds of books each year. I spent all of my free time in the library. So much so that the librarian remembered me even 5 years later when she was working at the public library.

I internalized everything about my middle school experience. I bottled it up and did everything I could to forget it. I had no friends by the time it ended. I had had a few at the start, but even my best friend turned against me, eventually choosing to become one of my tormentors as well. I hated school. I wanted out as badly as I could. It was bad enough that I would become physically ill at the thought of going to school. There were many days I got to stay home from school because I was ‘sick’. I wasn’t really, I had just gotten so nervous and scared at the thought of going that I puked uncontrollably. Every morning I would try and talk my mom or my dad into letting me stay home. It rarely ever worked unless I was sick, so I tried harder to make myself puke so I could stay home. Eventually though, that stopped working and I was out of ways to stay home.

It was also during this time that I learned a lot of my worst habits. To this day when things go wrong and I hurt, I get the compulsion to hit something until I bleed. Either that or find anything sharp and start cutting. I don’t do it anymore except under extreme duress (and never the cutting anymore, just the punching). However, back then, it was all I had. I put holes in walls. I broke a lot of stuff. My knuckles are still fucked because of it. I’m also covered in scars. If it wasn’t cutting, it was burning myself.

I used to think it was something I learned from tv or something, but I don’t think it was. I never saw it as a cry for attention. If it was, I wouldn’t have done it places that couldn’t be seen. I did it because it was the only way I could focus all of the emotional and spiritual pain that I had into a very specific and finite form of physical pain. It was an escape, and in that hell that was middle school, I needed all the escape I could find.

My greatest escape was going to private school at my church for High School. I was the only kid that wanted to go there, but I literally thought I would kill somebody if I had to go to public High School. Just going and seeing Willamette had scared the shit out of me. I thought that if I went there, the bullying would just continue to escalate until someone pushed me until I broke and I beat them to death. I always knew it was a possibility and I was afraid of it. I didn’t want to do it, but I didn’t think I would be able to stop it. I had never been able to stop the bullying before, how could I stop it there? And if they kept pushing me until I broke, I would break badly. So, I begged my parents to send me to Northside Christian Academy. It probably wasn’t the best school to be attending, but it was a safe haven. I was among friends there and was away from the bullying.

Unfortunately, it wasn’t the complete escape I needed, but that was out of my hands. I was away from the bullying and the other kids, but that was when my home life started falling apart. My mom started getting sick and was in and out of the hospital and the mental wards (though I think that last part was due to the meds she was on more than anything). I remember the Pastor (who was our principal) taking my sister and I to see her sometimes, even in the middle of school. Taking my mom to the hospital for a headache or something else became a part of my life. Once I had my license, I remember I had to take her a lot or pick her up because she couldn’t drive. I would have to leave school sometimes or get up late at night and take her to or pick her up from Urgent Care. It was tumultuous and I tired of it, but she was my mom and I loved her so I did it (though I would argue it at every turn, but I was an impetuous teen that had better things to be doing).

I don’t remember when it happened, but sometime between 15 and 18 my parents separated and eventually divorced. It was devastating. All I could think was ‘Just last year I was getting grossed out by them making out in public places… and now my mom isn’t even living here anymore’. I was lost. They were my archetype for love, and now it was gone. I didn’t know what to do. I was completely lost at that point. I don’t remember being overly affected by it at the time, but looking back I clearly was. I can’t even tell you what year it happened or how old I was. I don’t even remember when they told us. I have no memory whatsoever of that, which I didn’t know until right now. I remember having to go to a counselor, but not for very long. It didn’t really help, I never felt comfortable enough to talk to her. She also wanted to focus on controlling my anger without ever getting to the root cause of it.

That school should have been an escape to allow me to start healing from the traumas of grade and middle school, but I never got the chance. With my mom’s illness, my parent’s divorce, my looming end of schooling, and the eventual dumping by Anna, I was done for. All of that together on top of the years of torment in school finally just crushed me. Anna was just the last blow. I remember coming home from seeing her that last time and lying down on my floor and not moving much for about 12 hours. At the time I thought it was because she had hurt me, but I think it was more than that. After she dumped me, I literally had nothing left in me. I just lay there, bawling, blank, bereft, and broken all at once. I had come unglued.

That was probably the first massive change that I had. From that day forward, I was a different person. From then on, I was leaving it all behind. I had already found my secondary schooling and had it all planned, but now I threw myself at it. My mom told me she never expected me to be the one to strike out on my own and leave. Granted, my dad still helped me out and took care of me a lot throughout, but as far as I was concerned, I was never coming back. I was done with my previous life and I never wanted to go back. I was only looking forward, though in looking forward I was very pointedly not looking back. I did everything I could to keep from looking back and seeing all the destruction that had birthed this new version of me.

It was a version of me that could not last long. He was born to fail, and at the first real sign of strife, he did. I had spent most of my time in school very poor as I had trouble finding work and lived off what little my dad was able to send me. Even when I did find work, I was doing all that I could just to pay rent, let alone eat. There were weeks when all I had was a bag of rice. I remember being so hungry one pay day that I broke down and bought a burger and fries at Whataburger. I was so hungry that I had to force myself not to go feral on it. When I was done, my body shut itself down to process it all and I passed out at the bus stop. When that job finally ran out and I got laid off, it was all over. The boy that ran from home without looking back was no more, and I had to look back to find help.

I ended up moving back to Oregon and staying with my dad for a few months before moving in with my mother, whom I had only just reconnected with after several years without contact. Nearly 5 years later and I’m still living with her. For the first 2 and a half years, I didn’t really do much. That was my darkest time and I was completely lost. But, now, I pay my way and I do what I can to take care of myself. I had planned to move out this year, but the finances just won’t allow it, so I bide my time and work towards it.

Through all of this, the bullying, the divorce, the devastation, I never really talked to anyone. I have never been good expressing things verbally. I can write things very well (as evinced by this blog) but I am horrible about talking. I probably could have talked to any number of people about it, but I never knew how to express it in words. I did write back then, but it was only for me. I wrote poetry and songs all about the hatred, betrayal, and pain that I felt. I’ve still only ever shared that stuff with one person. I very much lived within my own mind. I have always tried to run through and figure things out in my own mind, though it has never accomplished much.

Through this blog, I have learned to start expressing myself more. I have family and friends that read this, as well as some of you I have never met that read it as well. Many are surprised by the things they find here. They could guess at it, but I never told them. I just held it as deep as I could and hid it from everyone. But, in writing it here, I am loosening my grip on it all and starting to talk about it. Because I am, it is allowing me to start growing as a person in ways I haven’t done in years, if ever.

If you’ve made it this far, I have one last thing to impart: Don’t internalize it all. Talk to someone, even if you don’t know how. Cry and rage and be afraid, but make it known. If you hold it within, it will eat you alive. You don’t want to be where I have been, wishing for death because you don’t know how to live. It will get better, but not until you deal with what has happened.


Mania and the Outpouring of Emotions

As a preface, I am nervous writing this blog. I know the other party will read it. However, I have to write it, no matter what. I’ve talked with her about it as I have talked with my closest friends about it, but now I need to put it on here. This is where I am most free. It’s not even that I can’t say this stuff in person, it’s that I have time to think writing it that I do not really get talking. I have better phrasing and expression here, though there will be a certain level of mania in this particular entry.

 

So, I came home from my trip a couple days early. It was unfortunate, but in order to save myself and the friendship, it had to happen. if I stayed, there was a strong possibility I would force myself into becoming very hurt, which would have destroyed the friendship. I didn’t know why I had to leave at the time. All I really knew is that something was wrong and I had to go. I gave opportunity to say the words that would keep me there, though I didn’t know what they were. In the end, there were no words that could be spoken that would have kept me, but I didn’t know that until later.

 

I will likely talk about what happened over the weekend more at a later date, but for now, I have to start at the end.

 

I left less than an hour after we finally slept together, though that was not the reason I left. We had already discussed my leaving the night prior and that morning and she was aware I would be going, but it happened anyways. I had finally lost my virginity. It was fun, but after 26 years, the build up of time had made it impossible to live up to. I learned much from the experience, but I am getting ahead (behind?) of myself.

 

It took me 400 miles and 7 hours to even start to understand what had happened over the weekend and why I had to leave. In truth, I’m still processing it all. I know the why and the how, but there is still much to analyze. I realized that I had spent the entire weekend denying a part of who I was in order to finally be able to lose my virginity. I learned that one of my base desires is intimacy. I need to touch the person. I need to be able to hold them and kiss them and have them next to me. Really, it should not have been something I was surprised to find. I have always written about wanting those things, but I was not aware that it was so deep that I could not turn it off. Because I was trying to deny it to conform to what she wanted, it was causing a lot of internal strife. It was becoming physically painful to sit near her knowing I couldn’t touch her. It was also detrimental to how I viewed her. It wasn’t really fair to either of us and would end up hurting everything. leaving was the only viable choice. If I had stayed, it may have been okay, but I risked a great deal of pain for myself and destroying a very good friendship that I had and need.

 

I have to pause. I’m not writing now. This has become an outpouring of my internal dialogue surrounding the issue. I’m still working on it all. I have come to a certain kind peace with it. Part of it does still hurt, but it is not the soul wounding it has been in the past. I did learn much from the trip (more than detailed in the last entry), but… there is still some pain. It was a good trip, and I am happy for it, but now it means I am still looking. Which is a slightly foolish statement. I knew she wasn’t who I was looking for, but that deeper part of me couldn’t accept it until I got there and saw.

 

On the trip, I had to reconcile who she was with who she had become in my mind, which is never an easy thing. It’s something that shouldn’t happen, but I have spent my entire life within my head. I have lived innumerable lives within my mind. I play everything out, though it never goes as I see. When I had no one, I still had my mind, so I turned there to get through the insufferable loneliness. I’m still learning how to get out of my head so much and just do stuff. It’s not easy when it’s all you’ve really known. I’ve pretty much always been that way. I don’t remember having imaginary friends, but I definitely spent more time inventing stories with toys than playing with other kids.

 

Diverted subject…

 

I know now more than ever that I need to find someone that can share with me the things I need. The subject of codependency came up this weekend. It’s a definite possibility, but I don’t know that it is entirely true. Yes, I do feel like I need someone in my life, but I think it is more than a codependent need. I have always felt that I was not made to be single. I’ve always felt that I need someone in my life. I don’t need her to take care of me and push me, because I can do those things, but I want someone that will. I don’t know, really. I do know I need someone. In spite of the disconnect, I did feel better near someone.

 

In truth, I have no idea right now. I want to write, and I want to be coherent, but those things can’t mix right now. I’ve gotten lost and diverted so many times tonight that I have no clue if this will make any sort of sense. I’ll post it anyways, because coherent or not, it has been good. In an odd twist, I think I talked this all through in person better than I did writing it, though I did not attempt to go into such depth in person.

 

This doesn’t feel like the place to stop. So much more wants out. There are things I have yet to cover and things I didn’t intend to cover. I… I do not know. It is all very confusing. I am at a sort of peace with what happened and am glad that it happened, but there are still things I need to suss out. I’m sure they will make up other blogs, there are always other blogs.

 

Because of the trip, I do feel ready to move onto other things. I am going to try and move back to California. I have no idea when it will be or if that is where I will actually go, but I will leave Oregon. It is too small for me. For now, the thought that I will go is enough. I’ll figure out the rest later.