"Loneliness is what's killing us all underneath, that combined with the notion we can never be good enough. And both aren't our fault. Let's change that together."
Hello you beautiful soul,
So here it comes, the blog some of you have been waiting for. So many questions I've created, so much sorrow I have caused. Just because I was f*cked up and thought life was fucked up. Before I will take you on a journey along my darkest path, I want you to know everythin written here is in a way the truth. It may not all be based on facts, but it were or are my feelings. And therefore for me, they are real.
Come and take this road with me...
All my life I have felt like I wasn't normal, or at least that's how I remember it to be. In elementary school was the first time I felt sad and left out. I think it was in my third year, when a girl in my school was being left out, and I stood up for her. It was then I realised how cruel humans or in this case children could be. Personally I am a very social person who is capable of making friends easily. But through time I came to the conclusion that 'easy made, easily broken' is as true as it can be.
Often I have memory flashbacks of those days. I remember crying for no reason in my 4th year because I didn't feel ok. I remember being left out in my 6th year because I couldn't go to someone's birthday. And I remember being the last one chosen from my class when our class learned how to slow dance with each other. But above all I remember being able to feel the emotions of other persons. When my best friend was sad, when a nearby stranger was upset, so was I. I felt the compelling need to comfort that person, to take away the pain they felt. Because I felt it too, and too loud. And I remember feeling odd because I'd rather play with the boys than with the girls. Because the boys in my class were (too) honest and girls tend to gossip and categorise too quickly. Or so I thought at that moment. And to make it all a little bit more complicated I was being approached by a pedophile, which left a scar. Allready feeling a little bit left out I left my old school after 6 years, believing I was ready for highschool.
Then through high school, I started to loose control over my emotions. Puberty kicked me in the butt and I felt more and more socially awkward. I think it is normal to feel that way at that age or at least I hope that it is. But the six years I spend in that school were the death of me. I won't adress what happened in my puberty and adolescence in this blog but here are the things you should know.
Being bullied for 6 years, escpecialy when the used method is social isolation, leaves huge wounds and has a huge influence on the how your brain thinks. Another lesson learned here is that teachers are responsible for 50%, if not more of your upbringing. And they should not or never encourage bullying , deny it or put all the blame on the vitim. And everything hurtful teachers say has an influence throught the rest of your life.
Six years of this is too much, for anyone to bear.
(Little shoutout too Florence + The Machine for this beautiful song!)
The fact that I simply care too much about anyone, plus the fact that I was bullied and the fact that I was raped a few times in high school made it so that by the time I left, I left broken. The last year was a struggle to the death for me. Thinking multiple times over the years I was going to kill myself. But never had the guts to do it. Thanks to the wondrous friends I made in the Hardcore scene, combined with my overromantical idea of love and enough lovers at hand. I survived.
By surviving this daily battle, I thought things couldn't get worse. And that the outside world couldn't be as cruel as high school was. All my ambitions to become a teacher were only strengthened by these experiences. I was a rebel, and still am, so I was going to change the system. But someone who is broken and has learned to play two different parts in life couldn't possibly change a system, let alone teach others how to live their life. In my study to become a teacher I had to overcome a lot of difficulties, though never with my lectures in itself. I was still drained from this long battle and not able to cope with this any longer. So I decided to quit on my lifelong dream of teaching.
This brings us to the point where I originally wanted to start this post. The year is now 2015, the month october. I am in a longterm relationship of 3 years and a two years before this I lost my biggest role-model of my own age. A dear friend of mine, who knew how to fight and love and live was hit by a buss and she left everyone behind, bless her. Still trying to cope with this loss I noticed my relationship wasn't how it supposed to be. this wasn't the first time I was tired of life, but it was a milestone for me. Because I decided to end my relationship and choose for my own happiness for once.
I was so tired. Tired of the feeling that I was being held back. I felt like the system was against me. I couldn't win. I studied hard, I stood up for my own beliefs. I still believed in the good of mankind. I fought for the right to be there. I'd won my battle agains t my overweight. But I was tired. I still lived at my elderly home and the tension that in itself (which is another topic for another blog) weighed so much on me. I wanted to leave, to finally start a life of my own, to finally be on my own and find out who I truly was. Because the masks of the "bullied, timid student", "the troubled rebel" and the "educated socialy accepted teacher" just didn't match up with each other.
So I did the only thing I knew I could do. I ran. But this time I didn't run into the arms of my music or into the warmth of a book. No I ran into the arms of the only person who had taken me for who I was and who, in my mind, truely understood me. I ran into the arms of my husband. I knew that I could be with him and stay away from home. He lived somewhere else, so I could really stay away from all the things that caused me pain. I felt loved and safe again. For a short period of time.
It is at this point that things just got worse. This new re-found love made me blind for everything else. I bound myself to him, I just ignored every responsibility I had and put this weight on him, and he took it willingly, at the beginning. Not seeing his or my own flaws, we lived togheter. And when he asked me to marry him, I said yes with all of my heart. It sounds like a real love story and in part it is. But it is also a story about a strong-willed, want-to-be independent woman, who became domesticated, by her own choice. Instead of searching the me in myself, I searched how my love wanted to see me, how the world wanted to see me, and adapted, poorly to that image.
In my will to be independent, I wanted to buy a house. And so be it. We bought a house, I fell in love with instantly, and I got a job at a bookstore. I choose to go to the university in the hope of getting my diploma. I numbed my own feelings and fears by focusing on my job, sports and my house. Thinking if I did well materially in life, the rest would follow. How wrong could I be? People always tend to weigh the happiness of other by the things they own, or the masks they put on. In my need to feel accomplished and the need to changed the system I became involved in politics.
For the people who surrounded me, everything must have seemed fine. I had a house, job and a study I liked. But this is when I started to kill myself. My unfinished house revoked memories and feelings of my elderly home. My job made me confront my will of being different and the need to adapt towards society. My study made me realize how alienated I was from my fellow-students, in part due too the age gap. I wasn't going out anymore, the party animal in me completely cut off. Realizing that I would never experience the feeling of falling in love again, because I was now bound to someone (who I love, but still). And for myself realizing how little how I actually accomplished myself. I felt like a faillure.
So when I fell ill... And lost my job in this process,I realized how much I relied on my husband. How much dependant I really was. Without my dad and husband. I wasn't worth sh*t. I didn't have a diploma, even though I am 24 years old. I have nothing to show for what I've fought for. My husband was always complaning, obviously he wasn't feeling happy either. And that's when sh*t really hit the fan. I started to isolate myself, because people didn't seem to reach out to me. And I felt like was one big failure. I tried to put up another project, to reach another dream of mine, opening my own bookstore. But even that I couldn't do.
Often the thought crossed my mind. "Why am I still here?" Obviously I didn't make my husband happy. Obviously my friends had their own lives. Obviously I wasn't becoming the person I wanted to be. Obviously I would never reach the dreams and goals I set for myself. Obviously the people who laughed at me were right all along. Even my own body was/is against me and life keeps trowing shit at me.
So why should I carry on? People always tell me that's how life is, one big pile of sh*t. That you have to cling to the few beautiful moments of life to get you through. But what's the f*cking point when life's 80% sh*t and missery. Why?
People sometimes said how strong I was, pitied me. Like that's any help.
And on top of that you see society burn before your eyes. All the missery of this world and you can't even change your surroundings. I've tried but obviously I wasn't strong enough. I wasn't cut out for this life.
If you think like that, and you wake up next to a person who, each morning says stuff like "Great, another sh*tty day of being a slave...". You can see how one can loose her grip on life.
Committing suicide isn't something you decide in a few minutes. It is a proces that takes it's time. Or at least with me it was. The first step was already taken. My social isolation was already a fact.
The next thing I, subconsciously, did was push away my husband. I wanted him to be angry at me. And I was angry at him. Totally unjustified. But still, wasn't he supposed to make me feel happy? Wasn't he supposed to be my shoulder to cry on? Why was he so negative al the time?
Time went by and I tried to keep on going by escaping. In books and in games. Final Fantasy XV was a big part in that. And I could relate to some of the characters so much. (SPOILERS) All of prompto's storyline sounded familliar. And the self-sacrifice that Noctis had to commit sounded understandable. If I brought nothing but missery to my loved ones, then why should I be here in the first place? I tried to escape by playing pokemon go and walking until I was too tired to think.
What eventually pushed me over the edge, was life itself.
For years I've let my happiness be determined by other people. And now that I was alone I lost my way. So when someone offered me to live life and go out to a festival again. I took this opportunity with my both hands. There in the midst of the music and champagne that swept me away, I felt life. I felt alive. For the first time in nearly a year. I felt like a woman again, like life was worth living. I felt excitement and exhilarated. It was wonderful. But it also ended.
And it ended with a big blow.
No one is to blame for this blow, but when I came home from this all, I came home to find my husband (justified) angry and confused. That's when reality hit me in the face again. I couldn't be happy or go out in this life, because the bad shit always trumps the good. (Pun intended;))
I don't blame my husband! This is just how I experienced this and he had every right to be angry.
By then the only two constants in my life were my husband and my dad. My dad busy as usual (no blame on him either that's just life!), it all fell on my husbands shoulders.
And my relationship exploded. We didn't understood each other, he didn't communicate what so ever, and I was shutting down.
So when a week later I felt sexually attracted to someone else, and started to feel butterflies again. I was lost. How could it be that someone evoked these feelings with me, while all I could think of was my relationship. I love my husband to the death, there is no one who knows me better, or no one who will give me the same kind of devotion. But still there were these feelings.I fell in love and lost with being in love.
That's when I knew the only way to go was to go out.
I came to terms with myself. I accepted I f*cked everything up. I couldn't make the love of my life happy, I couldn't reach my goals. I couldn't be happy. And I made everyone around me miserable. So I decided to go. I decided to forget about everything, my responsibilities put aside. So on my wedding anniversary I tried to push my husband as far away as I could, but he wouldn't let go. And the day after that would be it.
On the morning of 23th of august, I woke up. Grabed a notebook and started writing my will and my goodbye letters. Feeling totally numb and crying softly I wrote them all. I searched the web how to kill myself the best way possible. And before I went off I said goodbye to my cat. I went to a place where I'd go often at night to think. I sat there in the sun and remembered the pain my friend T. and my aunt left behind and decided to send everyone an 'i love you' or 'thank you' message. I went to sit out of sight and started to swallowing pills. Only stopped in a moment when an old lady and her granddaughter passed by. I was ready, I felt calm and clear for the first time in ages. But it couldn't be, because just when I wanted to swallow it al and slit my wrists the cops where there and my flightpath was shut off..
And now I'm here. Writing, still unsure about how I should feel. I'm talking with my therapist and shrink, taking pills and hoping life will turn for the best. But meanwhile I can't control my feelings. I'm once again stuck at my elderly home. I'm still being confronted with my relationship which is anything but good. I have to wake up everyday and face my failure. Even killing myself didn't go that well. I've offered everything I had to everyone, but it wasn't enough, and when I wanted to leave they wouldn't let me. Life just gets me down, and I try to numb the way it feels by escaping in the only ways I can. Hurting my best friends, my husband and everyone in the procces. Thinking why won't they let me go.
So now you know the process in which I was slowly killing myself.
So if next time you see me and you ask me, are you ok? You know the answer will be 'no , I'm everything but ok'. I'm trying to pick myself up, piece by piece. I'm trying to talk to the right people about this, but mostely I'm trying to learn who I am again. And how I can possibly battle life again.
Right now I feel everything even harder then before. A smile turns into loud laughing and a tear turns into crying. Love becomes fear of losing. A hug becomes smothering. And I have lost my way.
I hope I can find it again,
and if not that next time I won't be such a failure at trying.