24/4/2014 . 3,244 notes . Reblog
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Confessions of a Wallflower: Part 31

Now: 04/24/2014

A year ago I got accepted to Pace. I got the confirmation that I could have my new start that I need desperately in the form of a letter, hardly the equivalent to the letter I’m still waiting on from Hogwarts but whatever, it was my new start. I barely had been to the city, it never even interested me until I visited a few months prior to my acceptance letter. Anyone who’s been to the city cannot deny that the energy is entirely different than…well I’m from Bumfuck, Pennsylvania, so the city just felt electric. I needed that, I needed to feel alive again and I thought the city was going to revive me, revive who I was.

But instead I just felt like a ghost of my former self.

I floated around, got a job, lost the job, got a guy, lost the guy. Nothing felt like it mattered. I through myself into a relationship once I met someone I cared for, thinking that like the city it would revive me too. But there is no reviving me, dead is dead, who I was is gone and will remain a ghost. Now I’m just something else, someone else and I don’t know much of anything about myself. I wanted a clean slate and I just dove into a crowd of people I barely knew trying to immerse myself, trying to find myself again in other people and that’s just not how it works. I let people manipulate me, and hurt me deeply because I was too blind, I didn’t know myself therefore I didn’t trust myself. I was just a ghost. I keep feeling like I have these revelations of where my life should go or who I should be but I don’t know shit. I started this blog as a release, to just get the screaming in my head to stop, and just get it out. I thought I knew who I was, this past year I spent my time thinking I knew exactly who I was, completely unaware that I was just a ghost of someone who didn’t exist anymore. I will never be who I was before, I feel like on some level I knew that and may have even said that but I don’t think I ever truly understood it until the past two months. I got manic again, more than just fits of crying, I got ugly. There’s a darkness in me, I know that, I really realized it as I wrote my blog post “Demons” and referred to it as my equivalent to a “Dark Passenger”, but I always underestimate just how dark that part of me is. It’s a part of me I can never accept, I can never love and embrace like it’s a quirk. It’s the dark part of me that pushed Brent to the ground at the Gala or the time I hit him during an argument, or when I spit in DeSelle’s face, or pepper sprayed the back of his head, or completely fucked over Deven, and it’s the part of me that nearly destroyed the only friends I still had here. This part of me is just evil, it’s dark and disgusting and it’s what nearly fucking killed me. It all but took me over during the last few months with Brent, officially shattered whatever love he had for me the night of the Gala. I told myself that this wasn’t me, I blocked it out and hoped I’d gain better control of myself but it is inside of me. I caused drama between friends who probably want to remain private so I won’t go into specifics but bottom line is I fucked up badly.

That’s when I knew I was a ghost.

I realized my transparency, I wasn’t who I was in the pictures from a few years ago. I was different and I needed to get a grip on that and learn who I was now. So the past few weeks I’ve spent my time doing just that. I realized the common denominator in the awakening of my shadow-self came down to drinking, so I haven’t picked up a bottle since the night I got bad again. I’ve been forcing myself to push on through this semester, get out of bed, and get the fuck out of my own head and get a new perspective on life and how it can be. I read a while ago that when J.K. Rowling wrote the Dementors into the Harry Potter novels they were a representation of her depression. I couldn’t picture a more accurate way to describe how depression can literally suck the fucking life out of you. When I was in the hospital, on that bathroom floor I wanted to die, I nearly let my depression suck the life out of me. I dug into my wrist and with each cut I dug closer to a vein that would stop the screaming, the bad memories that were consuming me, it would all end. I didn’t know how to fight anymore and I nearly laid down and let myself die, but something in the back of my head whispered to me. Dementors can be fought off by a memory of true happiness, and there was hardly a drop of that left in me but I had one thing.

I saw my nephew’s face.

He was my little bit of happiness, he made me pause and drop the piece of plastic to the floor. I cried harder and saw happy memories of him growing up and what it would be like for me to just be gone. I’d miss him grow, I saw my family and how crushed they’d be, I realized that I would never have a son or a daughter, I would never have anything. I laid there weak, tired, but I still had a little bit of fight in me. My nephew will probably never know that his existence saved my life, he’s the reason I’m not entirely a ghost. So now here I am, writing about nothing and everything at the same time, getting to know myself again. I’m happy to say that thus far it’s been a positive experience. I haven’t drank, I’ve taken up an alternate form of medication that really has helped quiet my mind, which I can’t even begin to express how much this has made a difference for +me. With a quiet mind I feel I’ve gotten to get to know myself over again. I finally feel like I can see myself again, the veil of ghostly apparition that I became is slowly fading away as I become whole again. No longer transparent, I am beginning to really understand myself, through understanding myself I feel I’m finally learning how to just be on my own, and be okay with that.  I also need to lay off myself with how much pressure I put on knowing exactly who I am. I’m in my early 20’s, where’s the fun in having it all figured out now? I’m still a mystery to myself, the Bipolar has flipped my brain upside-down and chained the very chemicals that made me who I was, exacerbating sadness and madness. Every goddam day is a roller coaster, anxiety creeping up on me making my hands tremble, palms sweat like I’m about to go on stage, and my head loud like a crowded theater before I begin my performance. My life with Bipolar is a rendition of Masterpiece Theater (the Marianas Trench one, not the PBS one), a show for all to see with no one really paying attention, I feel all eyes on me even though the theater is almost entirely empty now. I’ve been through too fucking much these past few years, things I have even been omitted from my blogs, and I’m sick of being a show in my head, being on stage and feeling this way but life doesn’t stop for anybody, the show must go on. The world is gonna spin madly on no matter what I decide to do with myself or what I go through so I better learn some choreography and memorize my lines and be as prepared as I can be. Every day my life is gonna throw bullshit at me, I’m gonna have psychopaths try to tear me down and get to me, manipulate me, I’m gonna get lied to, I’m get my hopes up and crushed and I’m gonna push on because that’s life, that’s my life. One day I’m gonna meet a man that loves me, shadows and all, even if I can’t, he’ll tell me truths instead of lies, he’ll raise my hopes and he’ll catch me when they fall.

One day I’ll have the kind of love that will be enough to make the curtain close, the credits roll, and my life complete.

Until that day I have my beautiful friends, and I have my fucked up self. I’m going to spend the summer continuing to learn about who I am. I’m gonna fight like I have never before to be happy, I will have a smile on my face even if I have to force it for a while, I will grit my teeth and trudge through the quicksand of my depression, I won’t let it consume me anymore. I’m stronger now, I have happy memories that I use as a force to drive my soul, propel my life forward. No longer a ghost, I will live again, I will laugh again, I will love again, and I will be myself again, whoever that is. I have my apartment with Danni next semester to look forward to as well, and although it won’t be a new start like I dreamed of a year ago, I’ll be someone new, and I’ll be okay with that. I’ve decided I’m also going to my first tattoo, I want a reminder of the war in my head, and even when it doesn’t look like it I am winning with every breath I continue to take. I will have my nephew (soon to be nephews as my other sister is due in July), and I have my very own future I will fight like hell to make a bright and beautiful one. I will dream of that show-stopping love and the first day I look into my daughter or son’s eyes. I will find light in the darkest of places, and when I have doubts and the pain becomes unbearable I will look at the tattoo I will be getting this summer. I will look to those words written upon the scars on my forearm and remember that regardless of the Dementors or all the bad shit in life I will always know one thing about myself, a reminder, one truth written upon my skin;

It will read, “The Boy Who Lived”

 

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