Life for me is a movie. I'm just watching things happen through my eyes. Sometimes the movie is of walking. During this scene my mind will tend ts wander toward ending my life. During these moments I can only find relief by remembering that if I wait long enough I will be in a different scene. During the walking scene, if I just keep walking, I will eventually enter a new scene: My Destination. When entering the new scene things don't always change. The new scene may just be me sitting in a room with others. I speak and people don't notice. Sometimes they do, but their attention quickly switches back to where it was. I feel more alone when I am not alone. This scene may then move to something amazing. I will forget about dying for a brief period of time. Life seems worth it. This scene may last an entire day, but eventually it ends.
The most extreme example is when I mow grass or work. At the beginning I am feeling motivated. Eventually I find myself in the scene of being a third of the way through. I feel like giving up and going into the fetal position. I have to remind myself that eventually I will be over with this scene. After a long battle I find myself finished. I feel as if I was being a baby. I forget how hard it was to make it this far, and just feel like a loser for wanting to quit.
Unlike most people the battle doesn't end there. My entire life is like that. Motivation-complete loss of life-embarrassment over the struggle. I am never in any other scene. As I write this I am in the middle scene. Only 20 minutes ago I was on the phone and I felt great. The hardest part of struggling isn't so much the struggle itself, but knowing that I once felt good. It makes me feel guilty for wanting to die.
April is in 15 weeks. I have to stay alive for 15 weeks. What is the point of surviving for nothing. Why make it. I am nothing. After the army is college... After college is something else... The entire time the struggle will continue. No matter where I am this has followed me. I won't kill myself, but that is because I am a coward. The brave thing to do is kill myself. Going through the motions is easy. It is easy to just wait until I feel better. My entire life the past few years have been nothing but waiting to feel better. Cowards wait.
I have no future in the army. Like the navy, they are going to find out how incompetent I am. Believing anything else is a delusion.
I'm not meant to live. My genes are not fit. I am finally in reality. It's not my home that bothers me. It's not my job that bothers me. It's not being a lonely virgin that bothers me. It's all me. Even the most exciting and new situation leaves me going to bed at the end of the day. It is there that my mind will attack. I have no shields. Therapy and medication are a nonsolution. Here is a story I made up that best describes my relationship with the two.
A man gets struck by an arrow. He is bleeding and in a lot of pain. He goes to a psychiatrist. She talks to him for a couple of minutes and hands him a bottle of rubbing alcohol. He leaves with the instructions of pouring it onto the wound twice a day. He comes back the next day and tells her that the alcohol hurts. She tells him to give it time. A week later he comes back and tells her that, while he admits that the wound is no longer infected, he still has the arrow in his shoulder. She refers him to a therapist and hands him a stronger bottle of rubbing alcohol. At the therapist he instructed to sit down. The doctor then pulls out a small knife and begins carving away at the arrow. After 45 minutes she tells him that the session is over, and to comeback in two weeks. Over the course of the next two weeks the arrow pains him incredibly. He goes to ten more sessions. By this point he is on the strongest rubbing alcohol that exists. The arrow is not as noticeable, but the head is still embedded in his shoulder. Every week she pulls out the head with tweezers and analyzes it. She always puts it back. The main at this point is feeling fed up. He says that their process is not working. The two doctors merely point him to other people who were successful. They show him the nonsuccessful people as well. The two doctors blame the unsuccessful patients for their failure; saying things like, "They didn't follow the treatment." Meanwhile the man has had a gunshot wound this entire time. Everyday he nearly dies from it. He knows that he cannot tell them about this though, because if he mentions it then they will send him to a special gunshot wound hospital in which he will be stripped of all rights until "cured."
I feel like I need to give a more personal example as well. I'm going to break down a meeting with a therapist from my perspective. The session is an hour. The last 15 minutes are not used because they need to prepare themselves for the next session. They don't even pretend that I am not a part of an assembly line. The first 15 minutes are wasted because I can't just jump into therapy. The two of us have to recap and settle in. At the very best this process takes 10 minutes. From here I enter an actual therapeutic conversation. But before I know it she tells me that we need to rap up because the 45minute mark is in 5 minutes. This last 5 is complete uselessness because I am too anxious about starting a new topic and not finishing, to do much further. This means that the only productive amount of time was, at the most, 30 minutes. Now this wouldn't be so bad, except for the fact that once I leave I am on my own. I leave feeling like a heart transplant patient who had their chest broken open, and then sewed back shut without a new heart. My discussions with her fade away as the week goes on. I attend the next session and we do the same thing again.
Other people look at me and say that if I only let someone help, then things would get better. Some people look at me and tell me to smile. At the same time, without skipping a beat, they tell me to be myself...
They genuinely believe it. They pray by those two statements. They don't see the contradiction. It only makes me feel worse. I feel more incompetent for not being able to see what they see. When my conversation with them gets dark they bring up a time in their life in which they truly felt like giving up. Or sometimes they bring up child soldiers in Kenya.... All I can feel is even more useless. Here I am with my nonissues, and these people overcame truly dire times.
I don't get it. I feel like a blind man when people try to help me. Even when on the surface of the sun, I still can't see anything.
I don't know what to do. In America everything would be the same. I would just die of old age in my parents home; best case scenario. All I can do is wait. Wait for the army to start. Wait for the army to be over. Wait for college to be over. Wait to start my life. Wait to die.
This wait is manifesting into a physical weight. The size of my muscles is irrelevant. It still is just as heavy, maybe heavier. It's hard to tell because the growth is so subtle.
I just don't get it. It seems so easy for other people. Even the people who relate to me and feel just as awful... They don't want to be around me either. I try to fit in at group sessions, but they always form connections that I just don't understand.
In third grade there was a kid named Denver Dodgers. He was retarded, so no one talked to him. I was hanging out with these girls when one of them turned to me and told me I should go play with Denver. At the time I thought they said that to me because I was the cool kid who played with everyone. It is only now that I realize that they viewed me on an equal level as the retard. I don't blame them. I don't want to play with me either.
You may say that is why no one can like me, because you have to love yourself before you can love another. To you I say that even the drug addicts and cutters were viewed higher than me.
The only way I ever made friends was by being the butt of all jokes. I used self depreciating humor as much as a flower uses bees. People would laugh at me. I would laugh with them. At the end of the day I was still left inviting myself to gatherings and collecting phone numbers in which I would never get a call back. I was used for free rides and temporary entertainment. Eventually I stopped laughing. My clown makeup was hard to keep on with all of my tears.
My friends didn't bother contacting me anymore. It's not their fault. I had led them to believe that I was capable of holding all of their weight in the relationship.
Eventually it became only Hugh and my parents on my contact list. I blindly blamed my parents for how awful I felt. My interactions with them became only anger. I still have not broken this habit. With Hugh it only fueled my frustration. "Why am I so happy with him? How do I take what he gives me and use it everywhere in my life? Why is it possible that I can be in the pits of hell, but when he shows up I am in the steps of heaven?" I have no answers.
Somehow. Somewhere. Despite all of what reality told me was true, I found someone who made me feel like I was with Hugh. One year ago I was on top of the world talking to AuroraCatLady. A screen name. I convinced myself that life was with her. I was so desperate for any kind of direction in my life that I decided to set sail and find her. At this point I knew only 4 things: Rachel Sabrah Eden attends a russian church, works at McDonalds, and is enrolled in college in a virginian town outside of DC.
I packed everything I owned into my tiny car. I lied to my parents about what was happening. I told them that I was going to live with a girl that I had met online and that her mother had no husband, so she was happy to finally have a man around. In reality I was driving blindly to meet a 16 year old whose father would literally kill her if he saw me. My only warning that I was coming, was a shakily written email that she didn't read until the next day. I obviously failed my mission. I stepped into one McDonalds in Frankfurt and realized I was an idiot. Out of desperation I sent a pathetic email in which I asked her to reveal herself.
I returned home and went to sleep. I didn't wake up until April 29th when I unsuccessfully tried suicide.
I gave my mom the bird and went back to sleep. This time I don't wakeup. I'm still in that dream. Reality has not been something that I am around. I spent the next 6 months hurting Sabrah. I thought I was hurting myself. I attempted multiple times to cut off contact with her and Hugh. My reasoning being that I needed to remove the things in my life that kept me happy, in order to force myself to appreciate what I had. This lead me to Israel. Now I am completely isolated. Under my own FLAWLESS LOGIC, I should have found tons of reasons to be happy.
I did find some. I found an entire lifes worth of reasons. I found more things than I could ever find. After this dotted line you will know about me what I couldn't accept until a few days ago. I know this is a childish way to go about this, and that you are not responsible, but this is how I am going about telling this information