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.
Things I’ll Never Know
I dream of things I’ll never know
The way you feel in my arms
The taste of your lips on mine
The way you breathe in your sleep
The way you look at me and smile
All of the little fears you tell
All of the dreams you share
Sleep riddled words over breakfast
Hearty conversation at dinner
Confessions from a bottle of rum
Laughter from our favorite movies
Inside jokes and silly looks
I dream of these things
I think of these dreams
And I hurt
Because I know
I know.
…
You have these dreams too,
But not about me.
I Wanted Something Pretty: An Almost Love Poem
Knee socks
And auburn locks,
A smile that gently mocks
A beautiful body,
Demure but naughty,
She shares it humbly
The beautiful nerd,
She knows every word,
To every movie I’ve heard
I would hold her close,
Kiss her on the nose,
And listen to her woes
Perfection in my eyes,
Believing all the lies,
Ignoring all it implies
When reality must invade,
All those thoughts I forbade
She is nothing like what I made
For in all reality,
Her and I would never be,
As there is no one left for me.
I just wanted something pretty,
Unadulterated and full of beauty,
But everything for me was broken and shitty.
I think that this is as close to a love song as I can get for now. No matter how I start it, it always comes back to being hurt. It shouldn’t be surprising, really. Every almost relationship I’ve ever had has ended in pain. I can’t seem to stop it unless I never start it, but the loneliness of that is worse than any hurt I have ever felt at the leaving of someone I cared for.
Although, starting is just as difficult. I have trouble going up to anyone. When I try to, I feel that I am offending them by even showing an interest, which says a lot about my self-esteem and how I view myself.
Blood and Doubt
Always on the outside,
Forever looking in.
Withholding who I am,
And holding it within.
Words press against my lips,
Like an insect in its shell.
Rotting in my mouth,
And condemning me to hell.
I cut myself open,
Hoping to let them out.
But all that comes forth,
Is blood and doubt.
I do not know my fate,
But I know it’s not with you.
So I search and dig for hope
Through my jaded world view.
Wondering, is pain all I have,
Or is there something more?
If this is all there is,
What do I hold onto it for?
I have to find the strength,
To overcome my fears,
To slay these demons,
To step past these tears.
For the hope of something more
Is greater than the pain of nothing left
So I struggle on
Heartbroken and bereft.
Dust in My Throat; Barbs in My Heart
I know that I could love you
With the passion of a thousand poets
But I keep it all to myself
I would paint you a thousand pictures
Perfect and beautiful
To capture every part of you
I would write you a thousand love songs
Romantic and pure
To let you know you are loved
But all of my words turn to dust
Catching in my throat
And keeping the words from you
So I hold it all in,
Knowing that the joy of your presence
Is better than the pain of your denial
But my love is unrequited
Misplaced and hurting
Poisoning everything between us
Because you cannot do the same
I will always love you more
Than you will ever like me
One thing I have realized lately is that while I do not bond easily with people, the bonds I do develop are very deep. I don’t get into friendships (or more) easily, but when I do I go all the way in. So when I develop a crush, it is very strong. Thus, if it has to end, it is very painful. I have to dig out a very deep and sensitive tendril that burrowed deep into my heart and there is nothing but pain in it. After a while, the majority of it is out and I’m just left trying to excise the little bits that shot off from the main tendril and dug in deeper than the rest. Sometimes they’ll wriggle and painfully let me know they’re still there. Other times, I’ll come across one and see its atrophy and remove it painlessly.
But, no matter how hard I try, each and every one of them left at least a single barb in there that I can’t get at. It’s in the deepest parts of my heart. The section I can’t cut into without destroying intrinsic parts of myself. So, they’ll always be there; occasionally reminding me of each of your faces, your smiles, and your names. Because no matter how much I hurt afterwards, I did love you for a time and I cannot forget that.
forgotn 