|Posted On:||2006-07-22 06:26:42|
Consider this journals section as sort of a diary/autobiography. I will be rambling in this section every once in a while with anecdotes as I remember them. I don't want your pitty, I don't want your sympathies, I just want to be remembered.
There's a saying that I read years ago that I will never forget;
In any man who dies there dies with him,
His first snow and kiss and fight...
Not people die but worlds die in them.
This is my world.
I'm 25 years old and I don't know how to live life and be free. I've never been able to keep a job for very long, I can't sustain myself, and I hate my life.
I know and understand that everything in life is relative. One's point of view is shaped by one's life experiences. Things that have happened to me that I live with are the same things that would have easily traumatized and destroyed a person, and sometimes I wonder if I, in fact, was not spared.
I spend every day of my life in a controlled panic attack. I am constantly afraid that something "bad" is going to happen to me in any and every aspect of my life; my health, my sanity, my future, nothing ever seems certain other than knowing that nothing will ever come out like I'd like it to.
I've been betrayed by almost all of my closest friends in the past few years, though most of them aren't aware that I know what they've done or tried to do.
I was never much of a social child, having been constantly abused physicaly and emotionally while growing up. I have no self esteem, no positive self image. All of my life, everything I've ever done, has never been enough to gain any sort of acknowkledgment. Nothing is ever good enough, everything I do is always flawed.
This is how I've been brought up to feel about myself. I can never live up to anyone's expectations, no matter how low they set the bar.
I've never felt any kind of love from my parents. They say it, they try to show me that they love me, but something to me just comes off like bullshit. I've felt like this from most of my family. I feel like they put up with me being around because it's a chance to try and connect to my mother again, and not because they are genuinley interested in me. My grandmother is the only family that I've ever felt completely accepted and loved by.
I constantly feel that the only reason my friends have me around is because they feel pity on me. I always feel completely and totaly alone and unwanted, because it's how I've always felt.
I've spent so much of my life alone and feeling unwanted that one summer, I spent most of my time at a friend's place, always sleeping over, and every night I would wake up to him molesting me in my sleep. I was so afraid of losing this one friend that I pretended to sleep and let him do it, almost every night, for 3 months, because I am terrified of being alone and unwanted.
It's not hard to feel this way. Without going into growing up, or what I was put through by my parents, I just have to look at school. When I was young I was skipped ahead a grade, and as a result I was always the youngest one in class. I was always picked on and made fun of. It's not easy being a kid in school, but it's a lot harder when you're more intelligent than the rest of the idiots in your class.
Being hospitalised with a rare blood disease didn't do much to help matters. For one, I almost died, and spent more time than I'd care to remember in the hospital. Wegener's Granulomatosis is an inflamation of the blood vesels, and in my case affected my lungs mostly, though I did have body-wide internal hemoraging.
Imagine you're whole body is itchy; you scratch. Now imagine your white blood cells are "itchy". They "scratch" by attacking everything around them, causing veins to become pourous and attacking organs.
I'd spent so long in a hospital bed unconcious that I had to learn how to walk and talk again because all of my muscles had atrophied. For years after, breakfast included 36 pills and supper included 24. Some of the many side effects were fun things like water retention, false hungers, hair loss, mood swings, bladder infections, immune system supression, acne (even worse, anyways)
When I went back to school, I had gone from being 130lbs to roughly 290lbs, with a case of acne that was worse than anyone going through puberty, a completely diffrent voice that was constantly cracking more than usual, and a receding hairline.
I immediately became the butt of all jokes. Everyone made fun of me. My life was a living hell.
Most people would say that it's a normal part of childhood, but what I was put through by those fucking idiots can only be described as torture, and the teachers let it all happen. If I'd have had acces to guns back then, Columbine would not have been the first massacre of a school you'd have heard about.
I spent countless nights awake fantasizing about some kind of terrorist group coming into our school and taking us hostage, and to avoid having them kill me, I "convert" to whatever their cause was and prove myself to them by killing all of my classmates and teachers.
When I think of Harris and Klebold, I think of heroes.
I wish I would have had the balls to do what they did, to stand up to all of the bullshit that I was being put through by other students and to the teachers' indiference to it all. I didn't want notoriety, I didn't want to be remembered for it, I just wanted the torment to end.
I'm not saying that mass-murder is the answer to all of your highschool problems, but when you have been pushed around and abused and tortured to the point where you feel you need to commit a massacre, just to get a little breathing space, something is seriously wrong with the system and it's administrators for letting this kind of abuse go on unchecked.
I dropped out a few days short of turning 16. Specifically, it was november 27th 1996, the day that I tried to kill myself.
Since grade 5, life at home was far from what you could call stable. I would get into an argument with my mother, and she would kick me out to go live with my father, and then I'd get into arguments with him, and be shipped back over to her. In 1995, I was living with my mother in the west island, but going to school in Laval, because I'd been living with my dad when I registered for school and didn't want to lose touch with any of the few friends I had. I ended up just not going to school a whole lot. It was too far, I had to leave the house at 5:45 in the morning to make it in time for 7:45 class, a near impossible feat, because I was unable to sleep at night. No matter how much I stayed awake, no matter how tired I was, I simply could not fall asleep before 4am.
In the school year of 1996 I registered at PC and went to school sporadicaly for september through november. On the weekend before my birthday, I'd gotten some money from my grandparents. I didn't go to school for the first 2 days of the week, and on the 27th I had an argument with my mother and told her that I was just not going back.
When I was in school, I honestly wish I could have spent my time learning. But the problem is that other kids are just not interested in it, always disrupting class and doing stupid shit like throwing chalk and erasers at the teacher when their backs are turned, or setting the garbage can on fire, throwing desks and chairs across the room, etc..
In grade 5, it took the teacher 1 week to convince the class to read Charlie and the Chocolate Factory. They all thought it was just a kids book and that they were too old and mature to read it. By the time they'd started, I'd written the book report already, and explained the religious themes behind it. When the teacher would ask us to read a book and write up on it, other kids would pick the shortest page-count the teacher would let them get away with, while I was busy reading Stephen King's IT and the Tommyknockers in a week and having a full book report writen out.
That was grade 5. It seems that every grade after, every other child thought themselves more mature and intelligent than the year before, which meant that they didn't need to be submited to the uselessness of doing things like reading books, doing homework, listening to the teacher..
I dropped out because I wanted to learn, and was in an environment that did absolutely NOTHING to promote any kind of education or discipline in the student body.
So, on nov. 27th, I officially stopped going to school. What I ended up doing, was taking birthday money I'd gotten from my grandparents, went to canadian tire, and bought a brand-new set of exacto blades. I came home, went into the bathroom, opened up the pack, without thinking, without any hesitation, I cut my wrists.
If you've been paying attention, you'd remember that I said that, no matter what I do, no matter how low I set the bar, I always fail. Somehow, the pack of blades that I had bought, brand new, were dull. I could barely scratch myself using the tip, let alone do what I wanted to do. So I went back to the store, and bought a completely diffrent brand of blades, came back home, and promptly opened the package and drew the blade across my wrists again.
Nothing happened. Another pack of blades, a completely diffrent brand and type of blade, and they were once again too dull to cut with. To some people, this would be interpreted as some kind of message, an act of god, a miracle. But that's not how I was raised to think. To me, it was just another faliure to add to the list of things that I was never able to do right.
I passed out in the bathroom. I had some kind of dream, a vision, I don't know what to call it, but I remember a few things very clearly; me, and at least 2 other people, infront of a crowd of people, and weird music.
When I came to, I went on some BBSes and started looking around for programs to make music. I'd never been interested in music as anything other than something to listen to, but something spoke to me and said that that's what my future had in store for me; this weird music that I heard myself making.