Well blank page, it’s been a while. Feels like centuries ago since I dusted off the layers of dust, both figuratively and physically. (Literal inches on this bad boy laptop of mine.. I feel you judging.) This used to be my place of vulnerability. Where I could sit down with this mess of emotions and confess to the things my mind wouldn’t allow on a normal basis. But now, I sit here picking at my nails wondering if I dare to give in to the constipated emotions I’ve since lacked. What do I do with them after? Do they go back to their cages? Doubtful.
So, buckle up, because you’re in for some catching up.
I’m on medication again, lets start there. For a couple years prior I felt normal, happy even. And the best part? I wasn’t on anything to dictate why. I assumed getting older allowed my hormones to level out and that my mental illnesses were a thing in the past. HA! Something had to of triggered it because one moment I was fine and the next I was writing my suicide letter. I’ve never had it happen so fast. Usually it’ll build up and level off at that high point. My ‘friend’ talked me off the edge, thankfully. Because I was two seconds in to shoving a bottle of pills down my throat and ending it all. People who are normal don’t get it. They think the storm going on in your head is over dramatics and attention seeking.
Someone I love asked me to explain what it’s like. It was hard to describe, truly. Because even I don’t understand myself in those moments. My head tells me life is too much, that I don’t belong, nobody will notice my absence, and the world will keep turning. I get overwhelmed, to the point where I can’t stand it. Like when I overdosed, I just wanted it all to end. I threw things, because the anger I felt needed to be released. Also, I couldn’t control my body from acting out. I still have holes in my walls, and yes, it’s an embarrassing reminder. Then I cried, until my anxiety was so bad I passed the fuck out. It took everything in me to get to a doctor and get my meds. I’m me again, thankfully. But I’m disappointed at the fact that I need meds in the first place. The daily reminder that I’m a fucking psychopath, yay.
Where I work people die, a lot. One day I’m holding their hand and telling them I love them and the next they are zipped up in a body bag being rolled out. I tell myself it’s life because frankly, it is. The lucky part is these people had the privilege of getting old. Not everyone is promised so, remember that. Watching their lives come to an end makes me take a hard look at my own. Am I living or just existing? Have I done enough, experienced enough? Do I have stories to tell that are worthy of knowing? Have I helped enough people or made a difference at all? These questions plague me. Because in the end I promise you, that expensive car or big house doesn’t make a fucking ounce of difference. Ask my patients if they took any of it with them. Ask the family arguing over expensive materials with a literal dead family member still warm in their bed if money made them care about them anymore. Expensive things make life comfortable, but don’t get it confused with being a necessity.
I gave my expensive car back. People were shocked that I’m not making myself a mindless, society approved, citizen anymore. I can afford it, mind you. But instead, I drive an old Saturn with the paint peeling on the hood and a bad title because it was in an accident once. It’s not fancy, or even relatively nice, but the ac works, and it gets me where I need to go. Have I lost my fucking mind? Absolutely. The money that I save from no longer having a monthly payment, is going towards traveling. How about that? It’s going to visiting Africa or sipping a margarita on the Bahamas. Who knows where I’ll be going. One thing is certain though, I will be living, and experiencing whatever amount of life I have left. Because I could die tomorrow, and so could you. Live accordingly.
I lost someone who was the realest friend I ever had. What hurts the most about it all, was that no matter how much I treated her like gold, it didn’t require her to do the same.
“My favorite thing about you, is how caring you are.” To my core I know I care way too much. I’m the pathetic person who cares about the old lady who is crossing the busy grocery store parking lot. So much so that I watch her safely get across in my review mirror. I care so much that when faced with an opportunity to be dishonest, my morality won’t allow it. Through and through I am a decent human being, and these days, that’s the most embarrassing trait I have.
Cayla proved to me that I am someone who is easily taken for a fool. Loving her was as easy as breathing, it was so natural to me. I honestly believed that her soul and mine were two pieces of a whole. I told her things that I’d never confessed to anyone. God did it feel good to be heard and appreciated. Through our friendship I was able to find and repair my identity again. Because at the end of the day, no matter who I was, she accepted it. She accepted the vast changes I made to myself and never made me feel ashamed of doing so. Hell a lot of them we did together! (Haha)
I finally had a person who understood my mental issues because she had them too. She talked me off the ledge when my head convinced me to give in because she’s familiar with the right words to undo the toxic ones. The worst part of her being gone is the disrupt of my usual routine. She was so valuable to me that I made talking to her everyday a priority. Waking up to a message of her rambles and memes and falling asleep to more was a privilege I was glad to have. Many occasions I professed how important she was to me, how glad I was that she accidentally came into my life. She knew she mattered to me, and despite so, left me in the cold all the same.
I’ll forever treasure the many drives where we turned the radio up and sung like idiots to our favorite songs. You were never the person who left me exhausted after pretending to enjoy spending time with them. Every time you left me refreshed, and I can’t ever thank you enough for all you’ve done for me. Losing you has hurt more than anyone ever before. Including the idiot I couldn’t get over. (But have, just fyi.) As much as I want to beg for you to come back to my life I won’t. You have seriously hurt me, and for that I need to move on. Just wish you would’ve valued me as much as I did you.. Another shitty part of life is hard lessons, and you will be a big one for me.
Today I feel like I’m out in orbit. Just floating and spinning wherever gravity decides to take me. Not sure what’s next for me, but a lone wolf never fears the unknown. Guess I’ll go howl at the moon or something.