Stop, Drop, and Roll (Part 2)

Starting where we left off-

I had three relationships during this period of my life. During high school. I learned many things, but they were not... healthy.

In the first of these relationships, it was with a girl who shared some of my humor. But, it lasted two whole weeks. It was a relationship in name only to me. We were not romantic, and I didn't feel like she was looking for anything like that. She wanted someone to light-heartedly joke with- to watch TV with. I wanted someone to cuddle with. Romance was the only thing I had hope in at this point to make me see good in the world. It wasn't working. After an awkward twenty minute phone call in which no words were said beyond "should we break up?" our relationship was over. It was around this time that the first thoughts of suicide plagued my mind. I was not happy with life, so there was no reason to continue, right?

At the height of this depression, I was questing after a younger woman who had caught my eye. She didn't go to the same school, but she had a few friends that I knew. I pursued her briefly before learning that she was interested in someone else who had a far more troubled past than mine. My depression grew.

A woman slightly older than me who I'd met through a different friend had become interested in me, and out of self-pity, I latched on. She provided the relationship I had been seeking. She was very attractive too, but I couldn't appreciate her as she was because she wasn't my first choice. She caught me as I was falling and tried to provide a real relationship... But, I wasn't ready for a real relationship. I ignored her, shunned her, and I was incredibly passive aggressive towards her. I was emotionally abusive without realizing it. And still, she stayed with me because a flare of my softer, kinder side would escape. I was just good enough to keep her until she went to college. Even then, she tried to maintain a long-distance relationship with me. I tried to break up with her, but I couldn't commit to it. The fact of the matter is that I used her. Where she wanted a real partner, I could only provide a physical commitment. She escaped when she found someone else in college. I didn't come to fully regret my actions for several years...

After half a year of my depression growing again, I asked out the cashier at the Blockbuster near where I worked. We had hit it off and decided to date. Even after I found out she smoked both cigarettes and weed, I tried to maintain the relationship, largely out of loneliness. I never grew up around smoke, so it was a new reason to hate the world. Smoke gave me horrible headaches and my immune system wasn't prepared to filter it properly. I got sick immediately. But, I stayed anyway. I tried to get over the disgust I had for smoke. She made me feel wanted- something I needed. However, a few months down the road, and I knew I couldn't keep going. I was making everything worse by continuing it. She wouldn't let me break up with her though. Ironically enough, she broke up with me a week later, citing the reason that I'm not a smoker. The exact reason I wanted to break up with her.

It wasn't long after that that I met one of the biggest problems in my life. She worked at a game store I frequented. The summer before I left for college, I hosted weekly tournaments at the game store, just to do something with my time. I crushed on her pretty quickly and found out through my friend that she responded in kind. The first week of flirting was great- just what I needed. A relationship I could get into without sacrificing my health or sanity. A relationship I could be happy in. I'm probably lucky that it never actually became a relationship.
After the first week, she stopped returning most of my texts, calls, or messages of any kind. It was only when I saw her in the store that I had consistent contact with her. She would occasionally message me out of the blue, often complaining that I didn't try to talk to her anymore. She claims it was her phone's fault. However, the trend continued for over a month. I finally confronted her after work one night, and she promised to tell me everything after meeting her friend in another store. I waited outside for half an hour. She didn't respond to my messages. I didn't see her inside, so I wandered outside and sat on a bench overlooking the river. Another half hour went by before she hurried past me, crying. She refused to stop to talk to me. The trend persisted. I only found out shortly before leaving for college that it was because I was going off to college that she had flaked out on me. She apologized and promised to try to stay in contact.
The contact was just as sporadic as ever. I often tried to confront her about my reservations and concerns. She never responded to my confrontations. Or my ultimatums. And still, I couldn't let myself walk away. I was never strong enough. So I let her continue to put me through purgatory. Eventually, the messages stopped. I let myself ease out of it, and she didn't seem to care... Until on day in class when I got a text from her with a fierce apology. She wanted to talk to me again.

Like an idiot, I caved in. Spring Break was coming up, and I used that as a "now or never" with her. She put off seeing me the entire week. Didn't respond. It had all fallen apart again... Until the last day of the break. "Thanks for being so nice to me when no one else would. Goodbye." The text woke me up and dropped my heart into my stomach. I texted back. Called her. Called her again... over and over. Nothing. I was terrified. I had no clue what to do, I was only 19 and I'd never dealt with depression on the other end before. Agonizing minute after minute passed.
Then I made the decision. I hastily looked through my phone and brought up the address she had sent me before. I called 911 for the first and last time in my life up to this point and told them I thought my friend had hurt herself. I spent the next several hours wondering what happened.
My mother was about to drive me back to college and offered to stop at her house along the way. I don't know what exactly I was expecting, but I wanted closure, so I went.
She was on her computer in a bath robe, pale and looking very ragged. She didn't speak to me, so I left. I received a text later that night that only said "Thank you."
I have had no contact with her since.

I realize the irony of trying desperately to prevent someone from committing suicide (even someone who did nothing but lead me on in an indecisive plea for attention) and then becoming depressed with thoughts of suicide. 

--------

Leaving the romance, let me explain how college began for me and how I gained back some hope and joy for a few years.

Freshman year at Transylvania University was an extension of my high school life. I skipped classes out of boredom and I wasn't often interested in empathizing with other people. My cynicism towards others had lasted well into the year. I spent much of my time shut up in my room, not daring to go out and try to make friends. I fear that the room being occupied the vast majority of the time made my roommate less than excited to go back to the room most of the day. In fact, even now I fear my stagnancy causing this reaction in those around me. However, it's entirely possible that it's merely my self-consciousness convincing me that people notice more than they really do.
I was still neck-deep into a deep enthrallment with World of Warcraft at the time (MMOs were one of the few ways that I still connected with both of my brothers, given the distance between us), so my lack of a social life didn't present too many problems. However, I was still unhappy, and my temperament was savage. Only towards the end of the year did I start pursuing a more active social life.

Sophomore year is when my life picked back up. I had a living situation I was happy with and a small collection of friends. Furthermore, my roommate dragged me out of the apartment so that I could try to get to know people more with him. This was also the year I started Transy's Gaming Society in order to share my hobby of strategy games with people who were interested, which was actually a fair number of people. Gaming Society would become the event that kept me grounded throughout the rest of college. Through even the bad times, our Game Nights remained a bastion of nerdy togetherness that made me feel acceptable as a human.

Junior year was a little different. My rooming situation was that I effectively lived alone as a result of me pushing away my roommate. Try as he might, I never gave my roommate of that year a fair shake of things. I had an unnatural and possibly artificial inability to be around him for any length of time, and I always felt terrible about it. Because of this, my at-home time became less important and more bland to me, while my time with Gaming Society and friends became more important and more consuming. Still, I was largely happy. The largest hiccup in the year could be pinpointed around the time of midterms, where a large stress bubble burst, leaving me unable to eat for several days (the consequence being that I got to bail off of the terrible college meal plan though!)

Senior year. This is where the fun really kicked back up. Over the summer leading up to the school year, I had been drifting in and out of a depressive mindset, ready to get back to school so that I could be comfortable again. However, in the meantime, I'd been talking to a longtime friend (one of those friends-for-life I'd mentioned earlier) about my feelings towards her. Without delving into too much backstory, there was always something simmering just under the surface with us- or at least, that's how I perceived the situation. This was the summer that I was finally told that there was nothing. I hadn't correctly predicted how much that eventuality would affect me, so I was not at all prepared for the onslaught of suicidal thoughts that hit me all at once over the course of a few days.
I was proud of my individuality. In my cynicism, I began to seek help from myself and seldom anyone else. And here I was so easily broken. I needed someone- for the first time, I thought I might not actually be able to live through the night if I couldn't talk to someone. I was already on my way out the door without a word to anyone. It was the middle of the night and I was walking with such purpose even though I couldn't have been less certain of anything than at that moment. Luckily, someone was there to talk me through it. I've assumed since then that I'm being a burden to anyone that I share my intimate problems with. Whether or not it's true, this event made me afraid to let down any of the weight on my shoulders- a weight that would begin to crush me throughout the next year.

Once school started, I was able to kick back into the swing of things, although I pursued a relationship far sooner than I should have. I wasn't ready, and I shouldn't have convinced anyone that I was. (But then... I still don't think I'm ready, and here I am with a wonderful woman to whom I owe my sanity.) My depression continued fading as my living situation proved to be enjoyable, active, and entertaining. But then winter hit and my suicidal thoughts began returning piecemeal. One after another without justification. My depression flared, and it wasn't until after a particularly nasty weekend that I found out why. The weekend in question had some of the worst suicidal ideation I'd experienced (though it wasn't as bad as the summer night). I conceded to receiving school therapy which answered some initial questions I had while merely reinforcing other deep-seated convictions.

I was terrified of growing up. I am terrified of growing up.

I've never been able to distance my perspective from a greater-picture style pattern of thought. I see top-down over the course of my short life rather than first-person, viewing the world as it comes to me.
So, to me, growing up means getting a 9-5 job that I'll have for several decades doing work that I find unhelpful to society at large, scraping together just enough cash to live. I do this for 50 more years, before I retire. When I retire, I won't have the energy to pursue anything I truly feel is very valuable. I will whither and slowly die under the weight of the immense nothing that I've truly accomplished. I will get stuck. Forced to do something day in and day out, unable to appreciate some of the strongest irresponsible joys ever again.

Along the same mindset, the nature of political struggle looks equally grim. It takes immense movements and untold energy from the public to stop career politicians from pushing a bill that they don't understand. A bill that they can rename and bring back up with a fraction of the energy used to combat the bill. These same career politicians can also be replaced with that untold energy to be replaced by a new politician, uncorruptable by the evils of the system... until someone flashes a wad of money their way.
In short, it takes a nuclear detonation's worth of energy to close an anthill. And a new anthill simply opens up a few feet away. It takes decades of work to change anything socially meaningful, like gay rights. But a new group to persecute is simply brought up in their stead. And after all's said and done, so much remains left no matter how far we travel. Even now, the election addresses some key differences between the candidates, and yet, both of the only two candidates who could win are pro-Israel, pro-interventionism, pro-war, pro-drug-war. A lifetime of struggle can bring about so little change.

From a broad perspective, we really are tiny, insignificant creatures.
It seems so... pointless.
Not just pointless, but downright unpleasant in a certain light.

Logically, I'm aware this isn't the case, however, my brain has gone to all-out civil war with itself over the matter. The result is that I'm being bogged down by a crippling anxiety to enter the workforce- to even finish my resume. I am fatigued constantly, and I'm prone to wild mood swings.

The time in between this realization and the end of my college career led to a steady increase in my depression

Now, I've moved into an apartment with one of the few good friends I have in the area. Many of the people I counted as close friends are still somewhere around, but I don't see them anymore. Life just seems to be taking hold of everyone. I've stopped seeing people regularly and my anxieties about the "real world" have jerked with my confidence about leaving at all. It's now the rare occasion that I visit Transy's campus to see old friends. But then... what would I do even if I went more often? I'm not a conversationalist. And I can only justify sitting in silence with people for so long before I get self conscious. My board gaming hobby has basically died altogether. I have no one to play them with. The rare time there are enough people, no one seems to have the energy anyway, least of all myself. It's just another part of my life that I wish had continued, but I can't seem to make it... There are game stores in the area that hold game nights occasionally, however, after attending a few, it became clear that most of the people weren't people with whom I shared much. They were older, more competitive. It seemed like that was their way of escaping the "real world" as well. Just that they were so focused on escaping, they hadn't realized that their hobby was now something they were forcing. I didn't belong there. I still wanted to enjoy the hobby. I didn't want it to just be an escape.

Everything seems to be falling apart at the seems. The long and delightful narrative I had convinced myself of is melting.

I pretend I'm better at things than I really am. Writing. Acting. Storytelling. Strategy. Debate. Being a good person. I'm not really great at most things. I have the curse of being mediocre or good at most things, and truly amazing at nothing. I can do many things I put my mind to, but I can do so few of them to an exceptional degree. And I have the curse of being unable to turn off my mind, so even when I am good at something, I second guess myself. I second guess everything around me- a tendency that has nearly sabotaged every relationship I've ever been in. Along with this, my brain's activity refuses to let me sleep. I have to sit for hours in silence before I can get to sleep- But let me clarify, this is not useful silence, this is silence where I'm contemplating all of the terrible things in my life and my relationships. This is silence where I can convince myself that I'm scum of the earth and no one is there to tell me otherwise. This is silence where the best I can do is creating elaborate fantasies where I have super powers. Fantasies where I'm not living the life I am here. Fantasies where I've escaped and I'm unique- special- powerful.
But I'm not. With my eyes to the clouds, I'm a dreamer facing a common depression born of common fears, and I'm too weak to step up and face it properly. I'm too scared to conquer these fears and frustrations

It's a weekly occurrence that I envision my death. Perhaps not in a way that suggests I have the intention of hurting myself, but in a longing way that whispers kind promises into my ear. Slipping into an infinite quiet in which my brain no longer troubles me. In which I no longer have to worry about society's expectations for me for many decades to come. A state of nirvana that affords me the chance to sleep. To rest. To finally stop my obsessing and worrying. There's so much happening- too much. The amount of noise in the world hurts and I find myself unable to concentrate. And it's only getting worse. I shudder to think about the next generation of children that will have to take the world we dump onto them- a world of filth. A broken world with little hope for repair and the only solution proposed is to "find a new world."
My heart hurts. Not all the time. It's not even common. But the pain is unbearable and the resounding truth rings quietly persistently in my head... "I am not happy." I am not a happy human being, and I cannot seem to bring myself to try to find what would make me happy. I have no motivation, and if I did, I would have no energy. If I had energy, I would have no plan. If I had a plan, it would rely on chance or it would be impractical. The options are daunting and the weight on my shoulders is great, such that I am simply tired.

I am tired and self conscious. I have convinced myself that in my mere two decades of life, I have not put more into the world than I have taken out. I have done more harm than good. I have left few lasting and good impressions on my fellow humans. It hurts and it's only going to get worse.
This is what my brain has deemed to be the truth. The simple joys of life invisible to me, I've become too tired to be productive or useful. I am confused, hurt, tired, and unable to understand others. Unable to understand the world.
I've been able to retain my last shreds of sanity thanks to the escape that video games and cartoons provide, and I've been able to retain my sanity thanks to my girlfriend who has been supportive throughout this process- who has not wavered and who has not allowed me to sabotage our relationship.
I wish I could appreciate it more, and I suspect I will in time.
But right now...

In this moment,

I would like nothing more than to sleep...

And sleep...

And sleep.


So I will nap, and I will hope to wake up when I'm not sad anymore. But I've forgotten how to be happy... so that may take a while...

-
Wade

I appreciate the words of supportive some have given me, but this chronicle has been laid out for me. I felt that I needed to write my story and my feelings down. I do not have insurance, and I would not have the motivation to seek a therapist who could only tell me what I already know.
I know that this is a rough patch.
I know that this is not all there is to life.
I know that there is light ahead or that the night is darkest before the dawn or whichever idiom you choose.
I know that my situation is not among the worst in the world and I know that many around me share similar fears and burdens.

This does not make my hurt less real to me, and I assure you that it is very real.


EDIT:
.... I sincerely apologize for the length of this monster...