Dear Twenty (20) and Fifteen (15),
I don’t even know where to begin.
It’s just an endless pit, like where the shelf of an ocean floor drops off and you can just go down down down forever.
There is no bottom to this Fall. I just keep falling. Deeper and deeper. Then I wake up and see the debris all around of what was my life and there is nothing but blank white shock and horror.
And then I sink even further.
Down into the blackness. Let it swallow me up. It’s like sludge. Like a swampy swamp. I never want to go out. I pray every night that I won’t wake up in the morning. I just want everything to be over. I don’t want to be here anymore
I don’t even remember most of it. Just snippets.
I don’t even know if everything I remember is true.
I remember how it felt, though. The euphoric highs, the maniacal laughter, the terror, the paranoia, the debilitating sadness, the confusion, the anger, the rage. Sometimes I don’t know the specifics, but always remember how they made me feel. That will be etched onto my being forever.
I don’t want to be melodramatic and emo and wax poetic about this.
I’ll stop beating around the bush. In simple and direct terms: I had a psychotic break and a manic episode, and then fell into the deepest state of depression I have ever experienced.
Just writing that makes me feel dirty and empty.
I don’t want to write anymore. I just feel so tired and so sad.
So many people left after that.
My own brother didn’t talk to me for months, although that’s not saying much considering how much he dislikes me. People left not only because they didn’t want to know me anymore, but also because I pushed them away. I was so ashamed. I didn’t want anyone to see me.
The ones who left thought this was the big reveal of who I was.
That I had been lying this whole time and pretending to be who I wasn’t so they would like me. Maybe that was partially true, but I feel like it wasn’t on purpose.
I’ve had to hide major parts of my life because it’s no one’s business what I struggle with and it would scare them off if I told them.
If someone asks why I graduated three years late, I tell them I was volunteering and “soul-searching” after I decided to change my major. In reality, I was in treatment centers and I didn’t decide to change my major, I gave up because I just couldn’t do it anymore. I picked something easy and useless just so I could get my diploma.
I’m used to hiding myself and pretending to be someone I’m not.
And I think it’s common to maybe shift your behavior a tiny bit to make people like you more. Maybe I do that more than others and to a larger degree, but it’s mostly because I’m just insecure and not because I’m plotting to do something malicious. It makes me feel sneaky and gross sometimes, as well as depressed – I figure most “friends” wouldn’t like me if they knew who I really was.
But I don’t want to find out if they would or would not like me. I don’t like people knowing.
I don’t like people feeling sorry for me, knowing my weakness, having something they could use to blackmail me or share with other people who deserve to know even less than they already do.
Some people like to kick you while you’re down.
Like those sadists who worked at the hospital. I don’t want to talk about them. Maybe some other time when I don’t feel so sick to my stomach.
I just don’t like people anymore. I don’t like them.
People are capable of horrible things when they think you’re too far gone to realize what they’re doing is wrong, and if you do realize and tell someone, no one would believe your word over theirs. It’s in these situations that the filth of humanity come out of the woodworks and crawl all over you, leaving behind a trail of slime that makes you unable to feel clean ever again no matter how many hours you spend scrubbing your skin raw.
I don’t want to be around people. People are not inherently good.
They seek out weakness so they can take advantage of it. I just want to stay inside where no one can see me, no one can touch me, no one can hurt me. I don’t want people to see. I don’t want people to see. I don’t want people to see.
And now I just want to disappear.
No matter how far and fast I run, everything always catches up with me.
Because I can never leave behind myself. And this self keeps getting bigger and heavier everyday, drawing eyes and attention. I just want to melt away into the background. I just want to be alone.
I am already so alone but it doesn’t feel alone enough. It also feels too alone sometimes.
I need to just end this letter. I talked about it, how was that? Now I just feel disgusting. It’s like purging, but when it splashes everywhere. Vomit on the floor, on the walls, in my hair, on my face, all over my clothes. I can smell it in my nose for hours and feel the burn at the back of my throat.
I’m just so incredibly sad. It’s a grief that has no bottom.
I just keep sinking into it and I can’t get out.
Are you guys happy now? I hope that was entertaining for you to read. You’re welcome.