September 10th

Happy World Suicide Prevention day, if that’s something we’re supposed to say! There are many people out there that need to be informed about how suicide affects all of our lives. There’s someone out there that might need your help, that might think they have nobody left to stand up for them or stand by their side.

I went to an event at a suicide crisis center, listened to the statistics and stories of people silently suffering through life because fuck, mental health is still something we whisper to each other. I made a mental note to be more open about it from now on, not just for my sake, but for someone else that might be too scared to start the conversation themselves.

Some of you might know that my best friend is suicidal and how it was quite a shock for me.

Thinking back to those days, six or seven months ago, I was scared but certain that we’d pull through. She’s headstrong and cool in that way… but I worried about what would happen if she tried to kill herself and succeed. I selfishly pictured my life empty and much less weird without her and it was terrible, not just for the people she could have left behind but for herself as well, for the immense potential she’s showing every single day (despite her best efforts at saying she’s a turd).

I can’t speak on her behalf because she’s done all the work. In retrospect, she’d probably say it was worth it.

It’s scary to feel alone but there’s always someone there for you, it could be a stranger on the internet or your cousin or your best friend. You might think they won’t care or won’t understand or that you’re a burden, but you’re not. I promise you’re not.

So, to all of you out there, take some time and breathe, talk to someone you trust and seek help from medical professionals.

With love,

Me.

I Told My Mother!

My mother was basically gone for a month and a half, right when I decided to see a mental health specialist. She finally came back and I told her that I’m on medication and that I’m getting help. It was surprisingly easy to tell her because I mostly wanted to stop lying about what I was doing.

It’s nice to openly talk about my medication and my troubles sleeping.

On an even better note, I think there might be a tiny little change in the way I feel. I don’t drown my brain in thoughts every night and fall asleep much easier. I don’t know how it will feel when the pills will start kicking in or if I will even be able to feel a difference but hey, we’re getting there!

To anyone out there having doubts, tell someone. It’s hard and embarrassing but that weight feels so much lighter once you tell a person you trust.

A Family Tree That Needs A Gardener

I decided to write about my family, more specifically the mental issues many of my relatives faced or face, mostly in an attempt to make some sense of what is hereditary or not. In order to understand myself, I have to see what my genetic information is made of.

My mother grew up in an unstable household and she craved a family bond that was never there. She’s a great mother to me. Unfortunately, she struggled with eating disorders during her young adult life because she needs to be in control of something, even at this age. She’s somewhat neurotic and strives for perfection. Sometimes her fixation with food and my well-being makes me angry because she comments on my fitness in a way that feels mean-spirited.

My father is the middle child and has always tried to do things his way but at the same time, he cares too much about people’s expectations. I think he feels that he hasn’t accomplished much compared to his older sibling. I know that he feels depressed but he hides it by being bitter at things. His childhood was him being ignored by his parents while they babied their eldest son.

My grandfather probably had what is now called PTSD. I overheard a conversation my father was having. Apparently, sometimes my grandfather would walk outside and was so lost in his thoughts that he didn’t notice people waving at him. He was in the Second World War and had a gun pointed to his head. He was saved when a fellow soldier shot the German. It was a cool story to hear but it never occured to me to think why he told it so often or why he was so quiet after saying it. In many ways, we are alike. He was honest and funny and didn’t apologise for being himself.

My grandmother is somewhat of an enigma because she has no personality, except for many being a bitch and only caring about what others will think of her. She has some form of dementia so everything is nice and dandy for her because she doesn’t know what she’s done. Anyway, that’s another story. I think she was a product of her time, what women should be. Back then, she was destined to be a wife and a mother and that’s it. One time, when I was a child I made her cry by telling her that women didn’t have to be quiet and coy. I used to love her.

There have been many cases of untreated shit that’s gone on for too long, so I’m hoping to make a change. My family is a strange one but the moments that shine the brightest are when we’re laughing all together, telling stories in our typical fucked-up sense of humor.

I just… need to set some things right with myself.

Closure

yep

The thought’s been hovering in my head since forever but I still haven’t taken that final leap of getting closure.

My grandfather died in 2004… I think. I say I think because I’m mentally trained not to even ask about it. It physically hurts, even now. It was July and my sister, mother and I were at a local swimming pool on an island (we have a summer house there). It was all fun and games up until my mother got a call. There had been an accident and it was serious.

I remember getting on the first ferry out of there and it was all a daze. The very same night, we arrive back to the city and I know that I have to be there to see him because my grandfather would probably like it for me to be there. You see, we have always been best friends, almost in an us-against-the-world kind of way. I knew that me being there would change everything. My parents thought it was a bad idea. He had been hurt when a car ran through a red light and I shouldn’t see him that way. One could say he was… killed?

I guess that what I really wanted was to say goodbye. My mind goes back and forth on that, yes, it would be terrible to see him dying but then again, it might have made things easier in hindsight.

That same night my sister and I were told that he died. I don’t remember how I reacted because I pretty much spent the rest of the time wishing I had called him that morning just for a second, so the car would have passed, so I could have prevented this with such a simple solution.

I was already a strange kid but this fucked me up a lot. I didn’t cry at the funeral because I was so angry at everyone pretending to be upset, people my grandfather made fun and people that never seemed to care when he was alive. I felt like it was up to me to represent him so I couldn’t cry, I had to be strong.

Honestly, the rest couple of years were a blur of just lying in bed and wishing that my life would turn into a Hollywood movie. The movie where you wake up and it was all a dream. I wish that movie cliche happened in real life… but guess what? It doesn’t. I’ve never tried to conjure anything as hard as I wished my grandfather was alive.

The divide I always had with people now had visible boundaries. They could so easily get over things. Who the fuck cared about grandparents anyway? Weren’t they just old people who gave you candy? What kind of relationship could you have with them that matters so much?

Well, it mattered to me a lot. He was my best friend and this loss haunts me a lot. I don’t know when it will become a fond memory, how many decades are supposed to pass me by? Let’s try and put down those countless dreams where I randomly see him in a crowd and holy fuck, the mind can be so scary because I can see him in every single detail. And I’m always asking him how come he’s here, he’s dead, long gone, how can he be here and talking to me?

I don’t like to admit to bring him up but it’s not healthy to react to his memory in sadness and tears anymore. I want to remember how he hated having people over and would wear his pajamas and proclaim loudly to the guests that he was sleepy.

So… I want to get closure.

That’s by confronting family members instead of having fantasies about it.

That’s by going to the cemetery and visiting his grave for the first time since he was buried. I’m not religious or spiritual but knowing that there’s just a layer of dirt between us feels soothing.

I think I’d like to do that.

 

I Think Everyone’s Mission Is To Push Me To My Limits

I’ve been trying to focus on this one song that calms me the fuck down because it has the perfect harmonies, perfect I tell you!

There’s a tightness around my chest and throat that doesn’t go away and my eyes are on the verge of tearing up all day long. It made for a poetic image this day while I was walking to work with a big coat on, you’d almost think I was French. This is me talking about my day-to-day life instead of rambling on about a loose idea or opinion. This is my actual life, just like the one you have.

Anyway, I have a terrible relationship with my sister. I’m not an easy person to be around when you’re the complete opposite and I know how to make my words sting like a papercut when I want to put her in her place. But I’ve tried very hard to turn this thing we have into something that could work.

I tried being carefree and bright (if you can believe it). I wanted to do fun activities, just so we can learn to become friends. We come from the same background and practically same experiences up until our teenage years. We never had anything in common but the path split up and led into completely different territories.

She thinks I’m terribly insecure about my life. Truth is, I’m very happy about where it’s at… I’m insecure about people stealing my happiness away just because my way of doing things is different.I’m tired of everybody bringing me down now that I’m up. Being down was my entire existence for pretty much my entire teens years. I’m somewhat tired of explaining myself, of justifying what makes me happy.

I don’t have the words to express how confused and attacked I feel.

This post was supposed to be longer, there was supposed to be some conclusion but I’ve got nothing.