Thank you from the Island.

Hey all.

*Before I start, forgive me for this incoherent nonsense below. I re read it and it’s not always in context. But it poured out from my heart and I’m going to leave it as it is. Raw. I hope you can understand it. It meant a lot to me.*

I guess I’m in a strange place and feel a need to confess. I struggle with my inner darkness every single day. Somedays are much easier than others, but everyday without fail… The struggle is always there. It’s a constant reminder that life is always on a knifes edge.

I want to talk about suicide, and why it will always be a part of my inner thoughts. I don’t know why, but I feel I have to. It’s all cathartic anyway right?

All my life I’ve felt isolated and alone. It is what it is, and I’ve always had hope that something or someone would help brighten my darkest skies and calm the waters in my ocean. I’ve been a prisoner of sorts on a desert island, lost in the middle of that ocean. That island is constructed from a bunch of circumstances like physical and emotional abuse, drug and alcohol problems and general self esteem issues. My sister and I are living proof that parents can really fuck up their kids, especially at a young age.

So there’s a girl whom has been all those things and more for so many years. I love her. And I always will. I need her in more ways than I can ever admit (even to her, and I tell her everything) I don’t ever believe it will ever be more than it is. But for the opportunity just to hold her close, I would do anything. But I digress. Just having someone like her in my life… Was magic. Every moment we spent was like floating in the clouds. She really means the whole world to me.

It’s both a blessing and a curse.

The problem I have is that I don’t feel it in such an honest form. Never ever really, which is both sad and also special in a way. But because I feel this way, other people cannot compare and also because of my way of feeling emotions (full blast, enveloping, obsessive) I always over react and am pushy. And I was going thru a particular tough time, and I couldn’t handle things. So I decided that I couldn’t handle feeling this way every moment of everyday of the rest of my life. I added it up, and knew that I had… lost her. ‘cos I was never gonna escape my own desert island. It was all I could foresee… I was gonna die there, totally alone. The only choice I had, the only thing I could control was when, and how, and where it was going to happen. So I wrote my goodbyes and an especially long, heartfelt letter to my sister and the last thing I did was write a long letter to “her”. Then I ground up about 50 pills and drank it down with a bottle of vodka. I went to sleep knowing I wasn’t going to wake up, and feeling a little relieved that it was going to be over. Saddened to leave those I love, but unable to stay around just for them.

But to my surprise, my eyes opened the next day and I was surrounded by the contents of my stomach and a unbridled sense of shame.

I was such a failure. I couldn’t even kill myself the way I wanted to. I had power over *nothing*.

I really wanted die. You need to understand that… I was happy to leave. I was content to know I was capable of feeling something like I do for “her” and that it was finally over. I would fade away into the night, no fanfare, no nothing. Remembered by few. It’s how I wanted it. I didn’t want everyone to see the real me. To see how alone I’ve always felt. I wanted them to remember me for the fun we had. I guess It’s part of why I feel so alone. Because I don’t see or feel things like other people do.

I could hide the emptiness in my youth with copious amounts of alcohol and company. But as I grew older, I found it harder and harder to hide behind sex, drugs and alcohol. No matter how much fun I was, how happy I made other people or how many times they told me they loved me… I never felt the same. And sometimes I tried really really hard to convince myself that I did. And I never could.

How was I supposed to live like that?

Her love made me feel something I don’t think I ever really knew. Like I belonged. Like I mattered. It was nice to feel that unconditional, uncompromising love. And not something based on obligation or family ties. So I was content to go. I’ve always hoped that good things could happen. But really I never believed that they would. If that makes sense.

So I tried to die. With some form of dignity. As I dwelled on my failed attempt, that’s when this feeling came over me like a warm blanket. I knew, somehow, that I had to stay alive. Somehow. I had to keep breathing. Even though there was no reason to hope. And all my logic said that I would never see this place again. At least not up close like this…

So that’s what I did. I stayed alive. I kept breathing. And one day my logic was proven all wrong because the tide came in, and I managed to get away.

And now, here I am. I’m back. Always a hairs breath from that island, but never to return.

I’m so sad a lot of the time that I don’t have “her”. She makes me feel like I’m a real person, not a beast hiding behind impressions, humor and masks. I’m me and thats fine.

But I’m so grateful that she was with me on that island. And I know what I have to do now. I gotta keep breathing. Because tomorrow the sun will rise.

Who knows what the tide could bring?

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Change

Hey all.

Lately I’ve discovered that I have a new somewhat developing addiction. I’m becoming addicted to change.

It’s a strange place to be in. Finding a ground somewhere more in the middle, than the extremes I used to define my life by, is amazing, exciting and terrifying all at once. I’m taking those first tentative steps in chasing a dream, and finding a future that I can be happy with. As opposed to finding day to day moments of happiness.

I’m still unwavering in my certainty of certain things in my life. My strong moral compass and my utter devotion to those (who know who they are) who help me find meaning in life whereas I am so used to hiding away and the responsibility of protection is diminished and isn’t something I can ever find all on my own.

It’s the connections we forge that define who we are and the impact we will have on the world and those whom matter most to us.

I’ve been told I am a dreamer. Perhaps even a little idealistic. But whats so terrible about that? My expectations are set incredibly high and again I cannot compromise on this. In many ways, it’s my biggest flaw. But I cannot accept things in half measures. I cannot accept the cards I’ve been dealt. Even though it’s a thousand times more painful than I ever imagined.

And I am as sure now as I have ever been in what I feel in my heart to to utterly true and I refuse to compromise in this.

So for once, I’m the one dictating terms. I always waited for the right opportunity to follow a dream, to make my mark. But in reality, I had no idea of what a dream could be. For when all you can see at a point in time is darkness, than any light no matter how bright can illuminate things. Perhaps even provide a distraction away from all the problems I have. Not only with my childhood, but mostly with myself.

The fact of the matter is this. Life is a never ending journey. An all encompassing ever changing journey. And I guess we are all searching for something. That one thing that could make sense of it all. But what if it’s unattainable?

Or even worse, what if it’s right in front of you and all you have to do it reach out and take it?

I’m always going to feel lonely, and sadly lacking in some departments in my life. It’s an unfortunate byproduct of my upbringing. But I do find times where it’s not so terrible, to feel a lack of connection with most people, and a strong enslaving connection to rare individuals. I used to find fault in this.

But in reality in my lifetime of masks, deceit, rage and passion… It is this thing. This one little, seemingly insignificant connection that proved to be the beginning of my salvation. It’s this thing that makes me feel real. A connection that reminds and strengthens me. I am not alone. I am different, but it’s this differences that make me who I am. And I am a good person. I may not by “good” in the strictest sense of the world, but beneath the deviancy and impulsiveness… I believe I am good.

Does this mean I have a method to the madness? Or am I just insane?

No. And you should not assume that because someone is different, that they are insane. Stigmatising people who are different is the root of all prejudice, it’s the ultimate underlying cause behind terror and all racial and religious hatred. From one philosophical point of view, we are none of us different, we are all part of humanity, and should be respected individually for what we are.

It’s what I love about you.

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