Our partner

AEJ
Consumer 2
Consumer 2
 
Posts: 42
Joined: Wed Sep 12, 2012 1:31 am
Blog: View Blog (3)
Archives
- September 2012
Requiescat in Pace - Eric
   Wed Sep 26, 2012 7:50 pm
A Good Day - Chronicman and Aqualung
   Wed Sep 19, 2012 3:47 am
An Outlet
   Sun Sep 16, 2012 6:59 am

Search Blogs

Feed

Requiescat in Pace - Eric

Permanent Linkby AEJ on Wed Sep 26, 2012 7:50 pm

I received news just moments ago that one of my friends, Eric, killed himself within the past few days. His body was discovered today.

Eric, I am sorry for what has happened to you. I am sorry that I could not help you. I am sorry that your troubles tormented you so much that you felt the need to take your own life. I am sorry that we will never be able to see each other again on this plane of existence. You were a great friend who deserved so much more than you received.

I wish I could change what has happened. I wish I could have done more for you. I wish I had spent more time with you. I wish I had seen you this month; I might have been able to do something. I hope you forgive me for what I have put you through. I hope I was not the cause of your pain.

Go to God, my friend. I will see you at the end of my life. Requiescat in pace.

1 Comment Viewed 5444 times

A Good Day - Chronicman and Aqualung

Permanent Linkby AEJ on Wed Sep 19, 2012 3:47 am

So I slept on it. I've finally got some sleep. My insomnia has been killing me. That's another thing that my doctor's can't solve: why I have insomnia. My melatonin seems normal, and two sleep studies have just shone that I couldn't sleep right. An MRI showed no abnormalities. Thank God for health insurance.

Anyway, I don't quite remember what I typed the other day. My psychosis has been giving me hell. I have been tripping BALLS all day on this "being crazy" $#%^. And then I was tripping balls on some other $#%^. That made me decide to write a little short story about my day. I am not too good at writing, no matter how much I try to be good at it. I used to be good. Now I just write crap. I guess all writers must think of their work as crap. [I realized that my writing was divulging from the topic there and stopped. That's just part of the disease, I guess.]

Here it is, a slightly comedic account of my last weekend. Contains language and the use of drugs and alcohol. I couldn't get the links to work properly, so I put links beside the topic.

-------------------

I am sitting here in my room. It is getting late. An empty bottle of zinfandel in my hand. Zinfandel? What am I, a liberal arts student?
"You are a liberal arts, student," says the hallucination in my head. Today it is a female, a prudish woman that sounds like that one bitch everyone seems to have had for a teacher in middle school. Nagging bitch.
"Shut up bitch," I say to the voice. I guess I also said it to nothing, but it is all about perspective here.
Whatever. Bitch. But wait...how in the hell did I get this zinfandel? And where did this fresh pack of Marlboro's come from? And where did...this illustrious bag of dank come from!

It was true. I had a gram and a half of really good chronic, and I had no idea where it came from. It was like manna from heaven. But what the ###$ just happened? How did I get this $#%^? Where am I?
"You are obviously at your house, idiot," says that bitch. I think I will just call her Stacy from now on.
I stood up and walked out of my room. The first thing I see after passing the bathroom is the kitchen, and there is an empty handle of Captain Morgan sitting on the counter, shaming me for defiling its contents.
"Why don't I have a hangover?", I say out loud to no one in particular.
"Because you are an alcoholic." says the voice.
"You got that right, sugar," I reply after I chug down a half a Dixie cup worth of rum and coke that has been sitting out all night.
I'm not really an alcoholic. I just like a good drink every now and then. I like a good party here and again. You certainly can't blame a man for that.
"I heard that. I can hear your thoughts. Yes, you are a ######6 boozer."
Shut up, c***.
I whip out my phone and start playing a tap game. I have no idea what I'm doing.
"You are are so ###$ up."
"I know."

Suddenly, it hit me: I still had that weed! But where did I get it? I reach for my phone to make some calls, but I remembered what had happened last night, all in a flash. One of my old buds called me up, even though my phone says that the last time we spoke before then was on August 2nd, and that was about a month and a half ago. He was concerned about how I was doing, as he knows a bit about my disorder and hadn't spoken to me in a while. I had changed. I stopped talking to people because I was never invited back to parties. See, my ex-girlfriend of 1-year decided to stop inviting me to parties, even though we broke up on relatively good terms. All of my friends go there to hang out because it is one of the few places where they can get drunk without their parents caring or having to drive 15 miles.
I was devastated, and all of my old depression problems started flooding back: cutting, suicidal thoughts, no hope in anything, anger, hating myself, and feeling detached from my body. But - to get back on track - this one guy...

[ Continued ]

0 Comments Viewed 2082 times

An Outlet

Permanent Linkby AEJ on Sun Sep 16, 2012 6:59 am

I don't expect anyone to read this, but I just want a place to write my $#%^ down. If you are reading this, then hello! Make yourself at home, we have metaphorical cookies and brandy in the lobby.

Anyway, here is my life story. My parents divorced when I was three, but I didn't really mind. I had a relatively happy early childhood. At age 6, one of my friends and I were sexually abused and tortured for months, and we lived in constant fear. One of the men was older, the other was in his late teens; the teenager had obviously been abused when he was younger, and I knew that his mind had snapped, but it wasn't evil like the older man's mind. I don't want to divulge the details, but we saw blood spilled.

Eventually the men got bored of us, and they decided not to kill us. They left the area, and would not see them again for over a decade. My friend and I were too fearful and too ashamed to tell anyone. I soon lost contact with him, and he killed himself at the age of 16.

I was constantly in fear, but I learned to hide a scream behind a pleasant face. Even as a small child I knew that we all have to wear a mask. Nobody wants to know nor cares to know what is underneath it, they just want to see pleasantries and uprightness. It was also in that year that I began having hallucinations.

My first hallucinations were small environment disturbances, such as a melting tree or a chair catching fire. They frightened me, but I still told no one. Then my mind conjured up the only good thing to come of this disease: a large, benevolent black wolf. He started out looking fake and poorly animated, but he soon became fully lifelike. He was a guardian to me, and he kept me alive. This wolf became my best friend, and I still consider that today. His kindness has convinced me to stick up for weaker children in middle school, volunteer, donate, go to school, maintain a job for a while, and to fight against my depression, anxiety, and hallucinations. He named himself Kane.

Most of my childhood is a blur. I can't remember $#%^. People picked on me in middle school, and I never started a fight but would always finish it. Both my mother and father divorced their new spouses, which was hilarious. I think it was hilarious at the time because I became addicted to Codeine, in a surprisingly successful attempt to control my hallucinations. Note that I was only about 12 at this time. I started becoming aware of my sexuality, and I realized that I was a bit different from the other kids. Many years later I found out that I was bi-sexual, but I was completely uncomfortable with myself and feared persecution (I live in the South, in the center of the Bible Belt; #######1 is a word used very loosely by many folks around here).

I had made some friends in middle-school and elementary school, and some of them still hang around. I made more friends in high school, but I am currently doubting the loyalty of some of my friends.

I have had constant hallucinations of just about every type, and many of them are ###$ up monsters. Others were just a bit strange. Many of them haunt my nightmares. A rare minority of these beings are my allies and friends. I will make sure to list some of these things at a later date.

I began cutting in middle school, but it gained massive prominence in high school. I would make rows of hundreds of cuts on my left arm (I've cut my right arm a few times, but it feels strange). My left arms is this scar-covered homage to my unhappiness, while my right arm is...just an arm. Anyways, my parent eventually found my rows of slices whenever I was outside, in Florida, during the summer, mowing grass. They gave me an intervention and signed me up for a mental evaluation and a counselor. After a few months with my counselor I came clean about my psychosis, and I was given over to the shittiest psychiatrist in the world. After 1.5 years, they had poked and prodded me and given me $#%^ tons of tests. I went through 8 medications, both anti-psychotic...

[ Continued ]

1 Comment Viewed 2864 times

Who is online

Registered users: Bing [Bot], dmchris0709, Google [Bot], Google Feedfetcher, Majestic-12 [Bot], Yahoo [Bot]