Posted in Memoir, mental health, Reflection

The Second Letter – To My Early 20s

Two months ago I wrote a letter to myself in November. It was part of my counsellor suggesting that I should think about what I would say to myself in three parts of my life. Today I’m going to continue the trend and write a piece on what I would say to myself when the problems peaked in my early 20s, during my first suicide attempt.

I don’t know if I have the strength to talk to you. I do have the words to describe you: coward, selfish, afraid. What you did was not okay. Hiding the fact that you suffered from depressions was not okay. it led to you turning away from everyone that tried to help you, walking away from those who trusted you. Why? All because you were too afraid to admit to yourself that you had a problem.

You gave up on so much. Do you even remember the dreams that you had? You wanted to be a lawyer. Actually do good for others. You wanted to own a house. Someplace to finally feel at home. You wanted to have a family. Hell, you wanted kids because you knew that you would be a better father than the one you had. You replaced your dreams with masks. Drugs. Alcohol.

You shut yourself off to the world. Every day you went home, locked yourself in your bedroom, turned off the lights, and prayed for it to end. For a decade you lived in total darkness and shadows. You gave up on life. You quit. Life was hard, you’ll know that in a decade. You stopped living. There were no friends, no relationships. Were you angry, or did you hate the way life made you feel?

You tried to get help, but never admitted that you had a problem. Friends tried as well, then you walked away from them. Stop and start that’s what you did. You would see a counsellor for a few days, then walk away. Believing that you were cured. It became so bad, when you needed someone to turn to there was no one left.  You were alone.

Am I angry with you? No, for the same reason I can’t give you forgiveness when I know I should. I don’t have time for forgiveness. I want to understand. I want to know why you decided to lose a decade of your life.

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Posted in Memoir

Structuralist

These words
Are my prison
Which bind my soul
To the page

Iron bars tighten
A little more
each day

Longing for Escape
The lines Set themselves
As constant reminders

My pen strikes blue lines
Marking my death
Marking my mind

Posted in Memoir, Writing - Poetry

Will I Be Loved?

Will I be loved
Me, a single person
With a charcoal heart
As the darkness stays still

Love always passes
At least for me
Never straying longer
Than the blink of an eye

I was in love once
But it never lasted
As I ran away
For fear of new emotions

Will I be loved
At least for a second
Just a brief glimpse
When I look at you

Posted in anxiety, Depression, Musings, Reflection

Alone

I’ve been doing okay for the most part, better than the past couple of months. I’ve been walking, going out on my own, and trying to feel comfortable with other people around me. As a friend said a couple of weeks ago I am different than the person I was back in January, or when I tried to kill myself last November. The only question that I have is why do I feel so alone?

hank moodyI have had a love hate relationship with the city that I live in. That’s partially my fault, having lived here off and on for that past six years, I have never really given this place a chance. It’s also partially this city’s fault. This valley is devoid of the stuff that I want to do: arts, culture, going out to the theatre to catch a play, or to a coffee shop to write for an hour or two.

It doesn’t matter how many kilometres I walk, or that I’ve felt comfortable enough to leave my house. I still feel unwanted in this town, like a shadow. I have had this feeling that I am still the outsider after six years of living here. This place is beginning to remind me of my childhood, and anyone who has read this blog knows that I don’t like being reminded of my childhood. It feels like a jail cell, where I’m trapped and there’s no way out.

Maybe I am being too hard on myself. Maybe it’s my depression or social anxiety that is talking. I do know that when I was growing up in Sidney I felt the same way as I do living in Comox. In Sidney I tried to desperately to move to a larger city, somewhere like New York, hell Vancouver with its high cost rent would have been nice. I held a romanticized view of being able to do a new thing to do every day, rather than go down to the pier, watch boats, go home, and do the same thing the next day.

charlie brownThe feeling isn’t helped by having social anxiety. Friendships are hard to handle, you ask someone if they want to do something, make a plan then nothing happens. A normal person would blow if off as just being busy, a person with anxiety would think “I did something” and they would repeat it over and over again. Here I’ll give you an example:

  • I ask a person if they want to go for coffee
  • We make plans to go for coffee
  • Then I never hear back from them when we’re supposed to go for coffee

A normal person would think, hmm, we’re both busy, maybe I should text them. This is what I think:

  • Omg if I text them I worry that I’m pushing them and I won’t go for coffee

Or if it’s a girl:

  • Omg if I text them they’ll think I’m stalking them; they’ll never want to hear from me again

Which is why I stopped making plans until last month with friends. Tried to make plans, and nothing happened. Social Anxiety set in and I stopped again. I hate feeling alone.

Posted in Writing - Poetry

Living

Is there a chance for me to keep living?
From a soul that has caused so much pain
In my life I have tried to be giving
When there was always nothing to gain

My lies cover myself in a white fog
From where shadows lurk in a leaching black
Sullen memories are built into bogs
While I think of returning my life back

Over the hills, I can see black rain clouds
Semblances of stuff I have missed out on
I have always tried to make a family
Somehow, I feel I am the pawn

Through all the darkness in my sullen life
There’s never been a chance to repay strife