I get so down on myself and so completely dismayed at my weakness of fortitude.
If it weren’t for the handful of angels in my life, I’d be looking over a cliff somewhere, biding my time and wrapping up various things in my life before stepping over the edge. The sorrow in my life has been at my side for as long as I can remember, and it just festers and overshadows anything else that tries to emerge as a positive force in my life. A lot of times, it feels like a losing battle and I withdraw into this abyss of madness and horror to which everyone and everything is unable to get through to me. There’s just no break. Even when I lay my head down at night, I dream of the dead, monsters, spiders… and people in my life who I feel are trying to help me, but they always leave me…or I leave them. What the fuck is that supposed to mean?
Sorrow, always my companion, gave birth to this persistent idea of one day taking my own life, and this persistence presented itself in the form of scissors, pills, a balcony, a kitchen knife, alcohol and pills together, and a bathtub. A great escape, because as I’ve touched on before, my weakness of fortitude disgusts me. It is very, very abnormal to have this train of thought—I know this. I don’t know how many people have tried pointing that out to me over the years. You’re not telling this girl anything she doesn’t already know. My favorite call outs, however, are from those who try to pose logical reasoning against my condition of sadness. Sandra, be thankful you have a job. (Oh goodness! This job should make me feel blessed!) You’re so smart and talented with anything you do—you just take so much for granted. (Indeed! How dare I be so ungrateful… What in the world has possessed me?) Sandra, you’re young and beautiful… you have no reason to feel so depressed. And there it is—Reason. What you fail to consider is that a true and visceral sadness follows no basis of reason. Reason does not exist in that place. It all looks so bleak when you finally see it how I know it to be, doesn’t it?
Worry not. I don’t intend for this post to serve as a cry for help, and I certainly don’t hope you think I’m providing some sort of translation key for me as a depressive nut job. I’m just, very objectively, expressing to you how it all turns inside this head of mine. Do I see a point to anything? No, not really. Would I like to see 30 and beyond? I’d like to think so, but do I feel I have a purpose in life? Certainly not. But my plan is to invent one for life’s sake.
This is how I look at it… I can’t get rid of the black space within myself. I’ve tried. I’ve tried speaking to counselors and shrinks. I’ve tried talking it out with those closest to me. I’ve tried pills and drinking… sleeping. Relationships. Religion. Writing… Exercise…talking to myself… The space is rotten and only houses specific dysfunction. I must replace the sadness and inclination to dwell on past circumstances, with something equally deviant. Here it comes… I must replace it with complete and utter disregard for people—friends and family alike—and think only of furthering my own personal desires. I think that a lot of my problems stem from trying to better the circumstances of others or focusing too much on how others perceive me, so this is me throwing my hands in the air and saying, “Fuck it.” It sounds a bit antisocial and perhaps slightly psychopathic, but it seems just crazy enough to me, that it could work.
So before I adopt this heartless new me, if you’re reading this, don’t take my actions going forward as any sort of personal affront. I’m simply tired of myself and how situations blow up whether I go into them with negativity or positive thinking. I’m not trying to be an asshole, but if I need something or want to talk to you, you will know. Some of you may have already detected a change in me… I’ve been inviting the idea for a while now… but most seriously since my 28th birthday blunder a week ago. It was just time to upgrade the crazy. So I’m apologizing to you now. I hope you understand the “reasons” why I feel compelled to make such a change. I’m not a bad person. You’re not bad people. It’s just… we are who we are, and in order to be of any good to others, we must start with taking care of ourselves. I realize what I’m doing will be isolating and that your opinions of me will undergo a great change (or perhaps not), and I’m okay with that. You may in fact think me insane or antisocial… or selfish. Arrogant even, and those thoughts are yours alone. I can accept that, because I just don’t care anymore. I’m tired of pretending to be fine with everything. This is me letting go in an attempt to free myself from the seemingly inherent sadness I’ve always felt. I will see myself emptied to make room for what I truly desire.
Before I leave this life, there are three things I most ardently wish to experience. Firstly, I want to be well-traveled. I want to see the beauty and hardships of the world, and I want to prove to myself that it’s possible to regain some meaningful connection with the world around me. Secondly, I want to stumble upon a love so profound that I forget those troubles that ever occupied my heart and mind. A love so pure and timeless, that eternity itself wouldn’t suffice in marveling at its wonder. Lastly, I hope to one day stare into the beautiful eyes of the little faces that delicately resemble my love and myself. I want to stare into those beautiful, intelligent eyes and know that because they exist, the world is better off.
This is enough for me. This is life.