“This is for anyone who’s ever had to watch someone they love struggle with extreme alcoholism.” My girlfriend wrote this beautiful song, worth a listen.
“I no longer have a death wish.”
Time flew by so fast I could hear the wind scream through my ears. The wind embodied my inner being, creating a hurricane.
A hurricane of love, the wind of pain, a storm of bad news…but most importantly a hurricane that instead of throwing everything around in whatever way it so pleased, it put everything back into place.
“I no longer drive my car like I am waiting for the world to crash into me.”
“I no longer wake up every morning feeling like all I can see is black and white.”
Do we know how to be happy? People have been through such sadness in their lives and, for most, it is all they know. How do you walk around with sunshine when all you know is the clouds? How to you find the night sky beautiful when you were unable to see the stars for so long? Do the stars exist?
“I can see the stars, they are beautiful. Look at how beautiful they are, sweetheart. Look at how beautiful you are.”
I strive to be everything I can be. I strive to be the best version of myself. I want the world for the people I love.
“The other shoe didn’t drop yet. The other shoe is never going to drop.”
To look back on the many years before, I need all my fingers to count the amount of times I tried to vanish. The amount of times I have tried to slip away into a nothing because I thought something would come from the nothing. I thought the black would open up, the weight would be lifted. I thought by ending the cloud, my lungs would inflate again and I could feel. I hated everything about being alive, even the air seemed poisonous to me. I used to yell at the sky for days asking it why it had to shine? Why do you have to show me the light I could never reach?
“I love my life.”
“Everything is color again”
Black and white. White and black. Nothing. Into the nothing I fell, but a small hand reached out and caught me. It caught me before the world itself could swallow me whole.
“Is that what the sky looks like?”
I found the love of my life this year. I found her just as broken as I was. Peeling ourselves off the floor everyday to restore some type of survivable life. Here’s to 2018, to almost a year with my love, and to the end of another year. I know my worth. I know what I stand for.
This year taught me how to be happy. It taught me how to love myself and melted the cold ice bars I put around myself. It showed me that rain can be beautiful and the cold weather doesn’t matter. It showed me that true and pure love does exist, I just had to stop looking so damn hard.
“Look at the stars with me. Aren’t they beautiful? Can you see them with me? Look closer and you’ll see, look closer and you’ll see every star has your name on it.”
(Depression cloud rant)
Quick! Find your footing.
Everything shakes underneath my feet.
Quick! Find your balance.
Like an unsteady heartbeat.
Jump! You barely made it.
I feel like a failure. A failure to everyone I have ever known. A failure to everyone I will meet. Every crooked, wacky, and painful part.
I have no wish to die, but my brain is fighting it’s own song. I am so happy to be alive, but my body creaks with each step.
I think what I am the most mad about is how much I have failed myself.
I destroyed my own body years ago and the damage from it is lasting. I starved every good living cell in my body to the point of destruction
I have this nagging sense that I won’t ever amount to anything. Maybe I won’t. Some people are just built to stand on the sidelines and that’s okay. I guess I just feel mediocre. Where is my purpose? I’ve tried everything in the books and nothing stuck. Nothing interested me, nothing sparked. There is a wire loose in my brain I keep trying to fix with electrical tape, but it gets drowned out by the blood in my ears, so it never sticks.
It doesn’t help that my hands seem to carry a poison. A poison that gets into cracks of everything they touch. Always failing me, always taking the wrong step.
I love my life. I have nothing to be depressed about. I have nothing to feel like this about, but I do. I love my woman. I just…feel mundane. Boring. And what if others start to think that way too? What then…? I like my life to be boring, I like doing nothing, but I am not anything special and that’s what’s bothering me. I’m so angry at myself. These medical appointments are dragging me down into a dangerous abyss of self hatred.
After all, how do you fix a soul that’s already been turned so black by the debris around your past? How do you undo the damage? I am happy, but also sad. Sad that I keep messing up. Sad that I can’t do things the same.
I love my life, I am fine. My girlfriend and I are fine. This is me. My own brain…slicing into me with a machete.
I’ve been trying to find it, but it’s like trying to catch a piece of cotton in the wind.
(An excerpt/start to my book)
She shouldn’t be here. She shouldn’t be standing here on this open plain of grass. She shouldn’t be feeling the breeze through her hair and hearing the birds gossiping about her. Where am I? This isn’t earth. But this isn’t any place she has ever heard of. She wanted darkness. She wanted an end. Why does the human soul have to cry so loud just to be heard? “Why must the air keep tormenting my soul? Why must it pass through my lungs again and again?” Her own voice scared her now. She loathes the air. The crisp feeling sliding down her throat makes her cough as if her body is rejecting the life it wants to give her.
How does one reject life? Has it really come down to this illusion? Slipping into the shadows seemed to come so easy, but the loneliness has seeped into her soul. Suddenly she hated being alone. Her feet picked up the pace. She ran across the open field, crushing everything in her path, desperate to find anyone else sobbing here. Running towards anything but herself. The destruction left in her wake was rendered almost irreparable. She damaged the land and support she used as a crutch. All her comfort was destroyed by her own hands, limbs and branches snapped off as if they were made of clouds. This is her land of destruction. Oh, how could someone ruin their soul in such a slow painful way? How many times do you have to be hurt before you become your own enemy? Is she the tree? Did she just destroy herself?
“It must be the air,” she told herself while flicking a strange bug off her arm, “I fucking hate this air.”
In a split second, I can get so trapped inside my own mind that I don’t remember what is going on around me.
There is this void I can’t hide from in my life now and it is starting to swallow me whole. This incredible sadness I can’t seem to shake. I feel like I am watching myself live my life, but not actually being there. It feels like this big surreal dream that I can’t wake up from. Everything is cloudy. I can’t see the sun, maybe it no longer exists.
I hate how often I flip flop around with my moods. I can be in a fine mood all morning and then just crash so incredibly hard. Sometimes I feel like I am trying to sprint across the railroad tracks after the arm comes down, just trying to beat the sadness from crashing into me. Splaying me open against the front of the train. So open. So vulnerable. On display. I’m just trying to make it past before my feet hit the ground. I feel dead. Somewhere I still have this beating heart, but I no longer feel it pumping my blood.
I had a good morning. A good and productive morning. Yet, here I am crying over something I don’t have control over. Something I want back. Someone I want back.
I harbor a lot of hate right now. This hatred heats my blood but doesn’t boil it. I think about this person I hate, this person who took my love from me, this person who somehow still gets her way after everything she did, this person that doesn’t even come close to deserving this. But every time I think about this person, my hatred slows to a simmer because my heart gets so overtaken with sadness for the person I miss the most. My smile has faded. My laugh is empty. My bones are hollow.
I don’t want to be alone tonight. I’m sick of going to bed alone. I’m sick of waking up in a sweat in the middle of the night from nightmares and turning over to see you not there. I’m sick of getting drunk to try to numb myself just enough to sleep again. I get high enough where I can’t feel my fingers. I let hunger overtake my body. I feel like I am slowly destroying myself without even trying to.
I get asked, “What’s wrong?” “Are you okay?” How do I answer these people? How do I say yes, with enough confidence they’ll believe me? How do I say no without saying why? I can’t explain why. Everyone already knows why. The answer is the same answer as last week. How do I answer them without sounding pathetic? That I am still hung on this situation. How do I?
I can’t answer them.
What else is there to say? I could bleed my heart out to them. I could tell someone how I am feeling. I could tell the whole story about how I am not okay. How I’m sad and broken. That I am trying to find some way to shake it.
Some people are just born sad.
I don’t want to go to bed alone.
I don’t want to be alone.
I have this terrible ache. “I watched you chose her, instead of me.” My eyes connect and look so longingly at you without trying. Like I am trying to pull you back from this decision. As if my eyes had enough power to grab your heart again. As if you can see how much I love you through them. They tell my whole story if you’re looking close enough. They’ve always been the worst at keeping a secret.
“It burns. The words I want to say about you. They fucking burn. There is scorch marks on my tonsils from them sitting at the bottom of my throat, boiling my blood. They are starting a fire in my lungs, constricting my chest. The smoke is rising up making it hard to breathe. It’s hard to breathe. I just want to breathe again.”
Sometime I scare myself. The numbness inside me is starting to edge away from comfort. My sense of control is approaching that caution tape with no regards for the words written, bulldozing through it like a simple spider web. Expect in this scenario, I am the spider and my entire house is ruined. Now I have to spend my time rebuilding the fortress that took me so long to make in the first place. This is nothing new to me. Feeling numb is nothing new to me. Feeling everything at once is nothing new to me. Feeling out of control, out of line, out of answers…is nothing new to me.
My ability to remain neutral and emotionless to a situation that would normally warrant an emotional response is almost unbeatable. I go numb. I get a one track mind and I don’t really remember much that happens outside of that one goal. I don’t want to be touched. I don’t want to talk about it. I march on until my goal is completed.
…and I drink in that process. And then drink some more. I drink in these situations because it is the only way I know that allows me to feel. It breaks down the stubborn inability to recognize emotions inside my mind. It melts that icy layer on my skin so I can be touched again. It allows me to freak out. It allows me to be a god damn human.
This was the last thing I thought I would have to deal with. This is not what I expected. This is NOT the end of the world. That I know, but it doesn’t mean that I can’t feel my world tilt just a little more in the wrong direction. I have to scrape up the strength to lift it back up and center it again.
I read your email.
You found my blog. I can’t even be upset about that. It’s a public blog that I commonly share my posts to Facebook on. It’s not the fact that you found my blog that bothers me. My writing is great (maybe sub-par, let me believe otherwise okay?). I pour my soul into this page. People ask me why I make my posts so public, why most things I write on the computer people will see. “Why do you do that Sam?” Well one, I do whatever the fuck I want regardless of how others may “feel” about it. Two, I don’t give a fuck about much of anything. But…mainly three, I don’t know how else to express my thoughts, mind, and emotions. I can’t sing well anymore, I can’t play any instrument (even though it has always been a dream of mine), I can’t dance, I can’t write songs, I can’t perform. So this is what I am left with. This is what works for me.
I read your email.
I’m not upset you found it. I am upset that my “mom” is the only person that can manage to make me lose all control in a matter of 5 seconds. You have wounds on my heart that have never been stitched up. You broke my heart more than any ex partner I have had. You have this power over me that I can’t shake off. I hate it. I despise that presence in my life. That is NOT a compliment. That is NOT something you should take and believe in. Don’t let that statement make you take a couple steps higher on your ego pedestal.
I read your email.
It shook me. My control was gone. I felt that icy layer settling into my bones. I didn’t want anyone touching me. Everything became grey and the world was no longer colorful…but dull. I knew this was something that I had to face. That I couldn’t push it down to my toes anymore. So I drank. It doesn’t take much for me to get drunk at all (cheap date I guess). Regardless, I did have a great night with my friends. My girlfriend and I (well mainly her) cooked dinner for them. They all got to see my new place. It was a really nice night.
It was a really nice distraction. Avoiding the inevitable.
Then everyone left.
That icy layer was melted by now. It melted all the way to the point where my clothes felt as if they were dripping. I expected to rage. I expected to yell. I wanted to rage and yell. I wanted to kick the walls. I wanted my fist to sink into whatever my walls are made of. I wanted to break something.
…I didn’t do any of that. All I found myself able to do was sit on the couch and stare at nothing. All I wanted was to be held. Even my “crying” produced no tears.
I just went to bed.
I’m actually fine about it all. Like I said, my numbing skills are unbeatable.
It is what it is.
Have you ever listened to the same song over and over because it touches your soul in a way that only something so disastrously pure could touch?
Have you ever felt a touch that ignites your soul with such passion that you could move mountains?
Have you ever felt something so much that your soul started to dance?
Have you ever felt something so devastating that you found beauty in the wreckage?
Can you look into someone’s eyes and find beauty in their thunderclouds?
My hands are shaking right now trying to take the swirling emotions in my head out one by one. Like reaching into the clouds to pull out only one single strand from the confusion, stretching it out until you can see through its devilish veins. Flattening it until every piece is visible and spells out its meaning as the blood continues to try to pump through.
I thought I turned into this person that could no longer feel. I believed that my emotions no longer existed; thought they took a long hike off the bluffs and injured themselves beyond recognition. I wanted to believe that I was strong because I could no longer feel. I’m starting to call bullshit on myself.
When quite honestly:
I feel everything. Nights like tonight when everything comes crashing down in my mind. When my entire body is shaking and tears keep falling down my face. Nights like tonight when I long to not be by myself. When I wish I had someone. Someone I can share this storm with. Someone that shares their storms with me. Someone that their kiss can pull me away.
I feel emotions in the wind in the same way you can feel the air brush against your skin. I feel emotions in your eyes. I feel the pain and hurt. I also feel the good and happy that you have within you. I can see everything I want. Emotion pumps through my veins in the same way I can hear my own heartbeat. Sometimes I forget that I am made of skin and bone. I forget that basic human anatomy requires blood and a heart. Right now, there is not blood pumping through my veins, but pure and adulterated chaos. My heart feels like it is beating outside of my chest, begging someone to pull it all together.
My anxiety doesn’t let me ask for help. As I sit here trying to write, I keep messing up the words. My shaking fingers hit the wrong keys and what I produce is nothing like what I wanted. My emotions, my anxiety, my moods, my depression, my mania….they all take over. Suddenly my fingers are typing by themselves. Suddenly I don’t have control. They don’t stop shaking. They don’t stop writing.
My anxiety is controlling my life.
I fight my demons alone. I go to battle alone. I put on my armor every day. I button up and tie together the fallen strands. I go headfirst into the unknown with nothing but my fists and words. I come out of the wreckage bleeding. I come out with tears running down my face. I fall to the ground because sometimes they are too big to battle on my own. So I fall down. Beaten. Bruised. I lay there. Wait. Wait. Wait. Breathe. How do you breathe? Show me how to breathe again because I forgot how. I look around…it’s still just me. Dust and torn fabric lay around me. I have failed this one.
I stand up. I stood up. I keep standing up. My legs shaking underneath me
But I am up.
Afterall, only you can save yourself.
Just sometimes, I wish I didn’t have to.