A cousin of mine, who’s in her second year of highschool, gets to go to Japan soon. It’s part of something like a “People to people” thing. I used to get those mailings when I was in highschool, but we never got into it. I always figured that of course, my family doesn’t have the money to waste on a trip like that. And I will admit, when I first heard she has this “chance of a life time”, I wasn’t happy for her. I was bitter once again about the opportunities I manage to miss out on. That bitterness only leads to more self directed hate. Very harsh thoughts about what I am limited to; not only limited in a general way by what I look like or where I am from and what my means are, but I am limited by my own (lack of) personality, my fear, my lack of skill at anything practical. Basically, it all falls back to wondering cold about what I am doing here.
Anyway, truth be told, I would love to go to Japan one day, but there’s no way I am ever flying again - which means I may very well never see that part of the world. Fine (what would it mean anyway? It’s not as if I am going to really do much at all with my life, sending me anywhere would be a waste at this point.)
And school…oh, I think there’s only a matter of days now before I snap about the situation. Hopefully it will be ugly, maybe then I will be convinced that my feelings are very real, and do something irreversible. God, I am not fit to be here. I don’t know what good looks like anymore, what progress means- no way of thinking seems to connect well with what I actually do (absolutely nothing) in regards to taking necessary risks to get along in life.
What do I have to do before I can actually live doing what (I think) I want to do? I have been painting, drawing, piano playing, crocheting and writing for the last three days, persistently. Trying to forget and stay distracted. No thoughts of school, or of the future, or of what I need to take care of myself on my own, or of how I will react when I lose everyone in my life eventually. No thoughts of what worries me. I haven’t wanted to eat or drink or move or look away from what I am doing because it all reminds me that one day, so soon, I will have to find away to sustain myself alone. I will have to find the motivation to keep going and I won’t have time for my distractions, for doing the things I only live to do and be part of.
Do I have to suffer decades of sleepless nights? Or day after day of looking at myself in the mirror with darkened eyes for who knows how long? I see my mother, she’s tired. So tired of everything she’s brought onto herself. Tired of work, of seeing her sons get themselves in trouble, tired of paying bill after bill, and I know, tired of me and of the progress I haven’t made. Tired of me for being something she doesn’t understand anymore.
Should I feel guilty about this? I have no illness killing me, I am not in poverty or in a terrible neighborhood. I have both my parents. Some may say I have no right to bitch about anything. But while it may look right on the surface, it all disconnects beneath. It is so stupid and pointless and disgusting beneath. Or what is wrong with me? (Left alone too long) Why do I go from one second believing my life is impossible to fix and figure out, to the next second scolding myself for thinking anything could really be wrong.? Once again diminishing the problem or saying there isn’t a problem at all…
You can probably tell I have stopped going to therapy all together. No one has called me in about my medication or sessions. See? They don’t really care. Because they just don’t have to. See they only care if you can pay up and if you actually want their help. Well, I don’t want their help anymore. It wasn’t enough, and I don’t think I’d be willing to seek or accept any more help. I’ve stopped trying. Nobody can save you if you don’t want them to, if you never let them know you’re even going under.
I could never tell my doctors the whole truth. And they are nothing special. They cannot read my thoughts and know what is real and what I’ve really done. I need to stop pretending my life, or the sudden end of it matters, because it doesn’t.
Here’s an image I drew and painted to represent the hand full of good things I keep breathing for. I liked it a lot more a few days ago. It’s sucks now, but I thought I’d post it just to show art is where my hope is.
