the house

I’m just going to put this here for me to re-read when I’m at a low point. Kind of as a public time-capsule. Bear with me as it’s going to be a lot about I-Me-My.

I was born to a single mom with a lot of personal issues. She was a pretty promiscuous party girl during my early childhood. She dated, and we lived with a few
different drug dealers before I was even 3, not that I  minded at that age. I temporarily lived with my grandma for a year from 3 to 4. I don’t have any memory of
this but apparently, according to my family who lives by the rules of Lifetime original movie exaggeration, it really bummed me out. When my mom finally took
me back she constantly had new and increasingly more worthless boyfriends. I didn’t mind her dating, honestly. That’s whatever as far as I’m concerned. But early
on some of the guys she would date were abusive towards me both sexually and physically. It was a rough time. Over the course of my childhood, as the oldest, my
mom had five other kids all with different dads. Way to go, someone deserves a gold medal. As I got older, my responsibility to be a surrogate father for my siblings
was increasingly foisted upon me. I hate to be so flowery in my writing, but it’s just my personality, I can’t quite get over it as much as I’m trying to.
My  mom would work all day, party all night and then come home for a few hours. When she was home, she was angsty, angry, tired, and not in the mood for parenting.
Not to say that she didn’t make an effort, we still did fun stuff on occasion like go to the park, eat out, go on drives, etc. She tried. But regardless, the problem wasn’t
when she was there usually. It was when she wasn’t. When she wasn’t there I had to make sure that the house was clean, the kids ate, that they did their homework,
etc. It got to the point where it was beyond babysitting. And I wasn’t skilled in any sense of the word. I didn’t’ realize it but I had some severe emotional problems as a
kid. Things that didn’t make sense until I understood the implications of abuse as a teenager.
I was pretty violent as a kid, I can’t lie. My younger siblings found it hard to comply with me and what I needed them to do, rightfully so, I was barely older than any
of them and sometimes my demands were pretty angry by nature since that’s the only way I had heard them. But I had the responsibility and if I didn’t fulfill it, I was
the one who was punished. So, fastforwarding to this pattern happening for a few months or so, when the- almost said ‘the kids’. When my brothers and sisters didn’t
do what I needed them to, I’d get physically violent with them. Especially my younger brother. I think it was because he was so good and sweet and innocent. In many
ways everything I wished I was at the time. They didn’t deserve it, and I didn’t need to be so aggressive. The punishment wasn’t even that bad in hindsight. I think I just
tricked myself into a low pain threshold and it made me think it was worse than it was at the time.
Eventually, I made it to what in my area, we call intermediate school. It’s a school for just sixth and seventh grade and is intended to prepare kids for middle school.
It was about this time that my whole soul sank into an incalculable depression. Far beyond what I think any kid my age could have imagined. I didn’t know this yet, but
would find out in time, that I also had very bad seizures in my sleep that was adding to the problem by perpetuating a deep fatigue that I couldn’t overcome. Couple this
with insomnia from a time when my mom’s boyfriend came into my room when I was very young. It was a recipe for disaster. My body starts getting all these hormones and
feelings, and I was doing very poorly in school, like straight ‘F’s despite testing the highest in the state every year on end of level testing. I began to dive deep into self loathing.
I didn’t ‘cut’ or anything like that but self harm was a big pass-time of mine when I was done with school. I’d punch myself in the face quite intensely. I think it actually messed
up one of my teeth’s position. I don’t know. I’ll have to talk to a dentist about that I guess. Eventually I got to the point where that wasn’t satisfying (because let’s be real, nobody
wants a bruised mug when they’re at the age when they start to find girls attractive), and I started just unleashing all my aggression on my legs. It’s not really a big deal
for me in an emotional way like it was, but it’s just a part of the story. Eventually I got so completely depressed that I fantasized about dying almost every day. My home life
responsibilities, the piling amounts of work that just never seemed to get done, my mom began to be a lethargic parent, I couldn’t even talk to her. Incidentally, I think that’s
what set me off the most. My mom’s lifestyle caught up with her and she stopped partying but then worked ALL day. Not a big deal, some parents make it work. But what
sucked about it was then when she got home, she just wanted to watch TV in peace. And I didn’t have any other parent, my siblings despised me because of all that I had to
make them do, and because of all the things that I had to do after school I had no friends. And this is no exaggeration, I literally had no friends. It was my emotional 9/11 at that
point. I got so frustrated trying to tell my mom about what I was feeling, I was weeping standing trying to talk to her and she wouldn’t even look at me. She yelled at me and told
me to shut up. I felt so betrayed and alone I ran to the kitchen and grabbed a knife put it to my throat and told her I was going to kill myself. She walked over to me, started shoving
me and kept saying “Do it, *****.” I got so angry. I knew I couldn’t do it at that time. I think I was more worried about getting in trouble than anything else.
I threw the knife on the floor. It missed us both completely and it broke on the floor. She immediately freaked out that the knife was broken and chased me and beat my ass.  I mean,
I probably would have handled it differently, but who’s asking?
My teenage years just got worse. I got to the point where I started praying to the god I don’t believe in to kill me. All day, every day. I had a prayer in my heart that he would take my
life. Just give me an opening. A gun to kill myself, even just the strength to kill myself in any way. I prayed for accidents, for homicidal shooters to come to my school and shoot only
me, etc. Morbid fantasies of a 13 year old. Further becoming an outcast in school due to undeveloped social skills (don’t worry I got much better. 😉 I felt detached and untethered
to my peers. I started seeing the school counselor in secret after I left a note in the suggestions box. We talked from time to time about what was bothering me. But nothing really
ever came of it. She was limited in how much she could ask, and I was limited in how much I could talk about as I knew the consequences would be bad for my family. So it was
just general feelings and how the day was going. This helped tremendously. But eventually, as it so often goes, I had a victim complex as  a kid. And victims attract bullies. I had
a few kids that would find every little thing to poke fun at when I was young and at perhaps my most vulnerable point at the time. I wasn’t a bad looking kid, I’d even actually argue
quite handsome- but my appearance was under the most refined microscope. My eyebrows suddenly became ‘weird looking’ to me. My nose was crooked (I vow on George Washington’s
grave it’s not.) My ears were too big. Suddenly everything about me became repulsive. So on top of my emotional and mental repugnance of myself, I found a way to finally hate the
last thing about myself that I felt was any good. I started writing really lame poetry about how much life sucked. I wish I still had some of it. It was really bad. But it expressed
my feelings at the time that I deserved death. I had alienated everyone I could have had connections with, and had turned against myself. It felt like being trapped in a boxing ring
in a straight jacket with your evil doppelganger.
To be honest, I think that the mentality of a low threshold for pain is what saved me. There were so many times where I thought, ‘Jump in front of this car. Fuck that person.’ or
‘Just slit your own throat. It won’t hurt that bad. And you’ll be dead really fast.’ But my brain kept me going by giving me the best inspiration that a brain can: “Fuck that. That shit
will hurt. Are you out of your mind?”
So I stayed the course. I made it to high school finally. I changed schools to go to a charter school for artists. Not my best decision ever.
It was good to make friends. I finally attained popularity. People thought I was funny, charming and sweet. It felt nice. I questioned why I ever felt poorly in the first place. I fell
in love with a beautiful girl who was very kind herself. She had had a pretty damaged life as well. And I found that very attractive that she was able to overcome that. We went
on a few dates but she still had more challenges to go through in life before we would ever get romantic.
Eventually life catches up. My brain was stuck on this treadmill of failure. My school habits didn’t improve despite the more liberal schedule that I now had. I thought learning
the information was enough. I was wrong. In this school it was in high demand to perform because that’s where the school got its funding as a charter program. So whereas
the public school would have been fine with me failing every course, this school was not. And it became public knowledge as to who was studious, and who was not. So now my
poor habit became a public spectacle. I started noticing how my poor ‘parenting’ skills had affected my siblings. My youngest brother had also become violent. My other brother
now suffered from low self-esteem and depression. My sisters all felt unattractive and worthless. And I know it wasn’t because of my mom, because she wasn’t there. It was me.
Finally I started fully soaking in my guilt and letting it consume my very soul. I didn’t see it how I should have, as a brother in a poor situation, but as a father who had let his
children down. I didn’t do much to correct it either. At 14, I wasn’t in much of a position to anyways.
This pattern continued until eventually I left that highschool and dropped out for a while. My family was struggling financially which was one factor, but a girl falsely accused me
of making a sexual solicitation of her sister (whom I had never met. 😐 ). So I left, and worked for a year at a movie theater I had always wanted to work at. I started dating around
but couldn’t ever take girls to my house. My mom made it explicitly clear that there was to be no dating. Still to this day, I’m clueless as to why. The best I could ever get from that
rule was “Because I said so.” So, if you’ve got puzzle solving skills, please share with me your input on this one.
My boss eventually started to loathe my very being. Still clueless on that one too. But she would constantly berate my performance in front of the other crew and customers. I think
that it was just again, that I had a ‘victim’ mentality and she was a bully. She was perfectly fine to the females but to the males she was a little more cruel but me in particular she
hated. Oh well, she got fired after I quit anyhow.  So, silver linings I guess.
I went back and finished highschool. Pointless exercise in my view. From there I decided that I would go on a two year mission for my church and they sent me to South Africa. I was
19 at this point and was still a little screwy in the head so to speak. I had a lot of personal growing experiences and talked to thousands of people, and got to see a side of life I hadn’t
seen before. But it came at a cost. I was in the Johannesburg area which was the violent crime capital of the world at that point. I saw a lot of violence there. But our instruction was
to not intervene for our own safety. I felt so guilty about not helping so many people. People who were raped, murdered, robbed, or beaten in public. There wasn’t much I could have
done, but I would have killed to do anything to help. I personally was only robbed about 6 or seven times. It’s been about two years since then, so I don’t remember all of them. But
I remember getting so depressed, even though there were a lot of people I was helping, building homes, cleaning, doing service opportunities, visiting hospitals, I felt like it wasn’t
even a drop in the bucket against all the violence. I remember thinking that I could just try to stop one crime. And if I die, I die. I didn’t care. But we had a companion or a fellow
missionary with us at all times. So, I thought better of it and decided not to make that move.
I eventually got home, and within the week that I had returned to the United States, my dog of six years passed away. It sucked but I powered through it. I moved in with my
friends and we shared a three bedroom apartment. I was working a job where my boss thought I was genuinely retarded despite the fact that I questioned if she had had atypical
autism. I- I don’t even know what more to say about that. But around summer of last year, my sister was killed in an automotive accident where her boyfriend drove drunk over
a cliff and killed her. He was totally fine. Yes, totally fine. I had met him before and he offered me drugs when I dropped her off. As fatherly as I could have been, I let her make her
own decisions but I told her that I didn’t approve. She obviously didn’t care what I thought, and I don’t blame her. I was a pretty shitty brother most of her life. Like grade D Douchebag.
When she passed, I was so consumed with guilt, rage, and grief. I felt like it should have been me. I was the one praying for death. I had wanted it so long and she had so much more
life in her than I did. I felt it was a cruel joke. My work didn’t really care. They gave me 2 and 1/2 days off of work to grieve. They basically said, “Sorry dude. That sucks. But we have
to move on and keep working or life falls apart.” Yeah, that’s true. I dont’ disagree. But two and a half days? Come the fuck on. That’s garbage. Especially considering that my mom
was so devastated that I basically had to take care of the funeral and the emotional strong front by myself. Which was just additional stress to the living situation with my roommates.
My roomates kept making it all about them and their plans and how they felt. Again, I was totally swamped with loneliness. Thanks guys.
My sister didn’t deserve to die. And her boyfriend should have gone to jail. But my mom in her hallmark movie mentality thought it would be better if he didn’t go to jail. Despite the
fact that this was his third time doing this exact thing, only this time, he killed somebody.
It was ironic, because my whole life, I was under more scrutiny by her for less, than this guy who had now essentially murdered her daughter. My brain gets into a twister even thinking
about it.
I started dating that girl from Highschool that I told you about after the funeral. It was great at first. We had everything in common and she seemed pretty affectionate.
Eventually I found out that she’s crazy and has some weird emotional hangups. We stopped seeing eachother, and I started living in a hotel. I hooked up with this girl I had known
back when I was a teenager. We went to the bar, made out, and had a good night. I didn’t pursue it further, but it’s mostly because I’ve got this crazy thing called depression going on.
It was about this time that I started noticing I have a pretty severe form of PTSD. I didn’t like being out in public as it gave me pretty hardcore anxiety.
Living in the hotel, I started planning how to commit suicide. I had mapped it out. I was going to go to the shooting range, rent a gun for the day and when I was done (because I wanted
to get my money’s worth) I’d turn it on myself. Flawless plan, poor execution on my part. I made a few goodbye videos. And by a few, I mean, one addressed individually to each member
of my family , one to each member of my ex girlfriend’s family, and one (actually the first one I made) to a girl who had been my best friend for a few years.
I started dating the girl that I had made the goodbye video for and it totally changed my life. I started feeling self esteem again, and started working a lot harder to overcome my PTSD.
It was great. Eventually she left me, and I don’t blame her. I brought a lot of baggage to the relationship and nobody needs to deal with that. Also, I hope nobody is stupid enough
to say, “What a *****.” I’ve heard that a lot since we broke up and it’s just not true. She’s probably the nicest girl I’ve ever dated. And she tried to help me probably  more than anyone
in my life ever has. Really, that responsibility falls to me to make it work and I didn’t. I bought an engagement ring, and I was working towards getting a home loan so that we could
get a starter house and get married. I’m glad she had the courage to end it when she did though. It’s helped me a lot to have the extra spare time I need to transform as a person.
However, the loneliness, has made it very hard for me to even consider living. I spend probably most of my day when I’m not working, or staying busy (I’ve been staying busy a lot more
lately as I don’t need to spend a lot of time talking to her) in a very emotional place. I’ve caught myself crying myself to sleep most nights, haunted by all my past mistakes. I’ve tried
distracting myself but it only makes my insomnia worse. I realize that it’s not going to help anyone if I kill myself. But I’ve noticed that this time around, that she was the only thing
that stopped me last time. And I let myself make that mistake. I should have stopped myself just because I wanted to live. But I didn’t. And I guess now that she’s gone, it’s like my
safety net is gone.  I would never kill myself over a breakup. That’s stupid. It’s more like, I’ve always wanted to kill myself and finally, I have everything I need to make it happen.
But I don’t really know what I want anymore. I really don’t want to live. That much is obvious. But I don’t know if I want her to feel like she could have done more.
I really don’t care too much about how anyone else would take it. I have a pretty well worded suicide note that I feel like makes it impossible for anyone to feel bad about my
decision. But I know that no matter how well worded my note is, and no matter how much sense it makes, she will blame herself. That’s just her personality.
She’s blocked me on all social media and I even think she blocked my number (maybe out of guilt? We broke up on good terms so that’s the only thing that makes sense to me)
so there’s a good chance she may not even know about it until later. But I don’t want to risk it and have her feel that guilt. I was thinking about waiting a month or two more and
when she’s feeling a little more adjusted, hitting that gun range up.
I figure she’ll probably still feel a little guilt, but unlike if I were to do it now, she’ll be able to get over it eventually.
And before anyone starts spouting off absolutes like, “No matter when you do it, they’ll never get over it.” I want to let you know, affirmatively, that you are 100% wrong.
People move on. You can still feel a little bad about it later. But not guilty. Not shameful. The timing is everything. And I also think it’s funny when people use absolutes
as if they’ve actually acquired the data necessary to make such claims. I know you haven’t. So speaking as if you have only turns me off to everything else that you can say.
By the way, I’m a suicidal asshole, so that’s a pretty hard combo to reason with.
This isn’t me sharing a method of suicide or a plan to commit suicide. I’m still undecided and I’m not looking for input to help me commit suicide. Like I said, it’s a time capsule. I’d
like to be able to come back and read my story again. If people want to share their thoughts, it’s a public forum so they’re more than welcome to.

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