A digital journal
I went through four or five mental ways of how to approach writing this, but I couldn't get the thought down in a way that mattered.
I watched the sun set while walking up, and I smelled that crisp, but also soft and warm air. It gave me a childlike happiness.
Everything can change, just give it a bit of time and effort. The butterflies will come to the garden.
She killed herself because the treatment stopped working. I've been off the treatment for almost 9 months now. I think the only thing I can do is be happy you don't see how hard I'm struggling.
I wish you got how much I sacrificed to try to win this war, I stopped my medication not because I wanted to try drugs, or because of the effects it had on my body, or the handful of other side effects I've had to deal with. I stopped because it didn't fucking work, and I was willing to try anything to give me a chance to live.
I wish you saw the suicide notes I wrote, the plans I made to end it starting as young as elementary school, the times I would hurt myself to try to get the voice in my head to dullen out a bit more.
I wish you got how fucking HARD I have to fight. Just because I don't mention the intrusive thoughts, the suicidal pulls, the constant cruelty, or the handful of other nails piercing my feet to the ground, it doesn't make it any easier for me to walk.
I wish I could tell you or anyone this, but I get how painful it is to compare struggle, and that is something I never want to do to someone. But God I wish I could get this feeling out.
I don't have the luxury to not deal with my issues. The second I let one slip by, I will kill myself. I don't get a fucking chance or a breath to take a break. And not once did I complain. I decided I will fight this with every fucking fiber of my being, and I refuse to die until then.
I decided I would do ANYTHING to win this war. She followed a chain of people who lost to this illness. I refuse to.
Someone asked me what love felt like:
To me it was the time I told her I wished someone gave me flowers, and her saying she wished she could have surprised me with flowers before, to make that wish come true.
It was the way we spent hours going through her home town on Google maps, with her as my digital tour guide, giving me stories along the way.
It was also how fast my heart beat as I left the confession note in her bag, and how vivid I remembered colors looked.
It was her wanting to give me a hug goodbye every time we went apart.
It was seeing her flaws and shortcomings as a person in it's naked truth, and still feeling happy to be with them.
It was the times she cried and I told her I loved her no matter what, and how to this day I still do.
It was the late night Skype calls we would have, having fun playing on Minecraft servers late on a school night.
It was the way her face would light up talking about the way an art piece was framed.
It was the way I see her still in the backs of music videos, when I noticed the way the lines point towards a focus.
It was the way we cried on the bench as she told me she wasn't enough and wanted to leave.
It was the way she would fall asleep in my arms.
It was the way she wouldn't want to wake up.
It was the way I showed you that tree and told you why it was beautiful, and how I think of you every time I walk past it.
It was the way I wanted more what's best for her rather than me.
There is something intoxicating about the idea of giving something everything to the point of self-destruction. The idea of being bloodied, bruised, and ultimately broken but still not giving up, and giving it everything you have – quite literally. Something about looking at life in the eyes, and refusing to submit. It’s almost like an absurd defiance of the rules of life.
Being willing to give it more than what you have feels like the only thing that can cause change: the kind of change to make waves, to affect people you have never nor will ever meet, to leave a legacy, to make a change in a way that matters.
Oh darlin', darlin'
What have I done?
Now I do my talking with a gun
And blood will spill into the gutters
And it will stain the morning sun
Ooh, tell me what the hell I've done.
Summer has always been a difficult time for me, without the constant progression of school or the friends around me in person, I almost always get depressed without fail. I’ve been fighting off this feeling for the last few weeks, and I came to a minor realization that I wanted to jot down.
Of all places to find out, while watching a YouTube video I saw someone’s raw emotion, and it reminded me of an Olympic weightlifter – it was just a primal release of happiness and pride, as a man fell to his knees celebrating his victory. For some reason, this reminded me of the gym – specifically that feeling of pride and the happiness it has the potential to bring to me.
The thought of lifting a new personal record, or pushing my body to break a barrier feels like something that could break me out of this dreary spell, and while thinking about it more it feels like at least part of it has to do with change. If I can lift a new weight I was unable to do before, that feels like something changed. Whether it was something mental, or more likely physical in this context, something changed regardless. In some ways, this almost feels like hope: hope that something will change and that the patterns that continue in life don’t just ceaselessly repeat on for eternity like Sisyphus’ boulder.
I’ve felt trapped by various different things in my life, and I’ve continually come back to the conclusion that I am fundamentally unhappy with life. Relatively recently I’ve taken it upon myself to actively and consciously try to repair a life to one I want to live, and it often feels like changes I make are superficial or individually don’t actually change anything. I know looking back how much of a difference it’s been, but without the instant feedback showing that things will change, it’s honestly hard to keep living. I think the only way to continue this is to trick myself into believing that every individual new achievement or milestone will be the final straw to break down the shortcomings of my life. If I don’t believe that how am I supposed to keep living like this?
I opened up a random social media I made for one purpose, and not use again – and accidentally clicked on the button to send a friend a message. In the pop-up window, it mentioned “This person is only accepting messages from people they follow”, which is a completely normal thing to have on a public social media site, but on top of it I was on a completely fresh blank account, on a social media site they don’t use frequently, one where they don’t even know I had to make an account.
AND I STILL FELT HURT. Like how stupid can my brain be? I just messaged this person, I have no logical reason to feel threatened or saddened by this, but immediately my gut reaction is to sucker punch myself by saying “Oh they don’t care about me”.
It’s almost laughable how ill a knee-jerk reaction thought that is, and I’d find it funny if it wasn’t my brain that got saddened by that.
Fuck the pattern I had so far, I am filled with too much right now. I hope no one sees how hard I’ve worked and how much I’ve done to change who I am as a person, just because of how much I wish someone did see. I hope no one ever sees the sheer amount of things I’ve written down for therapy or tried to research, or the hours I’ve spent talking to myself trying to change for the better. You know what? Fuck it. Until I regret it take a look at how hard I’ve worked.
This is less than a year of what I’ve been writing down for therapy (excluding recent weeks for privacy), which I’ve been constantly doing for about four years now. I don’t think the people around me understand how fucking HARD I’ve fought change. I’ve faced and tried to tackle everything under the sun, and this doesn’t even show the amount of effort and work I’ve put into trying to change them.
I’ve never had someone try to go out of their way to help me or fix my life for me. I’ve clawed myself out of this pit one arm at a time. I don’t think they’ve known how many times I’ve fallen. How many times I’ve broken down. How many times I’ve had to force myself to just get out of bed. How many times I’ve considered or even tried to commit suicide.
I don’t give a fuck if I grew up neglected, or if I was taken advantage of sexually as a child, or the various other things that have happened to me. I will fight not like, but BECAUSE my life depends on it.
I wish they could see how much I have to consciously do. God, I think if someone sees how hard I work or how hard I fight they’d go blind from the glow.
I’m honestly sick of living like this. I’ve told myself this before, and I’ll tell myself as many times as I need to believe it. I’m willing to do whatever it takes to get away from that place. I don’t care if I need to lie to myself, become delusional, or push my body past its limits – ill do whatever it takes to get away from there. I told myself I’ll fight with everything I have before I consider killing myself seriously again, and I’ve got some more left in me.
Yeah, I’ve had some bad shit happen in the past. I’ve had more than enough reasons to logically live the way I do. The only problem with that plan is I don’t want to live this way. I refuse to be the alone, insecure mess I used to be. I don’t care if that is who I am, or that’s who I’m destined to be, I will forcibly pick that child up and carry them to a better life.
I’ll be damned if I stop fighting this, especially on the days I give up.
I’m honestly sick of how much past experiences or trauma have affected my life, especially by destroying my relationships with people. I feel powerless as innocent interactions with people sow seeds for anxiety to run amok in my brain, trying to convince me how she will leave just like the people before. What kind of life is it where I live in fear of every interaction, because of the scars of the past? A fucking miserable one.
I don’t know if this is just because of the fact I’m becoming depressed again, but goddamn I’m feeling that cloud come back over me. The only thing I can see is this bleak future, and I realized it’s happening again while on vacation meeting long good friends in person for the first time, at a public event, I could only think about how sweet it would be to kill myself in front of them.
This is the place I’m running from.