Free Write

"I don't want to change the world
I just want to leave it colder
Light the fuse and burn it all
Take the path that leads to nowhere" ~Breaking Benjamin

I have a goal right now, to write until I have no words left. That might be sooner than you'd think, since I can't seem to find any words to start with. Maybe some more Breaking Benjamin...

"I will not bow, I will not break
I will shut the world away
I will not fall, I will not fade
I will take your breath away...
And I'll survive, paranoid
I have lost the will to change."

I refuse to give in, I refuse to give up...how much will that refusal cost me? And while I'd like to say I'll never change, I think we all know how true that would be. All the things about myself that I have always wished would stay the same have changed, and of course the things about me I despise have remained. 'Tis the way of life, I suppose.

"How long can I fight this?
How long 'till I fall?"
"I can't run from the shadows
From what's in my mind
No matter how fast I run
I can't leave them behind"

I used to pray a lot. Sometimes, I even thought God might answer. It was the lack of any response on his part, ever, that first drove me from Christianity. Then, of course, the more I considered it, the more I became convinced of its falseness. But that was after I had already rejected it. Beforehand, I looked at a God who promised love, who called himself my Father...who also ignored every plea for help, who (being in control of and having planned for everything that happens) chose for my life to not only be utterly destroyed, but to stay that way for nearly a decade. I am still trying to rebuild it, in fact. People tried to write this off as man's free will - leaving me a God either unwilling or unable to intervene in the world. They like to talk of man's free will as if it is this inalienable facet of his being that is never (speaking in the Scriptural traditions, obviously) overwritten by an omnipotent God. The Bible itself shows that not to be true. And so I looked at God, and rejected him not because (at the time) I didn't believe he existed, but because I believed he did and was an absolute jerk. It was only after that, as I thought and read and considered more, that I came to realize that the Bible was too riddled with logical inconsistencies (not to mention its historical failings) to ever be a valid source for a true religion. Given that all we think of as "God" is based on the Bible, I therefore rejected that God (at least as I had been raised to consider him) actually existed. I'm not denying that there may be a Creator (or creators), or even something similar to what is currently called "God," but the God of the Judeo-Christian Bible is a myth.

I have the feeling I will take a lot of flack for that last paragraph. Fortunately, I don't care. This blog is, essentially, my journal, and while I am willing (and perhaps foolish) enough to share, I don't really give a damn what anybody else thinks about it. This is, of course, why I'm not allowed comments (unless I post this and forget to turn them off, in which case ignore this sentence), although you are free to email me.

You know what? Talking about the faith I used to have isn't really doing me any good. It isn't doing any harm, either, but it is pointless, just words on a page. Then again, I guess it serves the purpose of keeping my mind focused on something. That's kind of a losing battle, though, so I'll move on to what I originally wanted to make words about. Yes, I know this is already longer than most of my blog posts; it was just a really long rambling intro. Hush.

It feels odd to crack jokes when all I really feel capable of doing is staring at a blank journal page and then eventually (if I'm lucky) burst into tears. (In case you were wondering, I won't be lucky. Tears are, for the most part, a luxury I am not afforded. They tend to provide some measure of healing, and my depression does not allow that, not now at least.) But I keep writing year after year, in hopes that something will change.

I find myself forgetting that I had a few months (all to brief) where the depression was (for lack of a better term) in remission. It hasn't been that long ago, but even so I find it hard to remember what freedom tasted like, and what is this hope of which you speak? I was foolish to think that, for no apparent reason, a decade of depression would just up and walk away. I guess that is what hope is, though; foolish, and yet necessary, if I am not to go screaming off into the blackness that is my life and allow it to close itself around me forever. Although screaming itself would be an acceptable option if I had enough energy to even think about something like that.

This is where the Internet allows me to deceive you, by the way. It is a lot easier to inject a simulacrum of life into a written word than it is into real, face-to-face interactions. Sometimes people don't believe I am as depressed as I am because "your writing is so alive!" (actual quote) I find it hard to believe it myself sometimes. how can I sit here, desiring nothing more than to just stare at the wall, and indeed feeling capable of no more than that, and turn out blog posts and pictures and poems as if I were some productive member of society? I have no idea. At least I'm not alone in that, though. I have seen so much extraordinary art turned out by people in the deepest depths of depression that it is very nearly the rule, not the exception. Every one of them, however, would trade all the productivity away if offered the chance at hope and freedom.

Speaking of alone...I am. It is the only facet of my depression that I can take nearly full responsibility for. It happens every time. I feel the onslaught of darkness, and instead of turning to those who love me to help shore up what few defenses I posses, I withdraw from them. The motives vary by person...my love I don't want to hurt or worry, so I hide the darkness from him until it is too late for him to help and I cannot hide it anymore (yes, some small part of me knows this causes him more worry/stress in the long run, but depression and logic don't exactly get along usually). For my friends...well, the majority of them feel helpless in the face of my depression, and deal with that by ignoring it completely, so really, what would be the point of going to them anyway? I have one friend that is closer than most, and would feel okay asking for help...except that it is too easy to spread my depression to her, and I already lost her once because of it. So yeah, definitely not going that route again. So I'll deal with this by myself, and conquer or be vanquished by my own power.

I would be dishonest if I didn't mention another facet of depression. The blade. I have not returned to it...but I want to. And each day as I sink deeper into the abyss my resistance crumbles a little more. Because, truthfully, self-injury does work. It provides a release from the darkness (or the pain), lets you feel alive for a while. The problem with it was never that it didn't work. But are the consequences worth the "remedy"? I've already had the scars I posses used to deny me a job. The whole cutting thing reared its ugly head in our custody case, as well (although the way their lawyer tried to emphasize it just made him look foolish and was actually rather humorous). Granted, there are places I could cut where prospective employers would never see, and I do possess the ability to keep my mouth shut (no matter how rarely I actually use it). But that reasoning leaves out the intense pain it causes my beloved when I cut. I wish it didn't, both because I don't want to cause him any pain in any way ever, and because I do really want to cut. I wish he could let it hurt him less, but I know that if he did, it would be because he cared for me less, and I don't want that. So for now, well, I will continue not to cut. But there may come a time when there is so much darkness that blood red is more desirable than spending one more moment in the abyss. I hope that day never comes. I am terrified it will, because cutting is addictive and I will not be able to stop when I need to. But for now, well...I will fight on. Because, at this moment, Love is worth more than relieving the darkness.

And so I come near to the end of words for now. Perhaps today will be a better day. One can always hope. even if it is pointless.

"I am falling apart. I can hardly sleep, I barely eat, and each new day sinks me deeper... I am falling to that place where I feel nothing and I don't even care, half the time I'm there already... I haven't returned to the blade...yet. But it is calling to me; it asks me how long will I survive without it? And the answer is, I don't know. I don't know how long I can resist its siren song. It tells me no one need know; I could hide it well enough if I so desired... I'm losing my grip. I'm losing my ability to tell what is right and wrong, and I'm having trouble caring. So many thoughts are crashing through my head like waves, and I'm drowning. Help me."
Nearly a year ago I sent that in an email. It is exactly as true now as it was then. And if that email came after literally years of darkness with no discernible break, and I feel the same way now after only a few weeks, months at the most...well, let's just say I don't have a lot of hope at this point.