CrystalGeezer
My secret's my enzyme.
I'm just going to get this off my chest. I don;t have a crazy blog anymore and I don't have the liberty or gift of packaging these thoughts into beautiful lyrics.
So today is the four year anniversary of the day I left a long relationship that was tremendously abusive. While it's a good thing I left, the next few days represent an intensely dark period where I took all my money and resolved to kill myself in a motel room by overdosing on the anti-psychotics every doctor told me to take that never made the signs I said I saw go away. I thought it would be a nice poetic justice to die by way of the thing that couldn't hide what I was experiencing. But I knew it was going to take some time, I had to build up to it because I suppose a part of me didn't want to die. Despite my sign-seeing affliction and relatively crappy deck-stacked-against-me life up to that point, I loved life. My dog. My mom and dad. My sister. My friends. I loved them. But I was so lost in my brain and the signs URGING me to do something else, to go in a different direction, to constantly pay attention, to let go of the coincidences, all of this experienced absolutely alone. Trying to relate to my friends while voices spoke through them, listening to that voice while simultaneously listening to my friend. It was surreal and eerie and familiar my whole life but just making sense, like I was just figuring out the system and I could share it with nobody. THen to be paired with this abusive man who controlled and bullied and screamed and it was all "lessons." THen I had to hear the voice within this screaming outrage directed at me, spitting in my face and try to discern why he was choosing the words he chose, it was all lessons. But it was too difficult to live through, it was a school I didn;t sign up for, I was thrown into it and there was nowhere I could turn, nobody listened, they were all "the voice." And even though the voice was consoling and hopeful, I'd had enough, I couldn't take it.
So today, four years ago, I said I was going to the library and I drove to a motel instead and took some pills, too many. I dreamt I was sitting in a bed watching television, I could hear the television, but I;d wake up and it wasn't my television, it was turned off and the curtains drawn. So I'd take twice as many more pills. I paid for two more nights not knowing how long it would take for the "too many pills" to be just enough pills. And the maid, a Mexican man, used his key to get into my room. He wanted to give me fresh towels, he insisted I take them and he looked at me with this desperation that said "No. Please don't." It wasn't "the voice," it wasn't instructional, it was like his soul was telling me no more pills. So I slept them off, I have no idea how long it took, it was Seroquel, I think I got up to 8. And then, I had to drive home to a home I hated. So I did my usual song and dance when I'd run away so many times before. I'd bring food and be apologetic and say how useless I was and make a plan to change as a person because I was an awful person. This was the standard script of acceptance. Except this time I'd spent all the money on the motel and had none, I;d have to steal a turkey and potatoes and pie from the grocery store. I knew that Scolari's didn't have surveillance cameras, I'd go there. It was the lowest of low feelings that I was so accustomed to, almost breaking away then getting scared and grovelling my way back. But something said, the voice said, go to Los Angeles. It was Thanksgiving. And I did. And that's that.
When I decided I wanted to die four years ago today, I knew I wanted to do it next to this rock, one of the seven sisters in a range of dormant volcanos. Good thing I didn;t follow through on that gut feeling, I was close to knowing what I needed though.
I'm not asking that anyone respond to this, I'm just letting go of thoughts that plague me. Memories. I already unlesashed this thought on poor Jackie via PM, she probably thinks I'm a freak.
So today is the four year anniversary of the day I left a long relationship that was tremendously abusive. While it's a good thing I left, the next few days represent an intensely dark period where I took all my money and resolved to kill myself in a motel room by overdosing on the anti-psychotics every doctor told me to take that never made the signs I said I saw go away. I thought it would be a nice poetic justice to die by way of the thing that couldn't hide what I was experiencing. But I knew it was going to take some time, I had to build up to it because I suppose a part of me didn't want to die. Despite my sign-seeing affliction and relatively crappy deck-stacked-against-me life up to that point, I loved life. My dog. My mom and dad. My sister. My friends. I loved them. But I was so lost in my brain and the signs URGING me to do something else, to go in a different direction, to constantly pay attention, to let go of the coincidences, all of this experienced absolutely alone. Trying to relate to my friends while voices spoke through them, listening to that voice while simultaneously listening to my friend. It was surreal and eerie and familiar my whole life but just making sense, like I was just figuring out the system and I could share it with nobody. THen to be paired with this abusive man who controlled and bullied and screamed and it was all "lessons." THen I had to hear the voice within this screaming outrage directed at me, spitting in my face and try to discern why he was choosing the words he chose, it was all lessons. But it was too difficult to live through, it was a school I didn;t sign up for, I was thrown into it and there was nowhere I could turn, nobody listened, they were all "the voice." And even though the voice was consoling and hopeful, I'd had enough, I couldn't take it.
So today, four years ago, I said I was going to the library and I drove to a motel instead and took some pills, too many. I dreamt I was sitting in a bed watching television, I could hear the television, but I;d wake up and it wasn't my television, it was turned off and the curtains drawn. So I'd take twice as many more pills. I paid for two more nights not knowing how long it would take for the "too many pills" to be just enough pills. And the maid, a Mexican man, used his key to get into my room. He wanted to give me fresh towels, he insisted I take them and he looked at me with this desperation that said "No. Please don't." It wasn't "the voice," it wasn't instructional, it was like his soul was telling me no more pills. So I slept them off, I have no idea how long it took, it was Seroquel, I think I got up to 8. And then, I had to drive home to a home I hated. So I did my usual song and dance when I'd run away so many times before. I'd bring food and be apologetic and say how useless I was and make a plan to change as a person because I was an awful person. This was the standard script of acceptance. Except this time I'd spent all the money on the motel and had none, I;d have to steal a turkey and potatoes and pie from the grocery store. I knew that Scolari's didn't have surveillance cameras, I'd go there. It was the lowest of low feelings that I was so accustomed to, almost breaking away then getting scared and grovelling my way back. But something said, the voice said, go to Los Angeles. It was Thanksgiving. And I did. And that's that.
When I decided I wanted to die four years ago today, I knew I wanted to do it next to this rock, one of the seven sisters in a range of dormant volcanos. Good thing I didn;t follow through on that gut feeling, I was close to knowing what I needed though.
I'm not asking that anyone respond to this, I'm just letting go of thoughts that plague me. Memories. I already unlesashed this thought on poor Jackie via PM, she probably thinks I'm a freak.
