It has been 5 years now. 5 long and exhausting years. 5 years that showed no improvement for me, although my surroundings have changed, my inner feeling hasn’t changed. Although on most days it seems as if I have improved and me feeling different, but actually… no.
5 years ago, I attempted suicide around this time. 5 years ago, I stood on the train tracks in Lier, Belgium. I was humiliated, completely broken apart by the opinion of the girl that I thought I used to love. A few days earlier, she had said to my face, that she had never in fact had loved me. It broke something in me, that hasn’t been fixed since.
It broke something, and I can not tell you what it broke. It wasn’t that alone that broke, my trust in people was broken. My friends turned their backs on me. I cried for help. I asked them for help, I begged them for help, but was turned away. Until I threw my letters upon the table, grabbed my long matrix-like jacket and left. My toe was broken so every step reminded me of how much I was aching inside. My former friend followed me on his flip-flops and tried to stop me, but I smiled at his futile attempts. My switch was flipped.
I took the bus (which I detest) and got of before the station in Lier and walked all the way with him in front of me, to what should have been my final resting place. A splatter on the wheels of the train and nothing more. It sadly wasn’t. 5 years ago. It seems so long ago, but the memories are so fresh. All my former friends were there, those I thought that mattered. Even she was there, but her only question to me was “Do you do this for attention?”
As if it was all about me. As if. I have tried to make things about me. I have tried to achieve things. I have tried. But more and more I saw the futility of trying and the futility of pushing that boulder up the hill and seeing it fall back down again, only for me to start trying again.
My days now are filled with nonsense. With gaming, with reading, with thinking about things I should be doing… the backlog of reviews,… Don’t think that this blog is out of my mind for longer than two days, because it is a constant reminder that I should update you, people, on how I am doing.
I am getting more and more tired of pushing that boulder up that mountain, but I see people around me doing it with so much glee, and for what? What do they achieve in the end? Only does with money and power achieve something. They are remembered in the history books and those of us that mindlessly keep pushing that boulder, because there is no other destiny, we are only ash that fills this earth, like those statuesque death people in Pompeii.
I give you a bleak view into how I think, and this is also why I love Dystopian fiction, because even in the bleakest accounts I can read of some depraved minds that like their protagonists suffer, they give people like me a glint of hope, by showing that even the most depraved society can still offer something. It is as if, by staying alive, and not committing suicide, that I am playing the lottery, in the hope of having a meaningful future, but more and more this cosmic lottery seems fixed against us. The deck stacked against us poor and disabled folk and more in favour of the rich that play several decks at once (sorry for the card metaphor, but I love cards).
As we can see, now the happenings in Australia, and how once again… the rich and those with power fuck it up for the rest of us. Fuck us over into oblivion and their names will be entrusted into history. Even bad decisions are put into history books, but those that lived common lives, lived common years. Those of us that lived through hardship after hardship, will be “nothing more than tears in the rain” (to borrow from Blade Runner).
The fact that I am still here, is an act of defiance, an act that I keep fighting, how many times I might be knocked down by depression, how many dark thoughts i might have, how many ways I think up of killing myself. I haven’t tried anymore for 5 years. Every week since 5 years ago, I have thought of killing myself. Every. Fucking. Week.
Every week I have found a way to stop myself. To look forward to something. How trivial it might seem to others.
As Albert Camus might have said: I am a bizarre hero. Bizarre heroes try to look at the small stuff and try to make most of the small stuff. I try to. I really, really do.
But I hope, when you read this, that you don’t get discouraged when I don’t post for a week or so. I will still be here, but not as frequent as before. I try, but now you see the uphill battle. That rock, that weighs down on me. I try, but have patience and faith in me.
I love all my readers and love the support I have gotten from anybody. I will never forget it.