Friday, February 7, 2014

So, you're different?

I want to stress so much that depression hurts.  I have experienced it so much over the course of my lifetime.  I have advice to all of you going through this tragic times.  It will be okay.  It doesn't seem like it now, but, it's true.  I don't want anyone to read this and think, he doesn't know.  He doesn't realize.  I also don't want you to take this the wrong way as a promise that within the next couple of days after reading this, you'll be on top of the world... It could happen.  But, depression is not something that comes and goes in a matter of minutes.

I am posting this because I feel it will help at least one person.  In my 30 years of existence, I've suffered through different forms of depression for at least half of it.  It started after my cousin Trish, 21, passed.  A year later, her father died as well. These two sweet souls deserved happiness and I wish I had realized that.  But I was about 10 when it happened.  I couldn't understand the full extent of death or anything like it.  Afterwards, I became depressed even more, due to being bullied in school and outside of school. It became so dark and twisted for me, that I started physically harming myself to numb my emotional pain.  I would cut my arms, my chest, and my legs.  Once that pain started to numb, I moved up to sticking needles and pins in myself.  I would pierce my ears and fingers using unsanitary items.  I would hang a spiral notebook, using one of the spiral rings, from my earlobe. I would drag my knuckles across the hallway walls (which was made from a very course brick).  I would punch walls, doors, floors and more.

Why? Because I was called a "dirty, dirty" I was verbally and emotionally abused by classmates, singled out and emotionally abused by teachers and other faculty members.  It became so bad, I decided I didn't need school. I didn't need to live anymore.  Few people saw my intelligence, my "blessed" side. They were true friends.  I fought a lot, I abused others physically, emotionally, mentally, verbally.  Why did they pick on me?  Why was I their target? To them, it was simple.  I liked metal, I smoked, I wore all black, I wore a trench coat (black), I painted my nails black, I had a mohawk.  I was different.  I'm not going to say it was just me being picked on. But it felt like it.  It was me against everyone.  After April 20, 1999, people saw me as a threat, even moreso than I started out as.  Rumors went around about the trench coat mafia's involvement in the Columbine shooting.  Me, a freshman, wearing a trench coat, meant I was going to do the same thing.  Later that year, they found a note in the ladies' bathroom talking about a bomb threat.  Your favorite blogger was prime suspect number ONE.  I was suspended until further investigation showed that I was completely innocent.  It had been someone else, a few grades higher than I. Nevertheless, they reinstated me into the school and never apologized... I'm sure they thought, if he didn't do it this time, he'll do it later.  The next year, a list of people "to be shot" was found.  After their last screw-up, I was number 3 on this list.  They said they were going to install metal detectors, hire security guards, et cetera.  That way they weren't falsely accusing someone.

My freshman year, I had decided that No teacher would control me.  I got into many shouting matches, had been suspended several times.  Defy Authority... my slogan... I remember distinctly one argument.  I will include everything I remember in a transcript below. By the way, I will change the name of the teacher.  I will call this short, obese man Mr. Farnsworth (I've seen one too many Futurama episodes) (there is swearing involved, by the way.

Mr. Farnsworth: Hey! (runs towards me from behind down the hall)
Me: WHAT!?
Mr. Farnsworth: Where are you supposed to be?
Me: Here... There... Anywhere I want.
Mr Farnsworth: You need to take of your jacket.
Me: (points to my trench coat) This isn't a jacket, it's an expression of who I am, an article of clothing.
Mr. F.: Did you wear that outside?
Me: Yes.
Mr. F.: Then it is a jacket and is not allowed to be worn.  The school policy explains it.
Me: Then my pants are a jacket? How about my boxers? Or even my shirt? I wore those outside.  I can't wear them? I have to attend school naked?
Mr. F.: You know what I mean.  Just take off your jacket, put it in your locker and I'll stop bugging you.
Me: It's not a jacket.
Mr. F.: (obviously getting frustrated due to my lack of respect for him) ARE YOU FUCKING STUPID??? TAKE OFF YOUR JACKET!
Me: (being anti-authoritative) WHO THE FUCK DO YOU THINK YOU'RE CALLING STUPID, YOU FAT FUCK! I'M SURPRISED YOU MANAGED TO GET YOUR FAT ASS OUT OF BED! GET THE FUCK OUT OF MY FACE, YOU FAT TUB OF SHIT!
Mr. F.: DO YOU WANT TO GO TO THE PRINCIPAL'S OFFICE!?
Me: SURE, THEY'RE PROBABLY EXPECTING ME ANYWAYS!
Mr. F. and I walked through the halls to the principal's office, quietly.  Both still fuming over what the other had said.  We reached the door, he turned and said "Sorry, I flew off the handle.  Look, could you please take off your jacket and I will walk away." (he truly was trying to be the good guy.
I simply said "nope, they already have a seat for me." and walked in.  I explained what happened to the receptionist, but for some reason I didn't tell her that he called me "Fucking stupid"... In hindsight, I guess that was my apology to him.

Why did I tell you that? I wanted to show you that the depression (which I'm not blaming) changed me.  It was me that showed disrespect.  It was the me that had came from almost a full year of self-mutilation, self-deprivation, self-inflicted hatred.

Depression takes many forms. I've been through a lot of them.  Drugs, alcohol, self-abuse, suicidal tendencies, you name it, I've probably done it.  If I haven't I know someone who has.

The point of this is... You need to realize.  Shit happens... It sucks, horribly.  But if you let it take over, you will do things you will be ashamed of, if not regret.  I regret nothing.  My philosophy is, if I regret yelling at Mr. F., I have to regret the beautiful daughter I have.  After that year her mother and I dated. She wanted a "rebel" as a boyfriend.  We became intimate and she was pregnant.  I became a father at 16.  I love her to death and I wouldn't trade anything for her.  I, eventually learned to cope with my depression, use it, manipulate it. It still haunts me once-in-a-while.  It'll creep up and paralyze me for a day or so.  I don't take medication.  I've learned what to do when it peeks around the corner.

My methods will be different... why? because I'm different.

Back to what I started with.  If you think that for one second someone doesn't love you, someone doesn't care about you.  I guarantee you're wrong.  It might seem that way, but someone is paying attention to you.  Someone is looking up to you, if you truly feel that there isn't, I promise you there is.  A sibling, a cousin, a bully (yes, they might treat you like shit, but mostly because they're jealous.  Jealous that they can't be as "carefree" as you, they have an image to uphold, in which they base their whole life.  If they fail that, then they fear that they will lose who they are). If you just look in the mirror, smile for 30 seconds (force yourself if you have to), say one good thing every time you feel down. You'll almost always start to feel better.  I tell people all the time. "Normal people" scare the hell out of me.  They're all wearing masks.  It's the ones who are clearly different, abnormal that I embrace.  They're not afraid to show who they are.  They don't wear masks.

If you stumbled upon this because you're feeling down, I hope this helped.  If you're feeling so bad that you wish to end it, there are helplines.  Feel free to send me an email telling me what's wrong.  I will do my best to help.  If I don't reply right away, it is not because I'm ignoring you, It's not because I don't care. It's not because I'm bothered or annoyed.  I will reply as soon as I can.




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