Lack of Feeling….and a Bully.

I have not really been in a writing mood as of late. This is not to say that anything is extremely wrong. This is also not to say that anything is extremely right. The last time I saw my psychiatrist – to be honest – I had a really hard time getting the right words (any words) out of my mouth. It’s almost as if my brain and my mouth could not connect, and I was completely stuck in time. Truthfully, I don’t – right now – know exactly how I feel. Good things have happened. Bad things have happened. I guess the easiest response to anyone really is to say I feel numb or flat. It is true, and it is a little easier than saying I am okay with getting hit by a train.

Recently, an old friend – JNLC – and a really amazing person from a past life connected and worked with JH, my sister and my best friends to put together an incredibly meaningful slideshow. The slideshow depicted people from all of my past lives (high school, university, etc.) encouraging me to live and to fight through suicide. Normally, if I was in the right frame of mind, I would have cried a lot harder and felt a lot more emotion. Yet, a few tears fell semi-willingly from my eyes in the middle, and overall, I felt afterwards that I did not actually feel enough to begin with. To be blunt, I felt kind of dead inside watching the entire dedication of love and care. And truthfully, that horrified me. Later onwards, I ironically broke down because I felt like, in a moment like that, if I could not bring myself to feel, when could I ever bring myself to feel ever again. Honestly, every day it feels like I am going through the motions, and I am not soaking anything in anymore. My spirit, if it was there, is crushed up in the littlest of pieces. I am not sure if I am depressed, but I must be, because I honestly do not care if I live or die. I do not know what my place is on earth, and I feel like I have honestly and brutally lost the will to be somebody or anybody. Honestly, if I die tomorrow, I think I will look from above or below – and be okay with it. Truthfully, now and then the suicidal ideations have come back. I am still overdosed, drowning in a bathtub. But, this time around, I am wearing a new dress as if it is my watery grave, and I am clutching my favourite childhood toy –a pink bunny. The bathtub fits me perfectly. The suicidal ideations are still strong some days, and I guess it’s a bit horrifying. I walk past my bathroom and feel instant goosebumps up and down my arms.

Funny thing is that I have been given several self-help book recommendations and nothing is resonating with me – anything from the meaning of life, battling a battle, to mindfulness. I read the words, and feel and absorb nothing. In my mind – a hobby will not help; a sport will not help; a job change will not help; at this point, even leaving Toronto on some dreamer volunteering expedition probably will not help even though I love both travelling and volunteering. I find it funny that I could actually think (I do not) that something as little as reading a book, or baking a cake or running a race could actually help me be happy and want to live. This is just hilarious though, because I just am not feeling anything about anything. For some reason, my psychiatrist seems to think this is a good thing. Maybe being in a place stationary without any change will help me gain a sense of calmness – a state of meditative peace. When I bring up the suicidal ideations, she likes to talk of this experiment that was conducted over the Golden Gate Bridge. My focus is a bit off on the details since my focus is off in general, but the point of the story is that a number of people attempted committing suicide, and there were EMT teams congregated at the bottom, so the survival rate increased. All of those who survived said they were grateful to have survived. So…….I have survived two overdoses now, and I am not 100 percent sure I am grateful for anything. I feel sometimes that I wish I never awoke, and I stayed in the hallucinogenic hell. That sounds awful right – I am apologetic but it is how I feel. My mind is distorted because I am pretty sure that if I go, everyone in my life, JH especially, can start over, though in actuality, it probably will be some reverse situation for a while. I know it’ll be fucked up at first, but like with everything, it just takes time. I can be forgotten. So, the nightmarish world is back in many ways. I am just waiting for the accompanying rib-breaking tears to take over the nothingness. Oh yes, and temptations with my favourite razor to feel some warranted pain. It’ll come – I know it will.

Today’s story is a short one. This is mostly because I forgot most of the details, but it is important, because it was the one and only time I was bullied, and I truly think in some ways this was my first real interaction with depression. I was 14 – this was Grade 9. I can barely remember what I wore to work yesterday – so sue me for forgetting the details. Anyways, for most of elementary school, I was overprotected (the story – told a million times already), and my main focuses were primarily on school work and piano. For a lovely year in Grade 8, there was a boy, but I was never allowed to leave the house, so my main focuses were still around school work and piano. In Grade 9, all my girlfriends from elementary school disbanded, and we went to different high schools. So, I had to start over. The focus was still on school work and piano, but I had time too to make friends, especially on the bus. Making friends was exciting – whether it was with boys or girls. This was the height of ICQ, and at some point, it felt like every day in the evening, it was a juggling act of keeping as many conversations going as possible. Funnily enough, it seemed that everyone asked each other out – it was like an incestuous pool of dating except for those who kept their significant others from elementary school.

I am not 100 percent sure what happened, maybe because I instinctively try to block it hard out of my memory, but I started talking to and subsequently after – dating a boy named JR (who by the way is now a girl). I don’t exactly remember how long I dated him, but there was a group movie involved where I gave him a sad kiss (my first sad kiss), twirl-dancing in the school hallway, hand-holding in IB English class, and just a subsequent generic boy-girl high school relationship that involved a lot of teenage pubescent affection, but then an abrupt dramatic break-up at the back of the school field. If I remember correctly, his mom did not really like me anyways. Unlike my Grade 8 boy, my mom never knew JR even existed. He was that unimportant. At the end of the day, I found him to be too feminine (rightfully so), and rather annoyingly sensitive.

Anyways, after a little while, JR dated again. RS was as different from me as you could possibly imagine. She was your extremely extroverted punk-rock gothic girl, who for all I know could have been from the wrong sides of the track. She might have had a really bad family situation which is why she was so angry – I just do not know. She was super tall, wore vintage glasses, furry backpacks, and had funky red hair usually swept up in Princess Leia side-buns. We were in the same music class, and sometimes my eyes strayed towards her out of curiosity. She was the new girlfriend after all. We would engage in pretty intense staring contests, in which she would say to her friend loud enough for me to hear – “wtf is that bitch staring at me”?   I do not know why I allowed these staring contests to continue, but they sometimes occurred in the lunch hall as well. I was drawn to this girl for some reason, and I am not sure why. I broke up with JR, so there was no reason really to analyze RS. There was one time we passed each other in the hallway, and she abruptly knocked into me. She laughed. I tried to ignore it.

The tipping point came near the end of Grade 10. She cornered me in an empty hallway one day and said something incredibly horrifying about my relationship with JR. Wildest thing is that she kept a completely straight face while saying it. She stood there and stared at me while I ran away dejected. The whole school found out what she had said in its full story form shortly after. I ended up moving schools for Grade 11 and 12 – for peace, to start over and to focus on school. The rumors were just too much, and I was started to get really depressed. I felt weak, and at some point, decided that David just does not beat Goliath. I remember coming home from school every day crying because I was afraid of what this girl was going to do next. My parents never knew about the bullying and just assumed that I was ready to give into their desires for me to go to this gifted high school closer to home, which was their original choice for me anyways.

Several years later, in university, RS found me on Facebook and apologized. I forgave her because there was no point in holding a grudge against her. High school was over and I had moved on. But I’ll always remember her as a demon….my demon. Social media bullying is crazy these days, and I wonder what would have happened to me if I met RS in high school in this day and age. Maybe I would have committed suicide sooner. Who knows. Anyways, in some ways I thank RS, because I met some really great friends at my next high school that I may have never done so otherwise. I was always afraid that rumors would follow me to the next high school, but they didn’t, so I truly got to start over, and start over in peace. So, maybe things are supposed to happen for a reason. Short story, but the point I am trying to make today is that things do happen for a reason – and that includes what happens with my life. That, and I really just wanted to rant nonsensically for 20 minutes or 30 minutes – I forget. I apparently could not write. But, I guess I could write – unstructured. I am not sure how many of these were actually proper sentences.

Anyways – that’s it for today. The nonsensical rant is finished.

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