Four years have passed since I last logged on here. I am still around and I wonder if Trent and jmvsic are around as well.
When I was last on, I was disconsolately picking up pieces of my heart that had been roundly drop kicked by my ex. My self-loathing was at an all time high. I had failed at relationships. And then I was failing at getting over that failure.
Life had become a monotonous track in my head around such familiar territories as: “WhyDoIStillLoveYousville” and “IAmTheWorst Town”.
Exactly two months after that I formed a reluctant crush on an a friend of a friend. One that I was determined to never, ever act on. And then he asked me out. We are getting married in four months time.
So why am I here? Do I love him? Absolutely. In a way that made what I had with my ex seem like the cheaper shop brand. Does he love me? Certainly seems to, though I never take that stuff for granted anymore (Once bitten. Twice paranoid.). So what is the problem?
I think the problem is me.
I think this has been a problem for far longer than I have acknowledged. Perhaps my whole life.
Something like a weird, cyclical depression.
I remember times in high school when I would, appropro of nothing, search for a place to hide so I could cry.
I remember sending suicide notes into the ether when I was in varsity. I sent them to a random hotmail address called “god”. “God” responded and turned out to be a really sweet guy named Steve and we became friends and corresponded for years.
I remember coming on here and pouring my heart out four years ago, because once more I felt like life had led me here.
But here’s the thing: life doesn’t lead me here. I lead me here. Once every few years a part of my brain seems to get tired of life.
I never talk about it to anyone in my life.
I absolutely would never seek help for this.
But every few years, a part of me fixates on the idea of just stepping off stage. Of just leaving it all behind. It is just that, until this moment, I have always had a life thing that might justify it.
This time I don’t. I am in a loving relationship. I am doing well at work. My family and friends appear to love me.
Yet, here I sit. Trying to stay still because in my mind there is a knife. And pills. There is the thought of inducing heart attacks and driving off the road. Yesterday I walked out of a work party because the burden of pretending that I wanted to be there became too heavy. I came home and cried. For absolutely no reason but the fact that I couldn’t not cry. And I have written a note.
I wonder if everyone feels like this at some point, and people here, people like you and me,we are the only ones that acknowledge it in words, written or spoken.
I know why I don’t. I don’t want medication. I don’t want therapy. But this .. maybe this is chemical.
But I wonder how many times I can come back from this. Who out there has done it? How many of you are older than 33? How do you do it? Without meds? Without therapy? Without letting anyone in your life know?
Because I don’t even know how to start a conversation like that…