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.
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
You have these dreams too,
But not about me.
People always have things to say about my being single.
“You’ll find someone soon!”
“It’ll happen when you least expect it.”
“You’re lucky, you don’t have to put up with _____.”
“God has a plan for you.”
They think they’re helping, but they aren’t. They don’t know. It’s also different than when they tell this to their friends that have just gotten out of a relationship. I’ve never had one and I long ago passed the age where you’re supposed to have at least some semblance of an idea of what goes into dating. The older I get, the more difficult it is. The more I’m supposed to know, and the stranger it is that I don’t.
I won’t meet someone soon. I don’t go out. I don’t talk to people. I have the same group of friends I’ve had since I was 12. I can barely hold a conversation with the person at the checkout, so how am I supposed to meet someone and start dating? And when you expect to die alone, how can you possibly expect it less?
The people that say I’m lucky because I don’t have to put up with whatever bullshit relationship issue they choose are just fucking morons. They don’t know what it’s like to be alone like I am. When they look at being single, what they see is the freedom to do what they want without anyone to hold them accountable. They think of the annoying things that their partner does. They don’t think of the pain that comes with it, the crushing emotional and spiritual pain. They don’t remember all of the small things their partner does; the small comforting touches, the kind looks, or the intimacy that they share. They aren’t thinking about what it’s like looking at their bed and knowing that, for the X00th day straight, they get to share it with nobody. They also do not realize that when they are alone, they have touches and lovers to remember; that I have none of those small comforts. When I close my eyes and think of the women I have loved, I have to remember that not a goddamned one of them felt the same for me, that I have continually sought woman that want nothing to do with me.
And, finally… God did have a plan for me and I’m pretty sure I fucked it away 9 years ago. I know what it was, and I fucking ran. I hated Him and I told Him to take His plan and fuck off. I wasn’t going to do what He wanted after all He had let happen to me. I was angry, and spiteful, and a stupid fucking child. I made my biggest mistake for petty grievances and I’ve suffered the consequences. It’s not rational, I know, but in spite of all I have seen and learned, I can’t shake my faith in a Higher Power. I know all of the logical reasoning against a Higher Power, but there’s still that voice at the back of my mind that says “But what if you’re wrong?”, and so I believe, even if I can’t yet bring myself to live it. And if I believe, then I have to accept that He has plans, and that there are pros and cons to following them. I can’t dwell on the what-ifs, but I can see where the path diverged.
I don’t write the long insightful posts anymore. I want to, but it’s not in me right now. I start them, but I never finish them because, oftentimes, they are just rehashings of the same things I’ve written about, which is not productive. Because of this, i have spent the last few months in a particularly introverted and introspective phase. I have been looking at all of this stuff, and I have been trying to deal with it.
Why do I need love? Why do I love those that will not love me? Why does this all hurt me so much? What can I do to change it?
I have also dealt with some of this in less than ideal ways. I mildly latched onto someone from my own history, whom I have known for years but has always just been around. Again, I knew nothing would come of it, but I felt that I needed someone to having feelings for, because I was hurting inside. There were a couple of very drunken nights were I found truth at the expense of what little dignity I had left. I pissed her off and creeped her out, but I think part of why it was her is because I knew that things would work out in the end, that they would go back to their old, awkward ways once I worked my shit out. And they are almost back there.
In the past few weeks I have finally, truly found that I am not ready. I saw it before, but I never understood it or knew it. It was always something abstract, but now it is concrete. I am still broken on a fundamental level. I still cannot love myself, not even a little. I actually quite actively hate who and what I am. I want it all to be different.
I also found that my attachment to women that will not love me comes from my unhappiness. I want, more than anything, to be happy. The reason I look to a relationship is because the only times in my life that I can remember being happy is when I had someone I cared for. My life outside of those scant few incidences is mired in depression, self-loathing, sadness, and anger. I have lived with depression all of my life, but the happy moments were those when I had someone. In them, I could find the love I can not show myself, even if they did not love me. I could see my love reflected in them, and I could be happy.
But this is not healthy for me. It is hiding from the issues. I’ve never dealt with my depression, just survived it as best I could, even when I almost could not. It has pervaded my life and run it for many years. I have put it off and tried to hide it at every turn. I don’t have a way to deal with it yet, but at least I am now aware of this.
All of this leads me to the knowledge and true understanding that a relationship will not solve anything for me, nor is it likely to be particularly healthy for me at this time. Knowing that does not make the pain of it less, but at least I know it. I still have the needs and desires, but now I can understand when they are misplaced and, more importantly, why. I still have no desire greater than a relationship, but I know that I need to put it away for now, until I’m in a better place. I don’t really want to though. It’s like giving up on your dreams. It fucking sucks.
So, now, I try to accept my current reality and figure out how best to deal with it; to fix it. I don’t know how, or even if I can fix what is wrong with me, but I have to try. There is a distinct possibility that the condition is permanent, and that I will never have what it is I desire most, but I have to try and put off that fear and focus on doing what I can. I have no plan. I have no idea of where to start. I just know I must.
When I wake up in the morning,
I lie in bed for an hour,
Our maybe just a half
I close my eyes
And let my mind wander
And I dream
Or maybe even you.
And in this time,
I am not alone
As long as my eyes are closed
I am not alone.
It hurts when I must
My eyes open
And reality seeps in
No longer can I hide
No longer am I loved
For you are not here
And my life,
Just as my bed,
But for me
I would give
What little I have
For my dreams
To come real
If even for just an hour