I was falling asleep as I wrote part 1 of this series, or whatever it is, and now I have some more realizations to share, some more thoughts to work out. My intention here is to help myself, and to help others. For those who see in themselves what I am seeing in me, perhaps this gives them a light at the end of the tunnel, a way out. For me writing about this is both confessional, dragging something out of the darkness into the light, and making it real, there is a public witness to the things I say and the commitments I make.
So sitting on the toilet again, where I do a lot of my thinking (hey, you know you do too), I realized that in order to take my hand off the ejection seat lever, in order to throw myself fully into my life, I can not kill myself. I will no longer have that option. Because I can no longer think that way. As long as I think, “At least I can kill myself…” I am right back to where I no longer want to be.
I said before that Staind saved my life, back when I had my first thoughts of killing myself. I was still a Christian back then, I was depressed, likely would have been diagnosed as clinically depressed, most of the time. My brother had friends and either went to parties or just simply partied. Most of the time I stayed in my room, reading, listening to music, playing video games, throwing myself into shit on the computer. Essentially the same things I am doing now.
I asked a single girl at a dance to dance with me, I was all dressed up and everything, and she laughed in my face. I offered myself to another girl, a friend at the time, and the only person I have ever taken on a date. I don’t like to talk about this or say it. There is such a stigma attached to it. But I feel it is time…
So I offered myself to her, and she did not laugh at me, but she also did not accept me. Instead, because she wanted to please this other man she had met on the internet, she gave herself to a local playboy. Instead of sharing her first time with me, she chose this playboy that my brother brought in. I had taken her on that date to see if there was any interest beyond friendship with me, and there wasn’t. or if there was, she did not acknowledge it.
Of course this shattered me. This, combined with everything else, brought me right to the edge. The music of Staind kept me from going over, but they didn’t do me any favors. All they did is increase my tolerance for pain. By putting it off I had an excuse to keep putting it off. Suicide became something I could fall back on, a way out, a way to escape my shitty life.
But things just never seemed to get bad enough to cause me to do it. Or maybe they were bad but I found a way to tolerate it. Maybe I simply was not as brave as I thought. It takes a lot of bravery, courage, determination – something – to be able to take out that knife and slice open your wrists. Or drown yourself. Or suck on an exhaust pipe. Oddly enough I never thought of using a gun.
The second girl’s man came (the first was one that laughed at me) and swept her off her feet. Her prince charming I guess. They traveled the world together. He did far more for her than I believe I could have. I am happy that he was there for her like that. That she had that. And pissed off at her, because she goes and kills herself some years later. Why? I know what I was told. Maybe that was enough. But to me it doesn’t seem like good enough a reason. She had everything, every reason to live and keep living. I have nothing, every reason to die and stop living. Yet I am alive and she is dead.
Or am I? Can I really claim that I am alive, sitting here, typing this, at 41 years of age, having done nothing with my life, still living with my parents, having no success, no real adventures? Unable to live my life fully, I have been in stasis I think since that time, since those things happened. I just sealed myself away, so I would only have my family to worry about if I decided to kill myself. Because if I was surrounded by friends and lovers, it would be very difficult to kill myself.
I have always bemoaned the fact that I have no friends and have never been on a real date. I have never seen a woman physically naked in front of me, never had sex. I turned myself into some kind of monk. But even though monks might physically seal themselves away, they are not sealed on an emotional, mental or spiritual level, I am fairly certain.
So if I am honest I really have been dead all these years. I put myself into stasis and went to sleep. Maybe having a sort of spiritual breakdown, renouncing my former Christian faith, having the experiences I had around that time, the belief systems crash I went through and at least one dark night of the soul, or something similar, I think all this woke me up early. I don’t think i ever intended to wake up. I think I intended to just go through the motions of life, perhaps until a time I could more easily end it.
It was harder for me to do when I was younger. I could always find reasons I have to keep going, try one more thing. Even now, though the reasons are less, there are things that I feel I must experience before I can end my life with a clear conscience. Chief among them being the act of lovemaking. What kind of man, what kind of utter looser, can’t even get a woman into bed with him?
So not only do I have to remove my hand from the ejection seat lever (referring to the analogy I was using earlier, I could eject or land the plane. My life is like a plane, I can eject myself from it or land the stinkin’ thing), I have to unseal myself, bring myself out of stasis. Because as long as I stay in that state I will push others away. As long as I am keeping alive the possibility of suicide, entertaining thoughts of it, even leaving it as a sort of open door at the back of my mind, I will push others away, I will continue like I have, I will never, ever make any real changes, any wanted or desired changes, to the circumstances and situations of my life.
I have to throw myself into life fully. I have to close the suicide door-thought in my mind. I don’t have to do more than that and should not. And I can’t do this until I am really ready to enter back into life. And I have to hope it is not too late. In order to succeed, in order to soar above my Upper Limit Problems, thoughts of suicide can not be in my mind. I just can’t entertain these thoughts, and as I think I said before, no successful person out there does.
I can no longer have this as a sort of escape plan, as if life were some horrible prison that I wanted to escape from. I have to embrace what seems to me now, in this moment, to be something akin to prison life. I have to embrace a life that, at this moment, is not what I want at all. I have to embrace it and start living again.
One of my many justifications for killing myself was that I have no purpose, no dreams. Maybe that is true. More likely I have forgotten about them during my time in stasis. Maybe I did not allow myself to have these so that I could kill myself. Maybe I threw these out the door along with the possibility of having friends, loves and a meaningful, fulfilling life. Maybe I could only justify killing myself if my life was lacking in all these things. But I have been scrabbling around, looking for a dream, a purpose, a reason to life. I have felt up to now that I have none of this. I still can’t see any of them. But something in me wants them. Something in me is no longer content to live without them.
There is more I wish to express, the last sentence brought it to mind. But I am not remembering it at the moment. Maybe part 3? I think now, looking back, that maybe this is why I have never started, completed and published a book. Why I never got very far in my level design and modeling days. Why I am not in art or architecture school, building, creating, learning how to do these. Why I never found a way to go to the Seattle Art Institute which compelled me so strongly ome years ago. Why I never pursued music. Why I still live with my parents and can not get this excess fat off my body, no matter what I do, the process is far harder than it has to be, and if I let off it’s right back.
This fat on my body is a physical symptom of an internal, energetic cause. It is the physical manifestation of my pain, all my pain, and perhaps my sense that I am not worthy, I don’t deserve to be happy, I am worthless and useless and futureless. Maybe I have been slowly killing myself while in this static condition by eating myself to death. Others use booze or cigarettes, I guess I use food and a very unhealthy mindset.
I look in the mirror and I see a fat man, not very well equipped, nothing physically that any woman would be attracted to, except perhaps the face. But in my face I see a younger man, and that is the heart I have inside me. Not the physical heart, the energetic heart. I am a young man inside. Of course I would be, because I put myself into a sort of walking coma when I was a young man.
And I wonder why I don’t fit in with other men my age. Why other people my age seem so much bigger than me, even though I am 6 feet tall. I see now it is because inside I am still a teenager, a young man, that never really grew up into the body he now occupies. I hope this will change once I take my hand off the ejection seat level, once I unseal myself, open myself up and come out of stasis. Once I embrace life fully and throw myself into it.
I want to say the road ahead will be hard, but to say that is to sort of create a self-fulfilling prophecy. I have no idea what the future holds. It just seems to me, right now, in this moment, that things are going to be tough. I am not sure I am ready. But I am certain that if I ever want to have a life I want to live, I have to free myself of these old self-imposed patterns. There is no other way. I have to stop killing myself and start living, no matter what, despite anything that might happen, be it another girl laughing in my face or rejecting me. I can’t stay here in this state for fear of encountering these things. It is too important that I free myself before it really is too late.
Please, for the love of God and all that is holy, mark these words. Remember that the things you do and say to others matter. They do have an effect. I am an extreme case. And yes, part of the responsibility lies with the way a person perceives and responds. What they have drawn into their lives. But part of it lies with you. Something you do or say could completely fuck up someone else’s life. We have to be careful. Ultimately we should aim to be motivated by love in all we say and do. Or at least come as close to that idea as we can.
But if nothing else bring awareness, from now on, into what you do to others, what you say to others. How those two young women responded to me, all those years ago, has in part created the hell I am waking up from right now, in this moment. And I take little consolation in knowing they were probably suffering in their own way too, at that time, and since. The damage they did to me they also did to themselves. Sometimes inner wounds just won’t heal. How can they if there is no real knowledge of how to treat them properly? We can mend a broken arm or sew on a missing finger. But medical science still hasn’t the faintest fucking clue how to heal human emotional scars and the human heart.
So please be careful, I beg of you, for your own sake, and for the sake of those others who enter and exit your life. Everything we do to others, we also do to ourselves. It truly is a double-edged sword.