As a child, and indeed as a teenager, and even now, Iâ€™m mostly a loner. I never really sought out the company of other people, for whatever reason; and having a disability that carries lots of myths that people actually believe hasnâ€™t really helped with friends. In elementary school, I quite clearly remember being lumped in with a group of people with learning disabilities, with the premise that I could make friends with other â€œdisabledâ€ people. Being nine or so, it didnâ€™t bug me much; indeed at the time it did seem like a nice gesture. But, as I said, Iâ€™m a loner, so nothing ever came of it.
If I never played with friends, then, what the hell did I do? Well, I played guitar and played around on the computer, mostly. At the age of ten I could play guitar better than a lot of adults (itâ€™s not my ego; Iâ€™ve seriously been told that by adult guitarists). After awhile, though, the instrument wasnâ€™t as fun as it once was (for whatever reason), and so, as I said, I turned to the computer. And mostly, on the computer, I read books. Seems like an awfully strange way to use a computer, but most of the stuff I was reading was computer-related (programming, security, etc), and I could read them no other way, for a variety of reasons (none of which I shall discuss here).
By high school, I was so familiar with all sorts of assistive technology that I ended up becoming bored with that, too. And so I went back to music, joining marching band, percussion, etc. It was great, because marching band is both a highly individualized and a team sport (yes, itâ€™s a sport, damn it!) so rehearsals were pretty much â€œevery man for himself,â€ for the most part. The best way to describe it is, if one person fucks up, it can look really bad; the best way to remedy that is for everyone to practice on their own â€“ together. It sounds pretty nonsensical to those who havenâ€™t participated in the activity, so just take my word for it.
Around sophomore year, I realized I was depressed, and probably had been for a long while. That probably sounds really fucking weird â€“ how the hell do you not know youâ€™re depressed? But I suppose Iâ€™m an example of how thatâ€™s possible. Things just didnâ€™t interest me anymore. Rehearsals, once exciting, now dragged on endlessly. Schoolwork was boring, etc. And my disability was making it pretty much impossible to be independent â€“ not because of the disability itself, but because of the lack of training to overcome it. I can cook, and get out and about; but things need to be adapted, and I didnâ€™t (still donâ€™t) have the skills to do those things independently. And that was (still is) frustrating beyond comprehension.
Anyway, I trucked on. I went to a college prep program after sophomore year, during the summer, and met some interesting people. One girl in particular was justâ€¦I canâ€™t even describe it. Interesting? Fun? We have a lot of shit in common, at least: similar interests in reading, similar personalitiesâ€¦and it doesnâ€™t really take a genius to figure out what happened. It was an interesting fourteen months (we were friends for about a year before we got together, Iâ€™ll tell you that. The end was not only a surprise/shock; it was hurtful. Itâ€™s only been three months since (not even), and I still feel like someone ran me over with a bus and flattened me like a fucking pancake. All this shit was happening in the first semester of college, and ontop of learning my campus (I still donâ€™t know it), I had to actually, you know, be presentable. Study for exams, and actually act interested; and there wasnâ€™t even marching band or anything to take my mind off of this shit. If possible, I dug myself into an even deeper hole of depression. And that is where I remain, because really I donâ€™t know what there is to do. Maybe it sounds pathetic, or cliche, or any number of other things, but I just donâ€™t give a fuck anymore. I tried to get the training I needed to not have to rely on 50 other people to help me get aroundâ€¦and I ended up not getting the training. I tried focusing on other things to get my mind off of my complete despair, but nothing has worked. Iâ€™m done trying; itâ€™s gone on long enough. I donâ€™t believe in heaven or hell; and I donâ€™t have a gun, unfortunately. I do have a bed sheet and something to tie it to, and itâ€™s one of those really long ones, so it shouldnâ€™t be hard to create a noose to end this thing. As I said, I donâ€™t believe in heaven or hell; rather, I believe that when you die, you simply stop existing. Youâ€™re justâ€¦Gone. I donâ€™t particularly care about the horrific agony I may (or may not) experience â€“ the current agony is probably many many times greater, so with that, I bid farewell. To my family, to those I got to know, to those on this site, and anyone else. Time to go.