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A long time ago people tried to make me feel like shit for writing about "disturbing" things—my real thoughts—and it worked. (After writing this, I have come to believe that the phrase "disturbing thoughts" derives from the reality that it doesn't bother—"to bother" is the definition of disturb—the thinker, it "disturbs" people that hear about it.) I admit and understand that they didn't make me feel like shit, but that I let their influence ultimately decide that I was going to make myself feel like shit. This really started then I was nine years old so I was only a child, but regardless they were relentless in their goal of getting me to shut up about my personal truths. Recently, I've discovered that people will not listen to anything I say once they get the idea in their head that I'm talking about just them—since when is something I talk about all about someone else? I don't care about you when I'm talking about me.—so I'm going to say right now that I am speaking of my family, friends, peers, and school system. Wade into one of those pools if you belong there, and for the first time in your life of knowing me, listen up to what I have to say.
I cannot and do not blame you for my choices and actions, but I can fairly claim that you assisted me in the path I took of leading myself towards choices of suggestions you implied. I'll start with the one highest on the scale of seriousness— my addiction to self mutilation. Of course no one chose that for me, I was the one that decided to pick up pliers the first time I put a toe in that ocean. However, by telling me for years to shut up and not express my thoughts that disturbed you, I was taught that no one cared and no one wanted to hear about it. Therefore, I inflicted the pain I felt within upon myself. As led to believe, I was the one at fault, and the one that is supposed to deal with it privately and silently. Oh the confusion that drove me towards once my thoughts became visible in a way that wasn't the ill-advised words, all of a sudden people showed concern and pointed more fingers in wonder at why I never spoke about anything going on in my head. (What the fuck? It was too late.)
I'm sick and tired of being pushed into the ground amongst worms. People have to get very sick (and tired) of something before they refuse to stand—or lie down in this case—for it any longer. This day has come for me way too late in my life, but regardless it has come, and it's probably as unexpected as Christ's second coming will be (insert a ha-ha).
Depression hits me at times, but I'm not depressed all the time. Although, my mind has been forever tainted, and is constantly clouded with sick thoughts and ideas because I suffer from a very serious addiction that is barely recognized in current society. People consider disorders as reasons for my life-long "depression", but in reality I have been self mutilating since I was five years old. That's kindergarten, if you're curious. My point is that I have been ill with addiction from the age that my words started making sense and people could understand me, so they have come to believe that I was born with something wrong, when in actuality I wasn't.
Due to recent depression, I contemplate suicide often. As Nietzsche explained better than I ever could, "The thought of suicide is a powerful solace: by means of it one gets through many a bad night." It's comforting to consider suicide in the midst of crying fits, because it gives me the sense of having another option. Deep down I know that for me, personally, my life is of too great value that it's not a realistic option. Still the fact remains that by simply pretending that I could make such a selfish decision, it sometimes helps me drift into sleep, which is ultimately the goal of crying after the sun has set.
Without editing and logical explanation for why some of these things could never be followed through with, I think hard and often about: the indescribable feeling and sight of slicing my skin open again, how great relapse would be as a wonderful finale for this clean time in my life, locations of possible self mutilation in the future, words and phrases I would want to cut into my body if I ever chose to again, ways I could kill myself so my body isn't ruined for my funeral, planning specific details of said funeral such as location, my outfit, and attendees, spitting on my birth mother's face at her funeral if she were to ever commit suicide, and physically beating her body into the ground now as she stands live and well. The list goes on, but I don't believe it matters if you speak about things you'll never follow through with—except spitting on my birth mother's face, that will happen at her funeral even if it's not the result of a self-inflicted death—despite how fucked up they may be, and it doesn't scare me. It scares other people. I've written all of this before, and I never published it for the world to read. I am not afraid.
6 comments:
Suicide sounds like an easy way to escape, but I know from my own experience that even though it can be painless to the one that does it, it leave a lifetime of suffering for many others that have shared your life. This has happened to me, and I would do anything I could do to change this. Even though I have tried it several times, I finally saw why, and it became real to me what my mothers suicide had done to me. I was only 8 1/2 years when this happened. To this day, as much as I try to find out what really went on that day. I will most likely never know, because I cannot get any answers from anyone. I can feel your pain, and also know that you did have someone that you could have talked to that would have helped you to understand your feelings, that was me. You know who I am, and I am still here to share and listen. You know I never judge, that is just not my place to do. Always remember, you are not alone and your bio mother can feel your pain also.
You cannot guilt someone out of committing suicide. If someone truly wants to commit suicide, they will not care to the point of not following through with the act who they affect by doing so. People that care that much typically don't follow through with suicide. In my opinion, attempting to guilt someone into not committing suicide with the idea of all the people they'll hurt is immoral. That can make people feel like shit, and feeling like shit leads people to suicide. People need to get it in their heads that it's not all about them, sometimes it really is about the person actually suffering first-hand.
There are so many other things I could say, but I will only say that you have not been "here" for me for many years, and that is the unfortunate truth no matter how much you let it hurt you. (It's not being said to hurt you.) I have accepted the "blame" for my self mutilation, depression, etc., and your comment sounds like an all too-common attempt to make me feel responsible for everything, which is what this entire essay was vicing about. People need to stop pushing ideas onto others that no one gives a shit about what they have to say because it bothers them, and then flocking to them with false apologies and pointed fingers once a visible problem arises.
Also, regardless of the denial in existence surrounding the topic, the only pain my birth mother can feel is the needle going into her arm whenever she shoots up. I am not buying into that "depression class" bullshit, her attempting to rekindle her relationships with her family, or whatever else she's trying to feed people. If only people knew the level of fucked up things she has said and done to me as young as I can remember, perhaps they'd drop her like I have.
Ah, I must read the context of that quote from Nietzche (yes, I get bored often and you're my current fascination). So, let me know which of his writings that's from.
I have those nights still where the only thing which can comfort me is that I can make that selfish of a decision. Needless to say, a lot of what you have to say resonates with me.
I believe that you'll be my interest for the next week or two (maybe longer if something keeps me around). We'll come to see, won't we?
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