I don’t want to run anymore.

Call me crazy but I actually called my mother today at work and explained, after another issue of college financial aid to dance around, that it seems I’d rather die than actually get a job. I said those actual words to her, it’s never been done before. She then says we’ll ‘work it out’ and talk about it all when she gets home. Great….I did make it clear though that this is how I feel. Seriously. I then said that maybe I should have stayed on medication, but that it just made me not care even more. And that the therapy had not been effective.

Now I can sink into that numbness I so often complain about. It is needed and wanted right now most of all, because I can’t run from what I’ve said and admitted and I don’t want to. Feeling anymore towards the situation right now will make me retreat and deny it’s all true. And I’ve done enough back stepping and avoiding. In reality, avoiding and denying and distracting have been more self-destructive than causing any real pain, but they are what I’ve used to simply surivive this, to survive the way my mind works.

A Life Undeserved

 

 

A tiny pill, happy, numb

A death-like sleep, soulless blood

Conditions were set long ago

Potential burns, the ashes snow

 

Up that night, looking at scars

Whisperings, those many marks

‘Want death, feel sad, depressed’

‘Sit still and wane in worthlessness’

 

My soul should be thrown in

And spread for all it’s worth

Whatever blessed glow is left

Is fully undeserved

 

 

 I have the time now, to sort through the disorganized lines I wrote weeks ago and put a message together to explain what’s really been going on in my head. I don’t think too highly of myself, ever. I am taking things day by day, with a small goal to make it through November.

 

My mother and I were out having dinner a few nights ago and I blatantly rushed in the question to her about what she wanted me to do, I hoped in a way that gave away my desperation. To get more specific, I asked her about school and the ‘what if’s’ regarding my student loan. Like what if my loan doesn’t cover certificate programs, only degrees-what am I to do after that (since I really don’t think I’d make it through finishing an entire degree’s worth workload, whether it’s two years or not)? She didn’t go into things that far into the future, because I could tell, it left her just as unsettled as it leaves me every second I think about it.

 

Inside I’ve gone very quiet. Knowing that this winter I could be out on the streets by choice, or dead the same leaves me with nothing else to say. I know it’ll be something unpleasant, but deserved, waiting for me. After all, aren’t I too lazy, or broken and screwed in the head to finish school, or get a job, or live at all? Aren’t I too selfish or too stuck up to live for what I’ve been given, no matter how I feel?

 

You know, it’s settling in again. The whole ‘I’m not going to be around to care’ thread of thought. What a failure. And I can only guess that a part of the reason I’ve drastically messed with when and how much I eat and drink now is to prove to myself that I can commit to something. Stupid, but what else do I really have to manipulate but this body in which I’m trapped? Who’s it hurting?

 

It’s just that I can’t stand myself, I mean look; I don’t really own the mateiral things I have because I am not the one who earned the money to buy it all you know? I still can’t legally drive, so going places is not on my terms, always someone elses, and even if it were on my terms, I have no where I would want to go, I have no friends to see, no family that wants to see me unless it’s necessary, and I’ve lived so long in this house feeling taken for granted. But even if I were gone, what I do for others wouldn’t be missed. I’m not enough to consider, nor should I be. I don’t need to stick around.

 

I don’t know what an expert would call it, chroniclly suicidal, or with suicidal ideation, whatever this is, I don’t know why I keep it such a close thought. I don’t know why it brings me comfort or why I see it as an option always there for me to consider. It’s just been this way for a few years now, and maybe I should be labeled a coward or a loser because I will be the first to say that I want to run away, that I am afraid and pathetic. But mostly I will say I am angry with who I am, and with it being dificult for me to make the changes within to make my life easier. And also because I simply don’t know what I want, and feel my time has run out to think about it. I always thought and belived that by eighteen I had to know the plan for the rest of my life, that I had to want this and that in order to be called a success. I turn nineteen in what, three weeks, not any closer to a solution, besides disappearing all together. Not that any of this matters….I don’t have a plan, for living or dying right now. Just getting through November without completely losing myself to my thoughts is enough of a plan/goal.     

Terrified, not much of a plan here…

     It takes a long time to do anything at my college, so I am not totally withdrawn yet, and unfortunately it has me thinking again about what I am doing at all. I tried looking for jobs today and it hurts knowing how unfit I am for every (seemingly) simple, out of the way job. Cashier?- not me, just thinking about that has me high in anxiety.

I also filled out two change of major forms just a few minutes ago actually. One for a degree in Graphic Design, and another for a Production Artist Certificate (this would take way less time to earn). Those titles fit me more than “Coding Specialist” or “HIM tech”. Now I don’t know how far I’ll get with actually switching my major, money wise. I hate having loans like this, it is so messy and puts a lot of guilt on me (as if I needed more). But right now I don’t care because I am satisfied that I made a move I didn’t expect to make. How long have I been talking about changing my major?…lol. For too long. But it scares me because I’d be starting over, once again with no clue what I’m in for.

It’s better than assuming my options are out, knowing I’ve not tried all my options yet, I’ve not tried. And while I know art is what I go to, it has done nothing less than save my life, I am not confident in being creative you know? Who cares though right? It’s not the college’s money that is being wasted, it’s mine. It’s the money I don’t have to waste being wasted….

Whatever though, this isn’t easy. It’s written all over my poor arm at the moment- I am losing and shutting down fast. I’m going to make an appointment with my therapist one last time, just so he knows I’m off my medication and that I’m not gone and dead yet, or maybe not….If I did, I would not hold back anything this time. The funny thing is I don’t feel depressed, I just feel completely out of options. I can’t become a brand new person over night, or even over twelve months time because it took longer than that to become the mess I am. So, my mother can be angry or feel at a loss with me, and my father can stay clueless as usual, and the rest of my family can cut me out, it’s not going to fix me and it’s not going to give me a reason to want the rest of the life I have. I can only try so much, and continue to see it fail so much before nothing matters anymore. Until my family’s feelings are nothing, and until my thoughts about disappearing and breathing no more aren’t even important, but are all I think about and all I am left to work toward. Do I make sense? It doesn’t shock me that I’m thinking about suicide, and neither does the fact I’ve sliced my arms open again shock me. It’s all so small and insignificant compared to what’s been going on forever in my head.   

I am already disappointed in myself. It doesn’t help that people in my life don’t know how far on the edge I am. They need to know I am hanging on desperately for something to work and for it to save me you know? Why I have to make things so hard, I don’t even know…why am I still here is the real question. I shouldn’t be and I don’t want to be, yet I’m still trying…silly right.

        

Shadow… an old drawing; it’s relevant now though.

Soon To be Over With

       Well, tomorrow I will withdrawal from school. And I guess sooner or later they’ll send me a bill for whatever I owe on the loans. This is hell. My mother doesn’t get it. Nobody does. I want to tell her that I don’t want what I am expected to want. What is life? Working at a job you don’t care about, just to get money to buy things you also don’t care about. God, why don’t I just starve. I want her and everyone else to be so angry with me. They should hate me with everything and then I’ll disappear, just the way I should. It would be easier if they said they hated everything about me…confirming what I already feel, making it easier to fall completely through.

She used the words ’she’s dropping out’ to my father, since he’s taking me to the college tomorrow. It sounded like a knife going though me. As if she’s stating finally that I am a failure. I have not lived up to her expectations. But it doesn’t hurt worse than wanting to escape this whole thing. I am scared all over again. Stuck all over again in my own failure. It’s easier to curl up into my mind and block the rest of the world out, pretending I don’t need to eat or drink or feel, and pretending I’m not distressed despite the tears and the blood. I don’t want to hold on anymore.

Looking back trying to see how everything could have led me down this path, I start to remember the things I just didn’t have, things that I see my cousins and even my parents have had. They all haven’t and didn’t lose their friends when they most needed their support. They all had some kind of support from their immediate family. They never got completely lost in themselves like I have, driving sharp things into their skin to dig out a reason. They never got this far. I look at my three younger cousins, all girls, three to four years younger than me, and non of them are where I was at their age; friendless, hopeless and hanging on to nothing at all. They are fortunate right?

I am still running. From life and from relationships and pressure. I avoid and it’s been that way for so long. Nobody ever told me how to handle this. It’s as if they all assumed I’d know everything I’d need to know to be on my own in life once I turned eighteen. No option I am left with is one I want to stick up for. What would they do with me, if anyone knew I wanted to end my life and would not accept anymore “help”, no more pills, no more talking? They would shut me out for the lost cause that I am and forget just as they should. It’s not so hard to understand anymore really. Disposable, useless, filthy and deranged…who could look at me and not call me a throw away?

Somebody should call me out. Send me on my way down, because I will not ever complete what my heart is actually hoping for, for my life. The population is full enough and I am useless. Art is not needed, and if it is needed, there are better people out there to overshadow me. My poems are probably too dark or boring to be published. They always find reasons to reject things…I could try, with the short amount of time I have left though. I’ll try and sell myself as best I can, and when it doesn’t work, at least I will be content with taking the risk at all.

All the lonely people…

    I’ve had all the friends I’ll ever have, and they’ve all gone away. I avoid making new friends in the real world now. I don’t answer the phone because it’s never anyone for me. Why am I still living? What kind of life is this where I’ve trapped myself so severely, isolated myself beyond the point of insanity? Why go on? I’ve lowered my dosage by another 25 mg, meaning I’m taking the least amount I can without cutting a pill in half, and I feel like dead weight. Throw me away already, I am nothing good. Damn…I can hardly get out of bed now simply because I can’t find the motivation to do so. Sure, there’s a lot I can do, many hobbies, but I just can’t move some mornings. It’s to the point where my legs and hips will ache as I lay, and I still don’t move, despite the increasing pain. It’s as if I don’t care if it hurts to lay there, I just don’t want to leave my bed and face the task of occupying another day.

50 mg, of Zoloft. That’s all I’m taking now. One tiny pill, and I guess I got what I wanted. It’s not so scary to think about pain anymore.  Not like when I was on 150 mg of Zoloft..lol. That’s only because I was twitching and moving and thinking too much, and too fast to consider pain and death. I was actually living during those few weeks. Not anymore. Now I know I truly can’t expect anything to work out for very long…this medication’s effects wore off too soon….at least that’s what I’m guessing happened.

There’s a feeling welling up inside that tells me something has to die soon in my life. Maybe it’s a way of thinking I have, maybe it’s a relationship within the family, or maybe it’s simply a bad habit, but something needs to die. That includes my physical death. Wouldn’t that be a weight at least off my family’s shoulders? My inability to get a job, or to make contacts and relationships makes me believe I can’t live and be independent. That scares me, because it means I might be a leech the rest of my life, and I don’t want that. But then I ask myself what I do want, and I come up with nothing. That doesn’t scare me; it makes me think I’ve just figured out the answer to every problem. If I want nothing, I shouldn’t take anything, not even another breath.

Things got complicated. And I realize I’ve not gotten better, just more tangled in the nightmare, too involved without anything to offer. I can not solve it.

Easy to break

I’m pretty certain that I am afraid to get stressed out now. I mean seriously stressed out; like how it was back in high school, crying before I left every morning, migraines. I don’t want to go through that again. So I avoid over doing the homework and study time now, but it results in losing motivation you know? If the pressure is not constant, everything I must do is half hearted and feels even more like a waste of time and effort. The prize doesn’t seem worth it.

On the other hand I break more easily now under stress, and now that I’ve seen how far I can fall, I’m concerned that any pressure that goes further than my limits will erase the mental strength I am still trying to build up. I’m basically saying I am fragile when facing stress in my life now. Maybe I’m just too sensitive to everything….I remember how someone criticizing me as a kid could cause me to melt into tears. You know, the kind of crying that you’ve got no kind of control over….and the worst part is I wasn’t above crying in front of other people. They never said a damn thing to me anyway, why should I have cared about them seeing me as a weak child? It’s what I was…lol.

I’ve been thinking. Maybe I should accept that I am just an unhappy person. A person with a melancholic temperament….or someone who knows deep down that sadness is what I really thrive on. Emotion is what I thrive on, and I say sadness because it affects what I do more than any other emotion. It’s rarely happiness; in fact, I don’t know the typical kind of happiness that is all smiles. Joy and excitement and things like that are rare. I’m by myself so often, and all I have are past memories, embarrassments and negativity to dwell on. It’s just a part of me now I guess. These pills only rob me of emotion. I’m numb, tired, lazy, and actually feel worse the more I take them. Zoloft is approved to treat social anxiety, but in my opinion, it can only help out with the physical responses to anxiety. And guess what: I have those symptoms still in social situations. In the beginning it was working. I didn’t tremble or sweat or have heart palpitations so badly, now, it’s all returned. That’s why they always recommend therapy for SA because it’s a behavioral thing that needs to be worked on. Medication can help with the symptoms and extra complications like depression that stems from the SA, but there needs to be practice when dealing with the thoughts and reactions associated with it.

Sure, I could be causing these issues for myself from lowering the dosage a bit, but even before that, the effects were waning pretty noticeably. I’ve already written enough about all of this haven’t I….Well, I’ll end with some quotes:

“We have no right to ask when a sorrow comes, ‘Why did this happen to me?’ unless we ask the same question for every joy that comes our way.” —-

“Home, nowadays, is a place where part of the family waits till the rest of the family brings the car back” -Earl Wilson

“Suffering is the price of being alive, and it is music and singing and art that has helped me live through some of the most difficult things that have happened to me” Judy Collins

These are random quotes, but ones I can relate to.