Couldn’t Sleep

Right. So it is 2:38 in the morning, and I couldn’t sleep. I’m up now, and made the mistake of thinking of old loves and old lives, otherwise known as old scars. Voila, here I am. Might as well tell my story. For the sake of being more direct (and not writing a 47 page essay) I will skip over less important times. If I crack too many inane jokes, it is not because I find it funny, but rather because jokes are easier for me to deal with than the feelings.

I was diagnosed at 11 with depression. Given anti-depression meds at 11. 11 years old! That’s where (I think) it all began. I have very little memory of this, as I am starting to push my 30’s, but I don’t ever remember being depressed until after I started taking them. I’m told that their effect on a healthy brain can often cause exactly what they are designed to alleviate. I suppose that is what happened with me. Skipping ahead to 13 or so, I moved from one state to another (US Citizen) and lost any friends or familiarity I had, and life went downhill from there. I spent six -straight- months out of school, due to my anxiety and depression. Telling my mother (No father at that point – he left before I was born) that I was “sick” because I had no other way to verbalize it. Fighting here and there with classmates, and dealing with a constant feeling of not belonging. Even then, the depression hadn’t really hit it’s stride, but it was definitely there.

I think I was 16 when it really hit. A crippling feeling of hopelessness. Days that I wouldn’t even get out of bed, or in one or two cases, massive fights with my mother, some even causing me to contemplate what things in the house I could injure myself with. Luckily, at that age, I didn’t. Hadn’t started drinking yet either, so I was fortunate enough to stay out of trouble, aside from being suspended a handful of times. I still remember realizing exactly what depression was. I hadn’t really thought about it until then, but I was lying in bed, curled up in a fetal position, staring at some scuff marks on the wall and just so sad that I didn’t even want to think. I wanted to be nothing. No thinking, no feeling. Nothing. There must have been something hidden in the pattern of scuffs, ’cause I read it, and it was then that I fully realized what it was to be depressed. This pattern continued throughout highschool, with me having friends few and far between. Two girlfriends who both cheated with my best friend. I’ve lost all of the people I knew then. Go figure, right?

I wanted so much to join the Marines. In hindsight, I realize that it was literally just because I hoped it would either save me or kill me. It was in the middle of the Iraq war. So much, did I want to be able to say Semper Fi, and oorah, and shoot things. Nope. Not me. Not the one thing I had wanted to do, since I was 15. I was born with a heart defect. Tried four times with the same result. That crushed me. I couldn’t feel happy, I couldn’t keep a girlfriend or friends, and I couldn’t even follow the only path I’d really ever cared about taking. I broke down. Started drinking at 20…a lot. All the time. Refused to get a job, and got kicked out of my moms house. Slept on a few couches. Got arrested. Even lived in a motel with parolees for six months. Ironically, as screwed up as that time was, it taught me a lot. It was probably the best time I can remember up to that point. I learned what life was all about. What it could be, and what it wasn’t.

I made up with my mom when I was 24, and moved back in with her. Things weren’t much better, until I met a girl online. She’d been a  good friend for years. A pen pal of sorts, as we both played the same online game. I -actually- managed to stop drinking for a while. I got my driver’s license, and I moved out to be with her. That was a good time for me. It didn’t last for too long, but it was good. I had a truly good person to be with, I had a minimum wage job that I was promoted to management, I had a home, and even met my father. Unfortunately (Misfortune seems to follow me), her family got in the way. Started stealing from me, my manager was fired and the new manager didn’t like me, my girlfriend got a little distant, and I didn’t make it any better by falling back into my old patterns. The drinking, depression, etc. Things got worse between the two of us, and I ended up moving into my Dad’s place.

Things went alright for a time. I worked a few under the table jobs until finding a steady retail job. My father and I got along, but he didn’t understand my depression or the drinking, and had no concept of what it was to deal with someone like me, or what it was to be a father. We stopped getting along. I met a girl, and moved once again. More misfortune, what a surprise! A car accident. Tire tread blows. The vehicle rolls three times. Everything I own is destroyed. Car, property. The girl cheats on me, while living in a motel, because I had to work temp jobs to have a place to stay because she had to spend it on stupid stuff. I move again, and here I am. Staying at my mom’s house. Back full circle, and I’m thinking maybe one time around is more than enough.

I’m still alive, though I hope for death every time I go to sleep. I’ve been sober for (gasp here) two whole days! Just cause I’m broke. I don’t know if I’ll ever have the will to take matters into my own hands. I’ve come close, but never quite gone down that rabbit hole. I don’t even feel that big gaping emotional wound anymore. I’m just numb to everything. I haven’t had a friend in three years, and not one I trusted in six. Every girl I have loved, has abandoned me, or betrayed me. Those of you who read this…good luck wherever you are in your own path. I love you as only those of us who understand truly can, and keep your heart for as long as you can.

-Zed86