started again
It all makes sense now.
From the moment I started socializing as an infant, I knew I wasn't the same. I couldn't stay still but I hated being seated; I wasn't dumb, just wired differently.
At 13, something changed. Food wasn't as flavorful as before, music didn't make me want to jump anymore, people--even my own thoughts--were TOO much for me. Hour-to-hour, I felt dull.
My fast-paced, short-term memory brain, decided it wanted company; so it developed its counterpart: chronic depression, also known as Dysthymia.
As the years went on, I felt duller. At 14, I got obsessed with searching for a purpose; thought it was something that could be felt.
At 15, I struggled to find a reason to wake up, but I also couldn't sleep because of my thoughts at night.
At 16, I tried to take my life; took enough NSAIDs to make a fat horse feel great before it goes into permanent slumber. Woke up next day, confused as to how I survived, but mainly, I felt horribly nauseous and kept going in-and-out of the bathroom to puke red, vile stuff.
At 17, is it all done? I gave my all. I had everything I thought I needed to feel happy: a caring girlfriend, a bright future in a reputable college, bodily-aesthetic, "friends" that I could always yap to. Still, every day felt like my last one; 'hopefully' I thought.
If everyone around me was having a good time, why did I have to hide in the bathroom whenever panic attacks hit me without warning or any reason to happen?
At 18, I smoked weed at least 8 times a day, just to avoid feeling that numbness, which in turn made me feel like a zombie, emotionless; now it wasn't this constant feeling of 'slight annoyance', but nothingness. Lost interest in people, myself, my family, every major and minor thing.
It wasn't the weed (I still smoke once every month or two). It was my brain.
At 19, I overdosed on Xanax. In three days, everyone I knew found out about it, I lost my job (not that making pizzas at Little Caesar's is career-changing, but fuck I loved that job), I lost friends, I lost the little hope I had left.
I did everything I could to feel anything, I tried to take my life again.
...
Well, I am happy to say--to myself as no one will read this--not every sad story has a sad ending. The past and the future do not exist, only the present. I just started living.
Months ago, I got diagnosed with Dysthymia, a couple weeks after that, I got diagnosed with mixed-ADHD. I never believed in medication, I always thought it would make me a zombie. FUCK FRUCK FRICK FLIP-FLOP JIZZ was I wrong.
Fast-forward to today, a 50mg Sertraline pill and a 20mg Ritalin XR pill on wake.
Holy FFFFFFFFFFFFFFFFFFFFFFFFFFFFFFFF
Colors are vivid. I can care about things. I can feel proud of myself. I can talk to people with genuine intent and connection. I can smile and know it is not an automated response to not seem rude. I can try embarrassing things I couldn't even start before: dancing, doing music, being open about myself. I can be. I can coexist with myself. I finally feel like I am me. I feel. I am me.
It feels like everything is possible now. I am going to college (after dropping out twice) for Marketing; I am making music to obsessively explore that untapped creative side of me.
I can live. I want to. I love life. I love me. I love my parents, even when we fight. I love pain, it makes me feel important. I love failing, it makes me feel like I'm actually progressing. I love experimenting, it gives me ideas and hope. I love love.
Thank you, modern medicine. Thank you psychiatrist Gema.
Thank you Mom, for secretly saving up for that first psychiatrist appointment. I know you did it because of Dad's traditional view on psychology and medicine. Thank you Dad, for even when in non-agreement or in a fully oppositional view, you gave yourself the benefit of the doubt; "What if this does makes him feel better?"
Thank you Big Bro, for those times you picked me up when I was cross-faded off everything beyond slurred speech, alone at night. For picking me up from my bed and putting me back to sleep three times in a row that night before I overdosed. For holding back your frustration of being in charge of morally raising me. I could never ask for a better brother, no matter how far life takes us, I will always be your little brother and need you close to me.
Lastly, thank you Sebastian, for not giving up on yourself those times you could've ended it so easily.
Not every story has a sad ending, sometimes, it ends in a better beginning.