So believe it or not, despite how open I am about my current problems I’ve tried to not look back to the past for anything. I tried not to look back out of fear that I’d sink back into depression, get caught in regrets, imagine myself doing something differently.
Clearly that’s worked out well in my favor right. Hehehehe…That was sarcasm.
But while my professor was in the middle of her lecture my mind started drifting back to when my battles truly began. I remember 10 years ago when my depression began. Back then I didn’t have a name for any of it. That’s when I started to call it the Nightmare Syndrome. I remember where I was mentally back then. I remember how alone I felt no matter where I was or how many people surrounded me. I remember how much I loathed myself. I remember feeling so worthless in everything that I set out to do back then. But most of all I remember feeling trapped and powerless to do anything.
While I was in school at Central Piedmont Community College there was a day when that horrible trapped feeling and all other types of negative thoughts and emotions had devoured me. I was in the library that day. I remember I had my eye on this door where there was a spiral staircase. I knew that it went all the way up to the roof. I remember wanting to go up to the roof. I remember how enticing the thought of going up felt at the moment. It was like this magnetic pull. That’s when the suicidal thoughts first came to me. I wanted to jump off that roof and land head first into the pavement.
I scared myself just thinking about it. I didn’t get up from where I was sitting and I kept looking at that door for what might have been twenty minutes. At some point I snapped out of it and I got out of there. The whole time I walked from campus to the bus stop I was like, “What the fuck was I thinking?”
That feeling of being trapped always stayed with me. It wasn’t until I came up with the idea of quitting school that I started to feel relieved. I figured back then that school was the problem and that when I left that horrible feeling would go away forever. I figured I’d get my writing career started. I was determined to go through with it.
But I was totally deluding myself. Sometime after Christmas my Mom was so angry with me about my decision to quit. She kept yelling and yelling at me like I had just committed the worst of sins. Like I was guilty of murder. She left the house in a rage. I went to write something in the journal that I kept at that time. I was writing about the experience that had just happened.
That’s when the suicidal thoughts started to come to me again. I remember writing in that journal entry, “I guess this is it. This is how its supposed to end for me. This will be the last thing I ever write.” That’s when I went into the kitchen and grabbed one of the sharpest knives kept in the drawer.
I remember thinking, “How deep do I have to cut?” “How much blood needs to spill?” “How much is this going to hurt?”
And then I pressed the blade against my wrists.
That was the closest I ever came to going through with it.
I still don’t know if I was too afraid to go through with it or if I was just too apathetic at the time. So I didn’t die that day. But something inside of me had already been long broken. I didn’t put the knife away though. I kept it in my desk drawer.
I thought, “Maybe not today. But somewhere down the line.”
Even though I stayed away from that drawer for six months the thoughts wouldn’t leave me alone. I would wake up with that knife being the first thing on my mind and the last thing before I went to sleep. Even whenever I was out of the house I kept imagining all the many other ways I could’ve ended myself. Stepping into traffic, drinking bleach, jump off some other roof.
It always brought me back to that moment when I almost went up those stairs to CPCC’s roof. The enticement was still there. It was like someone was whispering in my mind this promise of sweet release and they wouldn’t stop until I went through with it.
It wasn’t until the very end of my first therapy session ever that I told someone about wanting to die. I remember the look of shock and concern on her face when I told her about the knife. Up until that moment I had already put on my fake happy face. But then I just blurted it out.
Now that I’m looking back on things now I can’t help noticing how things from back then and now almost mirror each other. That trapped feeling is back. And it almost feels like its brought me back to the person that I was back then. Why else would I have these intrusive thoughts?
I’ve done all that I can to not think about anything from back then. I thought that by not thinking about it that I was able to move on from it. But I think I needed to remember that time. I needed to remember where I was at the beginning.
If my Nightmares weren’t figments of my imagination gone horribly wrong then I’m pretty sure they’d be trying to convince me that this is the end of me. That no matter what I do I’ll never realize my dreams.
All of this came to me when I was in class and wondered why I was so scared of what happens in the future. From there I started to think that I already felt trapped in that dreaded 9 to 5 dead end job that I hate having. There’s that word again, “trapped”.
Maybe I’m supposed to remember now so I could do something that I couldn’t do back then. And I’m much stronger now than I was back then.
I need to stop right here.
Good day everyone.