I’m Better Now

This Friday is when it started. I’m barley getting out of it but it’s lingering.

I don’t really know what happened. But it has the attention of almost everyone. All eyes are on me. Is he ok? What’s going on? He needs help. Everyone is worried about him.

I didn’t mean to worry anyone. Specially not my mom. I honestly don’t feel like I should have, or like I did. I binge watched Pretty Little liars all weekend with out getting out of bed. For anyone this is something normal. Something another millennial would do. But I have history.

My mom asked me if I was ok Saturday. I told her I was. But we both knew I wasn’t. I was tired. Tired of it all. Honestly, I just wanted to be alone. I just wanted to breathe, I wanted to get out of my head and float away into the fake lives of the characters on my screen. I wanted to forget about mine.

I didn’t go to church on Sunday, which only added fuel to the flames. My best friend texted me. Asked if I was ok. I didn’t text him back until today. One of the Elders called me, said he was worried and my mother had mentioned something to him. I didn’t reply or call back until today. Told him I was fine, he asked if there was something he could do to help. I didn’t text back.

I don’t want to talk about it anymore. I’m done. It happened. I was a little sad let’s move on, I’m better now. I’ll be fine, I’ll be ok. Just like the last time.

This Person I Am, Who Is That?

I am bipolar.

No, its not written on a paper, I was not tested, and I haven’t seen anyone that actually has a degree to be telling me this. But I know I am. Either that or something else (I know I’ve gone over this before, which only proves my point). All I know is that something is not working correctly up there, its always malfunctioning, always pulling me in the wrong direction, and it needs to stop. These highs and lows, these lies I tell people and myself. This person I am, who is that?

 

I feel like I’m trapped inside a bubble, but get this, every single time I’m bursting my way out, every single time I think I am finally free from it, every single time I do the impossible to make it out of it alive… I stop. I, turn around, and find refuge in it.

If that didn’t make sense (because I’m literally just spitting my thoughts on the keyboard with my fingers), picture this;

You are running in the woods, dark and damp. It has just rained, again. You run and run. You can’t even remember why you are running any more, so you stop. You breathe, the trees are nice. The birds are chirping, and you tell yourself, “you know, maybe I am over reacting. It’s not all bad.” That’s when you hear it. The loudest growl you have ever heard. Every time you hear it, it gets louder, and meaner. Your heart starts to pound and you feel the sweat on your forehead start to drip into your eyes making them sting and water. Before you take off running you look back and you see it. Huge, mean, big teeth, sharp claws, heavy feet crumbling everything that gets in its way. Branches cracking and logs being shoved, the birds burst into the clouds in the skies because even though they are high in the tress and out of reach from this thing, they still fear it. That’s when you remember what you were running away from.

You start to run again, and you finally escape, just like you always do. It’s a cycle that never stops. But then, this time you stop running. You stand your ground and come face to face with this creature. You look into its mesmerizing, beautiful, glowing eyes. You touch its softer than soft fur. You notice that those sharp teeth shine an ear to ear with a genuine smile. You feel the warm embrace of a nice hug and you feel like you are home again. The birds return with a lovely melody only they can sing,  and the rays of the sun kiss your skin welcoming you back to bliss. You are ok. Everything is fine. And then you feel the sharp pain on your arms reminding you why you were running once again, as It’s sharp claws come up to strike once again, you take off. And the cycle continues.

 

That is how I feel. I don’t know of any other way to describe it. I don’t even know if it made any sense. I don’t know what to do about it. And honestly, it is getting way to repetitive in my opinion.

 


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Study Myself

I’m trying to cope with my anxiety. I’ve been studying myself lately. Others would call it over thinking but that’s neither here nor there.

Any who, this morning I barley made it out of bed. I woke up, looked at my phone and slowly considered all the possibilities and outcomes of me not actually showing up to work. Some how they all waded up with the world collapsing or a total apocalyptic nightmare.

I know, a little too much. But hey, that’s me. I eventually got up and made it to work. I reminisced on my favorite moments form last year. Dang, I was crazy. How did I do those things? Social little butterfly I was. No, I was a monstrous huge mosquito. Then I looked at all the times I felt down or depressed. What led me there? What led me to be better? I know I’m not bipolar. At least I don’t think I am. I hope not.

But for sure I have some type of thing that’s wrong with me. Who knows. But I’ve noticed a certain pattern in the last couple of years. I go from being a little tiny ant hiding under rocks and blending in with the crowd. Then, suddenly, I’m the center of attention. I’m everywhere. In every post on every picture on all social media. Ok, maybe not like that but you get me?

So like I said I see a pattern, do I know what it means? Hell no. Just know that there’s one there. If I go back and check on my blog posts it’s also clearly there to see as well. So what’s next? Maybe I need to study myself more. Evaluate Me. See who I am. Even though I thought I really already knew myself I guess there’s more to me then I knew.

You

Why do you do that?

Why do you give yourself to people you know will end up hurting you in the end? Why do you instill all your trust in them as if they had a good reason to have it?

Why do you sit there and cry over things that maybe don’t have any meaning behind. You over think things and make them worse.

Then you come to find out it’s not even what you were thinking about. Why? Why do you do that?

Why do you hurt yourself? Is it for fun or to numb the feelings that you feel inside? Maybe it’s to just pass the time. Why do you hide that hurt like it’s something to be ashamed of?

You’re not ok, why do you bother? Get help. Wait, they don’t help. They’ve tried but it’s not enough. What is enough? Why do you make excuses? Just do it. It’s honestly really annoying. Time after time you always say you’re doing great then randomly say you have anxiety.

Attention is what you seek. Let’s be real. Everyone can see it. It’s written all over your face. You say all you want is love but what you seek is something else.

You need to stop expressing yourself like that. No one wants to hear it anyway. They’re just being nice.

Another relationship you burst into flames because your gasoline tears smothered the foundation of that relationship. I think your bipolar. You shouldn’t date, just stay alone. At least that way you can say it’s by choice and not that your exes say you’re hard to deal with.

But any who, who am I to advise. I’m the same way.

;

She was wearing all black sitting in an old 90’s Toyota with the windows rolled down on a hill looking towards the city she grew up in. She cried with pain for how her life turned out, not how she pictured it when she was young. The words her brother in law had spoken to her earlier, do us a favor and kill yourself, rang in her ears. They echoed but instead of loosing momentum the words only got louder, and they only dug deeper. She knew that everyone else knew she wasn’t ok. But they didn’t do anything to save her. So she sent her good bye text messages to the people she loved and she thought loved her as minutes later she ran a blade down her thin innocent wrists.


Coming home from a long day at work all she wanted to do was take some pain pills and go to sleep. Her diabetes was not doing well for the day and her feet were swollen. The new dog one of her daughters had just gotten her peed all over the place, but before she could scream at it she noticed her phone was full of missed calls. She called back one of her daughters, the one who had called her more than fifteen times. She lay in bed as her daughter explained how her husband got in a fight with her sister, or in her case her daughters, and he had said mean things to her knowing she was bipolar. Immediately she arose not worried about how tired she was. Not concerned about the piss all over the floor. She just got in her truck and searched for her daughter. This wasn’t the first time this daughter ran off this way. She worked along side her daughter at the same job every day, but today she didn’t see her. That should have warned her. Her daughter left the house as soon as she turned eighteen, she moved in with her older sister. An older sister that let her husband bad mouth her bipolar sister who had a history of depression. She searched everywhere and after hours of looking she almost lost it when she received a good bye message from the same daughter she’d been looking for.


Patrolling the streets isn’t an easy job. Specially at night. He gets an unusual call from dispatch saying there is a suicidal young adult near his location. He has nothing else to do so he checks it out. As soon as he gets there he calls for an ambulance back up. He runs to his patrol car and grabs his first aid kit which he would usually only use if he was wounded, but a life was at risk. The paramedics take over once they arrive. Soon she’s rushed to the hospital.


He’s been dating her for a while now. They met at work, the same place where her mother works yet she does not know they are dating. So arriving at the hospital were he was informed that his girlfriend was taken after an attempted suicide and seeing her mother there was extremely awkward. He knew her bipolar history but he never got to witness an episode while they dated. He was shocked and didn’t know what to do or say to console the mother right after finding out they were dating.


Now they all sat in the waiting room for hours. Waiting for her to wake up. But she didn’t. So they had nothing else to do but to go back to work awaiting a call that she had risen from the darkness she had fallen into. Their coworkers asked what was going on they seemed anxious and always kept checking their phones, but they only told the few they trusted.

I was one of them and this is their story.

If you know someone who is going through something similar to this, please don’t hesitate to help. I took this story very personal. I’ve been through this. I’ve seen the effect it does on a person. And all I wished for was help. A hug, or even a sincere conversation with someone to make me feel like I mattered.

If you’re the one going through this please remember that people love you but sometimes they don’t know how to show it or don’t even know how. You are important. You matter. And remember, one day that feeling will pass and you will feel so much better than you do now.

Bipolar Decisions

Some of my friends know that I am very bipolar with my decisions. They don’t even flinch when I contradict myself anymore. Let me tell you, I’ll be so set to do something then the next week I’ll be so against it. I’ll swear I won’t be one way then act exactly that way when I turn around.

I wouldn’t say it’s hypocritical of me, although it really does sound that way. But, I will practice what I preach for so long before I go around and do the opposite. It’s a strange way to live but I’ve been living that way for so long. It’s a custom. Some people even expect it.

The friend that I talked to at the park a couple of weeks ago asked me what I was up to. I told her I was more into my religious side. I made a joke and told her I’d be back to my crazy ways soon and they would be crazier. And it’s true, every time I leave that lifestyle then be religious for a few months then go back and I’m wilder than before. She didn’t even flinch, she just nodded and said that they know my bipolar ways.

Why do I do that? Who knows, I’m not a phycologist. I don’t study brains and human habits. All I know is that I am like this. Do I mind it? At times I do because it’s tiring going back and forth.

It’s funny because every time I go to either side I say I’ll stay there. But I eventually go back to the other. I should be studied. I should be looked at to see why I function this way. I would be up for it. Till then, it’s like a game of catch, and I’m the ball.

Merry Fucking Christmas

It’s Christmas Eve and I’m stuck at my call center job. I really hate it here. It’s minimum wage and you have to constantly take calls and harassing people, stay up to date with your stats, and try not to mess up. Honestly it’s too much. Plus I have my other job. My full time job pays more so idk why I’m even here. I could just walk out right now. But I can’t, and I won’t. Don’t have those balls.

Tomorrow I’ll be here for 11 hours. Marvelous. I’m getting paid over time and then after 8 hours it’s double so hell yes I’ll be here. Plus they say it’s really slow so why not. What we get paid on over time is what we should actually be getting paid . I mean this is serious business. It Doctor calls and hospital calls. What if we miss something? What if we write the wrong info? Didn’t matter matter.

Ive been feeling down for a while now. I hate being like this. I wish I could swap life with someone who is happy just to know how that feeling feels all the time. I swear I’m happy one day and then I’ll be so low fro the next 4 weeks .

I was going to help a friend move her tv from her old house to her boyfriends house. I was meeting her at midnight and she never showed up. I was over tired, sick, and sleep deprived. I knew she was going to flake like she always does but I’m just too nice of a person.

Anyway Merry Fucking Christmas.

My Story

             I have been putting a lot of thought into whether or not I should write this. I came to the conclusion that I should. Not because it has ‘‘gotten better”, but, because I feel like I just need to get it out of me. I feel that if it comes out, even in writing, it will be out. It’s not an easy matter to talk about. And it took me quite a while to actually sit down and write about it. After I decided I would write about it, I procrastinated sitting down and actually doing. When you try to remember the past, and it’s not pretty, you can only take so much at a time. But here it is;

             I grew up in a religion where I was taught that taking ones life would result in disconnecting with God. In other words, it was like giving a back-handed slap to the face of God since he was the creator of life and was the only one who deserved to give and take of it. As a child I always wondered why someone would ever come to that terrible decision. It wouldn’t fit in my little kid brain why someone would just want to die. I heard of people killing themselves when I was young but I never fully grasped the meaning of it until I got older.

            I do now. Even though I’m writing this I can’t fully say that I am completely over self harming. I can’t say that I have no more suicidal thoughts. I have though, learned to control them.

             But how did it all start? Well, I never really knew I was different. Yes I remember buying sparkling shoes that I got made fun of because they were “girly”, but that had nothing to do with my sexuality. At least I didn’t think so. I just knew that one day I would grow up, marry, and have kids. That was so ironic seeing as I didn’t want to get married or have kids.

             Back to my religion though, I grew up in this religion where you had to live your life exactly how the Bible said you should. (Jehovah Witness). It isn’t as hard as people think it is. It’s not to bad, and maybe I would have had some great teen years if I hadn’t turned out to be fucking gay. That pretty much ruined my life. Not completely, but enough. It’s one of the main causes of my pain if I’m brutally honest. Still to this day.

             I hate when people say “it gets better.” No it fucking does not. It hasn’t for me at least. Maybe I’m getting ahead of myself? But at the end of the tunnel I see no light, I see no fucking tunnel.  But then again, maybe that’s me getting ahead of my self and my “better times” have yet to come.

             Anyway, I was in and out of this religion. I would go with a passion and then I would hate it with a passion. I never really made up my mind. Not even today. Today I just go, not for me or anyone else but for my mom. It makes her happy that I’m there and that makes me happy.

             I “came to terms” with my sexually on Nov 17th of 2010. That’s the day that I said I’m Gay. Before then I had never actually said it out loud. I knew I was but I didn’t want to say it out loud. I thought maybe if I didn’t say it, it wouldn’t be true. Sometimes I thought I could change being gay, but it never worked. That was the actual first time that those words came out of my mouth. In that order, “I’m gay.”

             I remember going on-line and searching ‘Gay Jehovah Witness.’ I had the impression that I was the only one in this religion in the whole world who was gay. I was wrong. After looking past many articles that threw shade and dirt at JW’s for not accepting the gays, I found an article about Tim. He was also a JW. Grew up in the same religion and his father was actually an Elder (People who are like pastors). There was an email address and I emailed him. Telling him how hard it was for me because I was gay and I was scared to come out because so many people would be disappointed, and ultimately I would be disowned felt good. Plus, at that time I had no legal status so how would I even fend for my self?

             I loved my mother too much to break her heart that way. But Tim said it was all too much for him so one day he almost took his life, well actually tried but didn’t succeed. He said he had to change his life after he tried killing himself. He couldn’t take it any longer so he left the religion. I understand his decision. But I was not yet there (still am not) and even though it was extremely hard I still was not even close to the thought of taking my life. We would email back and forth and it was encouraging to have some one to talk to who understood. Then, he stopped.

            That crushed my heart. But I guess he got bored or maybe had more important things on his mind than helping out a seventeen year old across the world he didn’t even know. I knew was getting married and was moving so maybe that’s why but still, could have said something.

            Of course being in the religion that I was in and also being gay wasn’t going to work out. So I left. I stopped going and it broke my mother’s heart. I was still the same person nothing changed. I just didn’t act any more gayer. I didn’t go to pride. I didn’t hook up with every guy in town. I just simply stopped going to church. I was the same old me.

             I don’t know what made me go back. Maybe because I never found love? Or deep down I hated myself for being gay when I knew it was wrong? Not sure. But months when I returned in the summer of 2011, my uncle and aunt asked if we wanted to spend the summer with them.  (Take in mind that they too were JW’s). My brother and I said yes of course. They lived in our home town where I grew up and it was a beautiful town, I cherished that town.

             So I went to the congregation there. While I went there, I was being pressured into dating. Who I liked would always arise in a conversation. I finally gave in and picked someone. A girl I knew since I was little.

             It’s funny at the time I felt straight. Or possibly thought I could be. I can honestly say that I thought I was, right then and there. Deep down I knew I was gay, but I was faking it all so well that I almost started to believe it myself.

             The girl that I ‘liked’ had an ex boyfriend who was tragically messed up. I think he was bipolar. (Now I think I am). He once wrote the name of a girl on his arm with scissors. That didn’t surprise us because we kind of all knew he was cutting himself. Everyone told him to stop and they got him help. I thought that was ridiculous and immature not knowing that I would be following the same footsteps.

             Summer ended and the day after I left town I told that girl I liked liked her. She said the same thing but didn’t know if I felt the same way. How cute. Wrong. We soon started dating. Long distance dating. Wasn’t that cleaver? We broke up about seven months after. I was the one to end it. I told her I “needed time.” But the truth was that I just couldn’t take it anymore. Guys still would look appealing to me. I did love her though. I don’t know in what way. But it really hurt when we stopped talking. There was something missing in me now. She was my first love.

              From there it was just a spiral of hate. My life wasn’t going too well and I had to deal with the fact that I was gay. I played the happy guy for so long until I couldn’t take it. There was so much pain. I didn’t want to feel it. I was jogging that night. In our back yard. I was so overwhelmed that I just got on the ground and started crying. I was so mad on how my life was turning out to be. The next ting I knew I was picking up a rock and sliding it along my arm. It felt as all the pain was running out of the fresh wound.  For the first time in a long time I didn’t feel pain inside, I felt it on the outside. A minor distraction fooling my brain into a better state of mind.

            I didn’t think about it. Maybe I wanted to know what it felt like? Maybe I was curious? Maybe it was the feeling of wanting to touch fire but knowing you were going to get burned anyway. It was like that feeling you get when something isn’t working so you bang it on the side to make it work, like an old static TV. I knew it was wrong but I still did it. In a way it made me feel better. Like I was in control of the pain and the pain stopped controlling me.

             After that the thought of suicide would come and go for me. I always thought of ways I could end my life but I could never go through with them because I always thought of my mom and brother. Who would look after them? Who would protect them? Who would guide them? What would they do when I was gone? What would their reactions be? These questions only added to the already huge pile of stress I had. So it was more like a game. Did I want a painless death? Or did I want to feel pain? How did I want to be found? Who would find me? I am such an over analyzer that I was even over analyzing my own suicide! How pathetic. Well, I guess that’s why I’m still here, right?

             I got in to the habit of measuring how suicidal I felt. Some days it was 25% others it was 75%. When it was high I made sure I stayed away from sharp things because it seemed that I would go deeper. And in all of my scenarios, death in a pool of blood never seemed to suit me.

             One time, and the only time, I had been at 85% I  had self harmed my wrist really noticeable. I had to work the next day and a coworker saw. Her name was Jessica. She asked me what happened. I had wristbands on. Twenty One Pilots. I said nothing and just continued working like it didn’t bother me. She didn’t ask again. A month later I quit so I never saw her. She probably still works there. Her seeing my cuts didn’t make me quit.

             I’m pretty sure a lot of people noticed. I think Eli noticed once but never really paid attention or just waved it off, not sure if jenny ever did. I think Hellen did once, on my knee. She asked what where those scrathes I just told her I played to rough with my dog. Did anyone else say anything? No.

             I haven’t self harmed for almost nine months now. That’s only because I’m getting a tattoo removed and I read that having cuts or bruises will take the body’s focus away from helping eliminate the tattoo. I get an overwhelming urge but I always see my tattoo on my arm and how much I want it gone. At first it was hard to resist. But I soon got over it little by little. Hopefully I will never go back but that feeling will always be there.

             Maybe I’m bipolar. Maybe life as made me this way. Maybe I have made me this way. I see people go through shit and still have a smile on their face. Then again I don’t know what they do when they get home. Maybe they to self harm. In different ways. Drinking, smoking, hurting others. That’s the same as self harm. Inflicting pain somewhere else so the present pain will subside, but it never does, does it?

              So, that’s pretty much it. I am almost twenty-three years old and still haven’t come to terms with almost any part of my life. It’s weird. Because when I see a girl and I really like her personality I do think, wow she would make a great wife, or, I wonder what it would be like to date her.  So maybe I’m bisexual? Pan-sexual? It doesn’t really matter. My sexuality doesn’t defined me. Plus, would I even want to date anyone knowing all the shit my life as turned into? Yeah, they would have to be some type of super human to put up with me. Plus all the world wants is sex, and I just want to be held and taken care of.

Anyway there it is. The truth, raw, candid, and straight to the point.