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.
So, I lied. I think there is one more blog to write before my work week is over. This is a blog I have avoided. It involves the truth that I hide even from myself. It involves all that I have discussed before, but it goes far deeper than that. It cuts to the heart of my fears in starting a relationship. It took me a long time to accept it as truth, but I’ve yet to really be able to express it to anyone. It’s pitiful and pathetic. It paints me as exceedingly weak and it calls into question my mental health. It is the basis for why I question my own sanity and why I accept that insanity is not far away.
That may not even play a part in it. I’m sure I’m not the only one to have done it and I know that it was borne out of a fracture started long ago. If I hadn’t been broken down and berated by everyone around me, maybe it would not have happened, but it did and it scares me. I question all that I see in women because of this one folly. It was a major folly though and it is difficult to express…
Much of what I saw and loved in Anna and much of what we had together had no basis in reality. I invented much of it. She was real. We did spend time together. We had moments. But, really, we spent one week together every year at camp, and that was mostly it. I saw her a few times outside of that and we wrote each other letters some, but not much. We both professed feelings for each other, but I carried much of it. I didn’t really love the girl that she was. I loved the idyllic version of her that resided in my mind.
It all came crashing down that final day. Reality met dream and reality won out. It killed me.
What I’ve talked about before was true as well. She didn’t help it with her words, but how could she have? I didn’t know then that who I saw in my mind was not the girl that sat across that bench from me. Everything I’ve written about about how her words hurt me is true, I never really got past it and it was detrimental to me. Really though, it was just the final blow. It was the culmination of a lifetime of being beaten down by ever kid in school, watching my mother go in and out of the hospital, the dissolution of my parent’s marriage, and many other things. It was the death of my childhood.
When all that had come before it kept getting more and more difficult to deal with, I clung harder to the illusion that was the relationship. I needed something to believe in and hope for and I chose love, even if it was false. I’d lost my dignity and my confidence (and much, much more) to the bullying. I had lost my sense of family and love to the divorce. I was even losing my friends as we got older and I withdrew deeper. So, as I lost all I had I clung to the only thing I could see that had made me happy at any time in the recent past. And I’ve paid dearly for it.
Until recently, I hadn’t dealt with anything leading up to that day. It change everything I am, but I just sort of went along with it. A new version of me was born that day and he didn’t really want to live. He just did what he had to to survive and did not survive well. I couldn’t thrive. I ran away, moved to California for school and then Texas but never found much. Even when I cam home, I couldn’t find anything. Everything I was running from was finally catching up to me and one night after to much gin, I found a knife and tried to end it all. I couldn’t do it though. I had it on my wrist, pressing the point in, but I didn’t actually have the will to pierce the flesh. I wanted to, but I couldn’t. It was a move borne of desperation and a small part of me fought against it and kept me from doing it.
It was after that night that I went to my deepest and darkest places. I didn’t talk to any of my friends for about 6 months after that. Everything I ran from had finally consumed me and I retreated deep within myself, first to escape and then to deal with it. That was 3 years ago and I’m still trying to work it all out, though I am now doing so openly and talking with others about it. I have come a long way since that day but I still have a long way to go.
The experience I had of falling for someone that existed more in my mind than in the real world has tainted all encounters since. I second guess myself at every turn, wondering if what was said means what they said or if I have read more into it than was meant. If I did it once, it is not such a far stretch to think I would do it again. Because of that I couldn’t trust anything that was happening. Still don’t, really. I still tell myself I’m being an idiot every time something seems to be starting. Even my recent trip was tainted by it. She told me that people mean what they say and that we are no longer in high school, and she was right, but at the same time it is not the other person I am questioning, it is my own mind. I lost trust in myself and if I can’t trust myself, I’m royally fucked. And royally fucked I have been.
I still don’t really know how to move forward from this. I do not know what to change to find trust in myself again. The crux is, I am still not ready for a relationship but the only thing I can thing of to fix it is to go out and keep trying, even if I keep failing. Admitting to it and really, truly accepting it are a good start though. I’ll figure out the rest somehow. I have to. If I ever want to have a meaningful relationship, I’m going to have to get past this. I think that while I work on it, I need to just put any option of a relationship out of my mind for a time. That thought still hurts though. I’ve craved having someone in my life for a very long time. That may have been misplaced needs though. Not sure yet.
I feel like there is more to this, but I can’t find it yet. For now, I will leave you with a song. This song comes from an album I bought just two days after the last time I saw Anna, the day it all crashed down. The album spoke to me about what had happened. I have always clung to this song thinking of her. A part of me always knew just how apt it was, especially the final lament of ‘She isn’t real, I can’t make her real’. I never could see just how true the words were until much later. The song is Vermilion, pt. 2.
I sometimes wonder what would happen if she found my blog and saw that I was talking about her 8 years later. In truth, I while I have been cognizant of her in the last 8 years, I have not focused on her much for the last 5/6 years. It took me a couple years before her name left my lips, before I stopped seeing her when my eyes closed. Once I did, she faded to the back of my mind though. Her ghost was there, moving around other things, but she was no longer a huge force. Even now, I talk of her and how that day changed me, but she is not on my mind that much. It is the changes that happened that day that I think of, that I wrestle with and am trying to overcome. She just happens to be there.