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How do I even begin? Do I go right into my life story?
Should I?
I think the better question is “Will I?”
The answer to that question is the answer to most of the questions people ask me.
“I don’t know.”
It is a simple statement, but so unclear. So vague yet has so much depth. It’s also very uncertain.
Just like my future.
I don’t know what’s going to happen to me in 10 years. I don’t even know what I’m going to do tomorrow. All I know is today. At this moment. Right now.
What am I doing right now?
I’m thinking about these past few years, realizing how far I’ve come.
It’s almost funny, in a rather unfunny way.
I honestly didn’t think I’d made it to 2012.
But here I am, listening to Riceboy Sleeps’ “Indian Summer”, smiling to myself and feeling somewhat warm inside.
Warm.
I used to feel so cold. So icily cold to the point I’d feel a burning fire within myself.
But never warm.
My heart feels… almost whole. Almost. I still feel the coldness in the depths of my being. I still feel the burning in my body, but my heart, it feels warm.
Maybe it’s the song. Indian Summer tends to make me feel like I’m floating on air. Gliding like a flying squirrel.
Oh how I love flying squirrels. They’re so cute and furry and I just want to touch them really gently.
(I also want to be one, but that’s another story.)
I hope I made you laugh or smile. Nothing makes me feel better than brightening someone’s day, even just a bit. It makes my day a little bit brighter when I’m lost in a storm.
Storms.. I tend to find myself stuck in a lot of storms and dark holes. (Not literally.)
What I mean is that I tend to feel down often, more often than I’d like.
I’m only sixteen. I shouldn’t feel this down but I do. Way too much to be honest.
There are days (too many days) where I just feel so broken inside. So torn apart that I just can’t handle anything.
There are days when I’m so depressed that I don’t do anything but think. I think negatively, pessimistically, as if there is nothing left for me in this world.
Actually, there are a lot of reasons for me to want to be here. A lot of things I have but feel I don’t deserve any of them.
On those days, I battle with my thoughts. Sometimes I lose. And when I lose, I lose my mind.
I lose myself.
I have never attempted suicide to the point where I end up in a hospital. It’s more like I’ve attempted to attempt suicide. I never do anything completely drastic, because I’m so afraid of physical pain and dying and knowing that
I’d hurt people.
I don’t want to picture all my friends and family crying at my funeral over me. Me.
Who ever thought little ole’ me would have as much as an affect on people as I now realize?
My teachers care. They care so much and I feel so… undeserving. They let me slide on assignments because I was too depressed to do them, they gave me extensions on projects I couldn’t bring myself to work on, etc.
And Ms W. Oh Ms W.
I remember this time last year when I was too afraid to speak to her because she was so beautiful. When she spoke to me, my voice would get caught up in my throat or I’d mutter a small “hi” and avoid eye contact because I was ridiculously attracted to her and I didn’t want her to catch me staring if she turned away for a moment.
Then things changed. It was this year (technically last year but this school year).
She approached me, like always. But this time, I was caught completely off guard. I was depressed that day. I don’t remember why but I remember what she said and what she did.
She sat across from where I was sitting in the cafeteria. She spoke to me, asked if I was okay. She noticed how I put my hands up to my face and unexpectedly, she took a hold of my wrists. Her touch was light and soft, like a feather. She told me that her door was always open.
Since then, I’ve opened up to her. She’s nice and intelligent and funny.
She said I “intrigue” her. She also called me eloquent, which I disagree with but being called eloquent never fails to put a smile on my face.
And here I am, babbling about a teacher 12 years older than I instead of discussing how I deal with depression and suicidal thoughts.
I’ve come to realize that this is how I deal with it. I talk about things that make me smile or laugh or feel all warm inside about, or I play video games. They make me feel good.
And I’m not talking about COD. I play RPGs mostly, like Skyrim, Dragon Age, and Mass Effect. It gives me a sense of comfort. Being a hero. Being this cool character that kills dragons and absorbs their soul, or playing as Commander Shepard and saving the galaxy.
Because there’s nothing better than feeling like you’re important. That you mean something.
I don’t feel like that in real life. Not often.
I’m not even myself in real life. Not openly anyway. Some people are aware but I can never truly be myself. I’ll never be that I guy I know I am because of the body I was born with. I look at myself and cry sometimes. I ask God why he created me with a mind opposite to that of my birth sex. Why I feel like a boy and why I don’t have the body of one.
I’ll never really know the answer to that, I guess.
I do believe that most things happen for a reason, and if I wasn’t born this way I might be a totally different person, and I can’t say I like the idea of being an asshole.
Guess I was meant to be a sensitive guy with a love for flying squirrels and an attachment to fictional characters (I’m looking at you, Mass Effect characters).
