My Excuse

Today I heard someone say, stop making excuses, you just weren’t raised properly. Heh, no. I don’t think you understand my problem, in fact, I’m sure you don’t. It’s not about not taking part in activities because I don’t want to, or freaking out at you for touching me, because that’s just the surface. It’s that everything I do, I have to do again, but in the opposite direction. It’s that everything I touch with my right hand, I have to touch with my left hand twice, and then again with my right hand. It’s that I can’t leave any piece of trash, scrap of food, or fallen leaves from trees on the ground, for fear that something bad would happen. But at the same time I can’t touch it because it would contaminate me, and I would be stuck in hell with whatever I chose for hours after that. I got so worn out. Even when I turned to cutting to cope with it, they had to be even, and on both arms, in the pattern, Left. Right. Right. Left. The razor I used, the same exact razor, had to be sterile each time, so I usually burned myself trying to get every last germ off. I was in and out and out and in of therapy, and all I wanted was for my hell to stop. And what’s worse, is that was normal. I thought everyone was like that, everyone needed to be even, and that my inability to cope just showed my weakness. So keep saying that these are just excuses, because I would like to see how you would behave for a single day in my head.

Monologue: Breaking Down

I met you exactly 3 months after I tried to kill myself. I met you at a party... Someone blackmailed me into going.
And I was not a fan of you either.
Don't get me wrong, it wasn't anything personal. I didn't like anyone. Not you, not my family, not my.. "friends"... not even myself.
And in fact, it was a burden talking to you. Every word that came out of your mouth bugged me. You just seemed so.. happy...
I mean, what the fuck? How can a person be that happy all the time? You're hiding something, you have to be.
I think I was jealous. Why should you be happy, and not me? Who gave you that God damn right?
... And one day I finally understood why.
I don't exactly remember why I agreed to meet up with you that night, but I did. And you put on your same happy face, made small talk.... I hated it. We went to a sushi place downtown, and I was just waiting for my chance to end it. I ate, we talked, I tried to leave, and you wanted to walk me to my car.. some nerve. Well, my car doesn't start, and triple A would take 2 hours to be out there. So, you stayed, we talked... and talked... and talked, until I was so fed up, I needed an answer,
"Why are you so fucking happy all of the time? You're fake and I can't handle it".
And you said back "Because I am alive. I want to be the same person for someone else, that saved my life"
I was stunned to say the least, and my whole demeanor changed... sort of..
"What the fuck do you mean by that?" I said.

So you tell me your story about when you put a gun in your mouth a few years back. You felt like the world abondoned you. No one cared about you, you didn't care about anyone. You didn't even care about yourself. You started doing risky things, walking in the bad part of town, took up smoking... won a game of Russian roulette... but no matter how much you tried, you just, could. not. die. So you decided to do it yourself. Skipped work, and put a gun in your mouth to blow your brains out. But you didn't. Because just as you were about to pull the trigger, your coworker called you to make sure you were alright... To make sure you were okay, and you broke. You cried. You told him everything. And as uncomfortable and shocked as I'm sure he was, he stayed on the phone with you. He stayed on the phone for hours, didn't say a lot, but just listened... cared. That was the day you realized you weren't alone. The day you got help. The first day you opened up. The first day on a long road... but a rewarding one.
And from that day, once you recovered, you decided you were going to be that person for somebody else. What you told me sent shivers down my spine and my disposition towards you changed.
I related so much to the feelings you described, right down to the feeling of abandonment that prompted my own suicide attempt.
That was also the day I opened up, I broke down, I sobbed, and you gave me hope that someone else actually gave a damn. A genuine person who actually cares. Something I had long since ceased to believe in.
And that prompted my own recovery. You inspired me to seek help. And I'm not there yet. I still have dark thoughts, I'm still unhappy, things are still bad. There are days I don't want to do anything, I don't want any treatment, and I want things to end. But they're happening less and less and there are some days, I think I'm actually happy. And that's more than anyone has ever done for me before. You gave me a chance to get through this... Something that I never realized was possible... You helped me more than I think you realize. And you should know... you might not be able to save the world with compassion. But you saved mine.

Breaking Character

I've decided to break form a little today to talk to you directly, rather than getting into a character, because I heard something disconcerting from a friend today. “Happy is not poetic”. That bothered me. Because we do have a prevalence of sadness beauty in our culture. A majority of films we see that we think of as deep or meaningful, are generally sad. There's a prevalence of blogs having to do with depression and sadness (this one being no exception), and the audiences generally think of these as more artistic than a happy equivalent.
But I think you need both for poetry. You can only know sadness if there's some happy baseline. Happiness only exists with sadness as a reference point. So if it can be poetic to create a sad story, or poem, or monologue, you should be able to create something equally poetic that's happy.
Since sadness is only sad because you know how happy you can be, happiness with a sad reference point can be equally effective.
Although this blog does contribute to the very thing I seem to be preaching against, I do want to take time on occasion to write something I'll label as “breaking”, to focus on there being as much beauty in happiness as there is in sadness.

Monologue: False Trust

I trust you... I trust you... I trust you.
I have been echoing these words throughout our relationship.
Three small words. That are supposed to mean so much and yet they mean nothing.
I don't trust you. I mean I thought I did... at first.
I thought you changed, thought you were nothing like how you were in the past.
That you are a different person.
But everytime I leave you alone... I worry. I'm afraid.
Afraid that without me you'll go back to who you were before, and that I am the only thing keeping you from slipping back into darkness... your old shell...
I give myself panick attacks worrying about you!
Thinking, any moment, you would start having those, thoughts again. And maybe this time you wouldn't tell me.
Thinking everytime you don't pick up your phone, you could be gone.
Everytime you say goodbye, you really mean goodbye.
Sometimes, I wait up until four in the morning because I remember,  that time.
Because if you did call me again, and I wasn't there to pick up...
You wouldn't have been the only one who died that day.

I realized, I don't trust you.
I can't
I want to, I really want to, I do...
But... right now...
I think I'm the only one I'll be able to trust.
And, I'm sorry please understand.
I don't think I'm ready to trust you...
Not yet...

Monologue: Note

You’ve been so wonderful. These past few months have been the best I’ve had in my entire life. So many good things have happened.... So many memories made.
But... Life is still not worth living.
These constant nagging feelings, that I shouldn't be here, that I shouldn't be happy, just slip me deeper into darkness a little each day.
Things, are still moving in slow motion. My smile has been replaced by a grimace, and there is a glass wall separating me from the rest of the world.
I, am suffocating myself trying to be happy.
I know you can’t understand. It’s hard for me to understand. I have nothing to be sad about. I had a good life, a decent childhood, a good home...
I have you.
But I am still tired....

If you think this was because of you, something you did, and there was something you could have done to stop it! Stop!
You’re not the center of my universe, I am. I have the problems, I am the reason I feel this way, I am why I feel so empty inside..
I just want you to know, it’s not because of you.
I planned to do... this.. for many months. You had given me reason not to.. You prolonged my existence further than I ever thought I wanted.
So... Please. Don't blame yourself.
Because I was dead long before I met you, and long before I pulled this trigger.

Monologue: Numb

I am cold...
No, not cold from winter
Not cold from staying outside too long
And not cold from this sub zero wind
Because those, would be feelings

I am cold, empty, dead... inside...

I used to cut myself for relief,
Then that turned into desperation
And now I try to feel anything at all

I went into the shower and turned it up to full heat
I gave myself second degree burns
And yet I feel nothing
Why?

Why can't I feel anything?

The primal feeling of pain,
What is supposed to let you know that you are alive and to get out of a bad situation
Is gone

It's as if my body is already dead
And it's just waiting for my mind to join it
And it's coming closer every. Single. Day....

I used to be afraid of death...
But now I welcome it.

Because in hell,
I'll at least be able to feel regret...

Poem: Ten to zero

I started my life so vibrant and full of life

I had everything I wanted nothing ever bothered me

Then life started to get harder to live

I started to hate what I loved

I don't know how it started

There was no reason but...

Life wasn't worth living

I wasn't myself

No help

Lost
...

Monologue: Living is the Easy Part

Some people say that life is hard. Life is unfair. Life is complicated. My jobs sucks, I have too much homework, I don’t know how I’ll get through the day.

Sound familiar?

Well, what about death? I'll bet you that, is harder, because I’ve been through that.

... I’ve never tried to kill myself... Always wanted to though. Never had the balls. 

Some days I was just too tired to set anything up. Even that, was too much effort.

So I space it out. 

I try to kill myself a little each day. 

I know smoking is unhealthy, maybe I’ll get cancer. I know STD’s are out there, hopefully I'll catch one. You should look both ways before crossing the street, maybe a car will hit me.

Sometimes, it’s not all about putting a gun to your head, or hanging yourself from the middle of a bridge. Sometimes it's just not putting any effort into living. 

That’s just how I’ll live, as a dead man walking. Until one of these things gets me, or I finally man up and do it myself. So if you ever think that your life is hard, I’ll bet you that dying is harder.