I used to swear up and down that I'd never live to be 24. Now I'm 25. I remember roughly upwards of 20 suicide attempts. I remember popping pills like crazy to stay awake and study obsessively, then taking downers just to sleep on the weekends. There were times, when honestly, I wouldn't eat. For days. I got so desperate that I drank cooking wine when I was 18. Other times, I'd drag myself out of the house just to buy a case of lager which I'd drink alone in my room until I burst into tears thinking that there was no way on earth that anyone could ever love me, when I couldn't even love me.
Yeah, being young, hurts that fucking much. It is NOT the best time of your life. It's genuinely the hardest. Later on, we can put on brave faces and be extremely strong if we let ourselves be, if we willingly recall the things we learned and conquered in the past.
There were days, when I couldn't get out of bed in the morning. Especially those bright, annoyingly sunny days. Yes. Annoyingly sunny, because no matter how bright it was outside, my insides felt corroded and like a window taped up and guarded to avoid all light. I hated sunny days for all of the wrong reasons. It reminded me of everything I couldn't have.
Imagine standing on a platform waiting for a train so you can go to school, when you're 18 and picturing throwing yourself in front of the train. Imagine actually STARTING TO DO IT. That was me. I was the girl who would quietly step up really close to the edge and beg for an ounce of "bravery" to make that jump. Same with balconies, cliffs, and trying to drown. People who say suicide is the easy way out, have no idea what goes through our heads while we consider it. "How much will the funeral cost my family?", "what... what about my TURTLES?", "god, did I pick the right underwear?". Trivial as these thoughts might be, they signify the exact feeling of abandonment that is lurking inside. The thought about costing your family money, it means feeling like a burden. The turtles? They're the only thing that I thought loved me. The underwear? Well that should be obvious. Societal standards, the judgement, the idea of being naked to anyone who is trying to figure out exactly how you died and having them judge you for wearing the wrong knickers. They are acute fears that provide a weak and fragile tie to reality and to life.
I have an ex, who once badgered me like crazy to find out why I cried so much. It was always like some odd twisted situation with us. He wanted to believe he could cure me. He came from a military family, his dad was supposedly hard on him and his brother. Since he kept badgering, I finally answered. He couldn't handle it. The more I cried, the colder and more distant he became. After a two hour explanation of the entirety of my life until that point, he just.... hung up the call. I freaked out assuming it was my fault, as usual, and called back to apologize. We tried to reconnect our relationship twice after that, when suddenly on Valentines day, after a $300 gift of lilies and chocolates (I'm allergic to chocolates but it's the thought that counts right?) he told me that he couldn't love me anymore. That I had left a big black hole where his heart used to be. That I had killed his faith in humanity. After that, what could I say? I simply accepted it. After our conversation was over, I ran to my mother in tears, and in front of her and my father, I cried out this vicious gutteral sob "He left me, he really left me. He said he can't love me" and sobbed in front of my father. Over a guy. One thing my father cannot handle, is watching me cry in that much pain.
As tough as my dad is, he got choked up and had to rub his face to erase the pained expression on it, and he walked out of the house to let my mother and I talk. Talk about what though? All I could do was lay in my bed where she placed me, and sob while clutching my blankets.
Sharing this, after some time, got easier. I took it as a learning lesson. I will never forget it either.
No one can be expected to save you from yourself. That role, it falls on you. This doesn't mean you should ever give up. In fact, it means that you have to NOT give up. To prove that wannabe hero wrong. That you are indeed quite lovable. That you aren't a waste of space and affection. Most of all, if you don't give yourself the chance to reach the next step in your life, how can you expect anyone to want to give up their life time to be with you? Or even an ounce of their life time?
It sure as hell is not easy to love yourself. I don't love myself yet. I'm liking myself a little more each day though. I don't even consider daydreaming about dying. There's no point in it when there are over 180 countries on this planet, over 6 billion people to meet, over a billion varieties of foods to try, of movies to watch, of LIFE to experience. How can you possibly tell yourself that you don't deserve to live? You only get to say that after you've met at least 3 billion of those 6.5 billion people, tried at least 1/7th of the foods in this world, watched a shitload of amazing films, read as many novels as your hands can aquire, and seen at least 3 countries besides your own. Why? You're probably wondering why the hell Princess Plutonia would EVER say such random things.
I'll tell you why. Because the second that you think "this is all there is and ever will be, so I should just die." is the same fucking second that I would tell you "pick up your bags, we're going on a road trip. you're not dying on me today."
So to anyone who reads this, to anyone feeling alone and sad, and abandoned. I will tell you this much. Your turtles haven't abandoned you, the yummy food is waiting, and there are 3 billion people out there, waiting to shake your hand. Greet your new horizons, pack the bags, and always press forward. Turn around to wave goodbye briefly, but don't tether yourself to the pain in your past. Just use the little happiness that existed there, to keep you fueled long enough to find more of it.
I'm passing the metaphorical bread around the table so take a bite.
Always,
Princess Plutonia
No comments:
Post a Comment