It’s one o’clock in the morning and I need help.
I’ve been reading this book, It’s kind of a funny story, by Ned Vizzini.
It’s about this boy, Craig. Whom is clinically depressed. He can’t deal with life and its constant ‘Tentacles’ and ‘cycles’, so far I’ve read past the stage where he thought about killing himself and checked himself into a Brooklyn Hospital. It’s a very good book and all, but I’m scared. I’m scared because I’m almost exactly like him. For example, as much as my brain likes to wonder into the annoying dark thoughts of my mind where it’s like, “Life is pointless. You get older and older through these short decades of life until you’re in your 60s or 70s and now then you’re pretty much just waiting to die.”, I still have my “soul” wanting to go on and survive. Go through those decades and see what they offer me. As a quote from the book I’m just half way through, “My heart wants to go on but my head wants to give up. My heart wants to live but my brain just wants to die…”.
Or something like that.
This book has scared me that if I don’t get help my “messenger brain cells” will stop messaging happy stuff to my brain and it will end up like Tokyo rush hour up there and I’ll just stop working and Die. Or, worse than that, I’ll end up like Craig. In the dining room. Sitting on my Mums new red wood dining table, trying to find an English suicide hotline at 3 in the morning. Scared and hollow not being able to fight our natural motivation to stay alive – It’s almost quater past one in the morning and I’m feeling emotionally unstable, I can’t think of the right word for that sentence. I mean, I must really be a freak if I can’t obey by my brains instinctual fighting attitude against death? As much as I’m scared of it. I mean, maybe I’m just over reacting. I dunno.
However, when I sit in bed in the dark as my boyfriend Adam sleeps next to me. A movie playing in the background just hollowing the situation. I think of death and how it’s inevitable. How one day I will die and how one day I will be old and heading nowhere but a grave. I know it’s a possibility I won’t make it that far. And as I write this I can hear voices in my head as if they’re Facebook comments nagging,
“There are people out there who are half your age and suffering from a terminal illness and yet you’re living a life with no obvious future turmoils and you’re wasting it whining when they could happily swap it with you”
But I’m scared and confused. It’s not that I don’t care about them and feel scared for them. I felt scared for my Mum when she got Breast Cancer and I felt scared for her when there was a chance her cancer spread to her brain. I got scared for her because at the same time I was going through an existence crisis and it must have been terrifying to know you might or will die. However, through that experience I got scared of what it would be like in her situation or to be old where you have no choice but to die soon because old age isn’t something you can fight. It’s something you pro long with luck or healthy living until time runs out. And no one can live forever. It’s a truth that terrifies me and when I think of that in bed, wishing Adam was awake to take me away from these thoughts, I get to scared I forget about the fact I have a chance to make it that far when other people don’t really have an option. I don’t even really take their situation into consideration. I’m just so scared of thinking of myself in that situation and the only solution I can think of is that at some point throughout my life I gain some faith in a religion or if I ever have children the miracle of their birth and their sudden life may answer some questions in my soul.
Death is a truth I’m haunted with.
It sits at the back of my mind and appears randomly to taunt me throughout the day and the appears in its full glory every night. Sometimes I think I’m over it. Sometimes I don’t care, I reassure myself with the thought of reincarnation but then I get scared in my next life I wont have my Mum, my dog Mitsy, my Adam, my Dad. I get scared I’ll be a poor innocent insect that a wasp targets, paralyses me with it venom, digs a hole as I can’t move, injects me with it’s lava and buries me alive to wait for it’s egg to hatch and eat me alive. Maybe that’s what happens to bad people. But then again, I’m not really a good person. I’m a pathological liar. Well, I used to be. I’m better now. I pretty much never lie these days except for stupid little white lies that fill me with regret and ashamed as I’m to embarrassed to just turn around to the person I just lied to and say, “Sorry, Rewind. I used to be a pathological liar and I’m trying my best to stop but I do have some relapses can we just pretend I didn’t say that?”. It would probably be better if I did that. But I don’t. And that’s that.
I’m just confused and stressed and usually/mostly scared. You may be reading this thinking I’m a whining teenager that should get a A+ for skills in DramaQueening, (Now a word.). But this is real and painful to me. I’ve been dealing with depression since I was 10. I don’t know if you can really get depression when you’re 10. However, that’s when my problems started. It’s when my Mum and Dad took to video gaming and forgot about me. Seriously, don’t laugh. My parents, (well first my Mum,) got addicted to this game Final Fantasy. The online never ending version like World Of Warcraft. My Mum would play in until early hours and then go to sleep on the couch. I would sit on top of her sleeping bag and try to watch TV. No one told me to go to school, so I sat there and watched TV. My Dad worked a lot but bored of watching my Mum play the game on the only TV in the house, (except for my tiny video comby in my room,) he soon invested in a laptop and his own PC version of the game. And they played together. I ate Dominos pizza alot.
We then moved back to England when I was 12 almost 13, (We lived in Ireland for 3-4 years which is where this video game thing began.). Mum said she would teach me at home because either I was too socially scared/awkward for school or she just couldn’t be bothered to enrol me. I can’t remember.
We bought lots of awesome school books and stationary and it lasted a couple of weeks max. Then the game took over again. Then we tried my education again but in the end the game always took over. I would spend each Monday to Friday 9-5 playing Sims or just being on the internet. My Dad came home at 5 and took over the computer for his Final Fantasy gaming session. My Mum and I would lie about what I learnt that day if he ever asked. A social worker would come around every now and then. Her name was Julian I think. My Mum would make up the excuse that I do the school work on some computer and it’s on my Uncle’s computer or that we went to Belgium, (my Gran lives there,) and that I did all my terms work there and it’s still over there.
Thinking back at it Julian spent more time talking to my Mum than I. She stopped coming around when I turned 16 I think. She just stopped visiting. Mum and Dad eventually broke up, again.. (long story.). He moved out, to stressed with Mum and I. Then it was just constant gaming for both of us. Her on that Final Fantasy game me on Sims or the internet. I remember arguing with her that she never teaches me anything and I don’t want to or see why I should lie and she said something like “I didn’t want to mention this because I was scared you might stop but you do a lot of reading on the internet which is good.”. I still don’t know fully what that means. It got so bad that out sleeping patterns changed to the point I was awake until 4 in the morning and then I would be up until 7 in the morning. In the end I was 14 – 15 years old and would go to sleep at 10 ish in the morning and wake up at 8 o clock at night. I made alot American friends online because of that. When I got my dog that all changed though. Mitsy is my Puppy. I love her. She saved me and was my best friend throughout my teenage life and still is my guardian angel in this world. I can’t imagine life without her. In preparation for getting her I started to go to sleep at night and wake up early in the morning. We found her on the online version of a newspaper. I walked her at 6-7am every morning and twice more through out the day. I fed her on a tight schedule and because I had no lessons or social life I had more than enough time to train her. I admit today, me at the age of 18 and she 3 I’m not as strict with her walking schedule as I was back then but I still walk her three times a day obviously. After she made that big change in my life I started to make my own changes. I developed a love for books, my own unique taste in music and my own style. My first stepping stones to the person I am today, deep down inside away from all this anixtey, confusion and fear.
It’s been an hour since I started writing this and I don’t know why I did. I don’t know why I joined this website and I don’t know how it’s made me feel slightly better but also slightly begrudging. I’ll probably re read this tomorrow and be like, “what the fudge?”. I just hope this will make me better. It better. Seriously. I’m close to ending up on that hotline seeking desperate help as I sit in on my Mums new red wood dining set.