A plea for life

Hi,

My username is an anagram so if any of you care to do a little word play, you can figure out my real name, but thats not why I am here. I am here to tell you, the reader, a story. A story about me and why I want to die, yet cannot achieve presently.

I was born January 25, 1987. My mother was a drunk at the time and my father was smoking crank. I am the result of a one night stand. An accident turned paternal, if you will. My very first thought, I remember, was when I was still an infant, unable to speak but I could think, and I remember thinking “I am not suppose to be here.” Curious because this thought remains with me to this day.

My mother was a recovering alcoholic and a newly devout Jehovah’s Witness. My father, well I still do not know much about him. Ive tried to connect with him in my teen years but everything about him seemed wrong or like he just didnt care.

When I was 5 would be the first time I would try to kill myself. I told my mom “I dont think I believe in Jehovah.” She slapped me across the face and stated, “YOU HAVE TO!” I thought “I dont want to live in a world where a belief is forced upon me.” So later that day I would throw myself into class 3 rapids in an attempt to drown, but I survived and played it off as an accident. This is also the time of my first fight and feelings of loneliness and emptiness; an incurable void eating away at my accidental existence.

A couple years went by. My father had disappeared but I didnt really put much thought into it. See my parents never married, in fact the only time they were together was on that night that led to my conception. After that my mother had a severe distaste for all men. She would say we are all evil and are ruining this planet that God had given to us and that we were the cause of sin. Surely a pleasant thing to routinely tell your son. This had gotten me even further into my void so again, at age 7 I would jump in front of a car, only to survive with minor lacerations.

More years went by and my mother became abusive. She would beat me with anything she could find and would still psychologically abuse me with her words. Telling me I was an accident and that she never wanted me but now she has to live with it. Again I would think “I didnt ask for this. I didnt make you decide to get drunk and have intercourse with a stranger leading to my arrival nine months later.” I tried running away several times but, not exactly knowing what I was doing I would be found at a park or the local police would take me home. I even faked a runaway once and hid under my bed to hear what she would say. She said “when he gets home I am going to beat him until he cant runaway anymore.” This started to fuel a very deep and strong hate inside me.

The third time I tried to kill myself was when I was 10. I drank a small bottle of bleach and mixed in rat poison but I ended up unconscious, threw everything up, and survived.

All of this sounds quite terrible I am sure, but I did have one place I could go and be free from everything. School. In school I was highly gifted. I had learned my square roots in Kidnergarden and by the time I was in the 4th grade I was reading at a college level, but going into my teens I would start to become apathetic and stopped applying myself. I would argue with my teachers and question everything thrown my way. Nobody liked a smart mouthed kid so I found myself in trouble alot at school as well as at home. We were homeless for about 6 months during my 11th year of life. Bouncing from place to place, then again, we had moved so many times previously everything felt “normal”.

My family would get into a very bad car accident when I was 12 leaving my younger sister a quadriplegic, my older brother suffered brain damage, my mother lost most motor functionality in her right arm, and my younger brother, whom was with me in another car, would be rendered incapacitated from growing, leaving him “stuck” at the age of 5 even though currently he is 20 I believe. My mother blamed herself for the accident and she became a manic depressive and very passive aggressive.

When I was 13 I was visiting my father and found his gun collection. He taught me to shoot a gun when I was 6 so I was familiar with how they operated. I loaded his magnum with 1 bullet but before I could end my life he walked in and took the gun away. He didnt question my motive, maybe he thought I was just playing around, or he just didnt care. Nonetheless, fourth attempt gone because he would then keep his guns locked away in a safe. I only saw him once every couple years so that idea was now null and void.

My stepfather had taken us in after the accident because he had money. My mother hated him, along with all men, so she became even more passive and would rarely speak. He would be the disciplinary parent from now on. He too would beat me but he was much stronger than my mom. I took his beatings from age 13 to 15. Then he played a new card and would ground me for anything he could. I would forget to wash a fork, grounded for 3 months. I was out past dark, grounded for a month. I was on the TV longer than an hour, grounded for 2 months. In the bathroom for more than 5 minutes, grounded for 5 months.

When I was 16 I took a knife to my heart, but during the puncturing of my skin, I would cringe and the blade missed my heart. I blacked out and when I came to I was in the hospital. Apparent to my parents, I was a fool and tripped onto it. They still had no idea I didnt want to live.

I would be grounded for a total of 3 years, left in solitude, couldnt read, couldnt sleep, couldnt listen to music, couldnt do anything but sit on the corner of my bed. Every 5 minutes my step father would walk by, making sure I was doing nothing but thinking. He died of a heart attack when I was almost 18. I remember asking my mom “am I still grounded?”

She said no, then told me to move out. I was a junior in high school. My step father held me back in the 8th grade because he felt I didnt learn anything even though my grades stated otherwise. So he called the school I would be attending and told them I wouldnt be. Which is the reason I was almost 18 and a junior.

I sat in my 1982 280ZX Turbo that my older brother had given me. I hooked up a hose to the exhaust and fed it into the car, closed the doors and sat inside. Eventually after about 45 minutes I would black out, only to wake up with a headache because my car had stalled.

Some years had gone by and I had bounced from place to place. Trying to finish high school and working two jobs to pay for rent and food and cigarettes. I finished high school with a 4.0 GPA then moved to LA where at the age of 23, I would take an entire bottle of Tylenol (which I am deathly allergic to), drink an entire fifth of Vodka, 17 beers, and a handle of Jack. I spent the next 3 days unconscious but survived.

During those unconscious days I remember speaking to several different “voices” in my head. One in particular kept telling me to stop. That there was something important I must do before I go. That this wasnt my ending. I argued with this voice, saying I didnt want any of this. I am not suppose to do anything great. I just want to die. He kept saying no.

Which brings us to the present day. I am single. 26 years old, and feeling like I want to kill myself again. My mother has gone insane, stole my siblings and took off somewhere to never be found. Called me Satan’s child before she vanished. My father, still doesnt give a shit and we havent talked in years. My older brother is married and left, never to think about the family again. And I am still just as lost as I was when I was a newborn.

I feel if I could just find a trustworthy person, or significant other, I could be saved. Things would work out and I could move on in life instead of being stuck everywhere I go. Every girl I meet either puts me into the well known “friend zone” or already has a boyfriend who in reality is a really cool guy. I have travelled all over the U.S. to end up in CT. I have alot of friends, although none of those friends are really close. More like acquaintances at best. I shut down anything potentially good for me. In fact I tend to just shut down in general. Doctors say I might have PTSD, or bipolar disorder, or schizophrenia, or some sort of dissociation disorder. Also found out that on my mothers side of the family is a long line of mental problems ranging from pretty much every mental disorder there is. My father’s side of the family has strong military convictions and most if not all have or are still serving.

I dont really know where I am going with this. Maybe I just want someone to see this and understand why I will eventually kill myself. Although I did leave out alot of my story, because if I didnt, I’d be here a very long time writing and now I just dont feel like writing much more.

I am losing sight of any potential “hope” in life and the human species in general. I dont want to work anymore, and the things I would like and know how to do, I do not have proper certifications so I cannot. I dont want to go out. I dont want to see friends. I dont want to eat. I dont want to try and find someone to be close to. I dont want to write. I dont want to play guitar. I dont want to be outside. I just want to sleep forever.

In my dreams, anything and everything can happen. Ive met a girl who just recently started invading my dreams. I can usually control every aspect of my dream worlds but never her. I have no control and sometimes we fight for control over the dream. Sometimes I let her take me away. I am intrigued by this dream girl, because I have no control and because she has no body; only eyes. Yellow eyes are the only characteristic she possesses, although the feeling, I feel like we have met before, in a past life or something. I feel safe with her. I want to sleep forever so I can be with her.

I was told by a psychic once that I should never own a gun.

This is my plea for life. Life somewhere beyond this existence.