Unhappy Feelings : Life Long Suicidal Ideations, a Destiny of Isolation, & the Zombie Apocalypse
When you're already dead, but can't die.
It was bad enough I’ve had nothing on my heart and mind but infinite rest for as long as I can remember, the days mesh into one another, so who knows just how long it’s been. Then, to wake up another day unable to cope and full of despair, a cultural and musical legend left us in this nasty world to ascend to a much more rewarding one. RIP, Frankie Beverly, though I didn’t know you, I grew up with you, sharing moments of joy and love with my loved ones, and then it was you who held me and comforted me in a time of great loss, losing a love I never received again since then. It seems like the older I get; the more life feels the need to prove to me that everything I cherish and hold dear to my heart will never be available to me. In this life, the best parts end before you truly get to know how it feels to experience the best, but you can always count on the worst never leaving your side.
Ever since I can remember, I have wanted to cease existing, finding solace in the angel wings of my mother, who departed before I even got the chance to create memories to hold onto. As early as 5, I had a friend group who resented me for existing, lived in an abusive home, and had always felt overlooked. Be it astrological or neurological; I was never meant to live life pretending, even with my all put into it, the truth would always be as bright as the sun, the only thing I’ve managed to get to shine through the darkness attached to me. There are spaces in between, where the suffering seems to be leading somewhere soft and peaceful, where the relief isn’t permanent because such is life, but where the misery is no longer the constant theme.
Halfway through 30 years on this earth, I want nothing more than to outrun this pain. I often fantasize about being in my mother’s arms again. I want to rest my head in her bosom and never have to worry about these worldly things ever again. I can remember the first time the thought came to mind. I was in kindergarten, and I was punished for being neurodivergent. I don’t know exactly what pissed my father off at that time. Still, it was enough to trap me in my room with no access to any of my belongings that kept a lonely, neglected child entertained and banned me from the only escape he would accept to my maternal grandmother’s house. I was punished to stare at the wall and listen to nothing but my thoughts. Ironically, it has become my only means of getting away from life, even to this day. There was yelling and the chaos of my room being emptied through the berating, and I wanted nothing more than to shed out of my skin, but I was trapped in a literal hell. This happened so many times, in addition to a lot of neglect. As a lot of our parents believed, as long as I had a home to sleep in, had access to clean water and clothes, and could manage to find my meals to eat, even when they didn’t know where they’d come from, I was being taken care of well enough. There was nothing else my guardians were required to do for me, and I should work on being less needy. That truth took over my life in ways I’m only now understanding.
I feel so disconnected in ways I’m unsure of how to express myself with words. It hasn’t gone without many failed attempts to connect with others I naively believed were like-minded. It’s maddening to realize that no one will truly get who I am, that no one will be able to understand how life takes so much from me. I’ve found that it’s easier to be alone, with no misunderstandings and no confusing thoughts and feelings, leading to more misunderstandings and off-putting reactions. If not, I find myself in a perpetual cycle of over-explaining myself in an attempt to bridge the gap between my mind and theirs. That wouldn’t help with much of anything because the issue has never been a lack of information or willful misunderstanding, and everything has to do with the lack of access to the lonely island that is my brain. So when I’m forced to interact with the rest of the world when I have to take care of my needs and responsibilities, a large portion of me must detach from my surroundings. It brings about an isolating existence that lacks the awareness and understanding of how to actively participate in the world around me. Walking through all of my days with no signs of life, no sign of a spark within. How do you imagine it feels to be a corpse reanimated by the perceived obligation to keep trying and not be a disappointment? It feels like a never-ending cycle of failing.
Some days, for me, are good, some are even really good. I can’t profess that everything is all bad all the time. There are times when I feel empowered and capable of accomplishing the necessary day-to-day activities, when my community can support me more physically or financially, when I can focus on enjoying myself and feeling safe and comfortable. Those moments have become traps for me, an expectation to overcome my hard beginnings so I can share my testimony through thriving and success. What a dream that would be to experience in the flesh. I fall back into that dark hole of needing so much help and support to make it all make sense but not being in need enough.
The hole only gets deeper, and I only grow weaker. There isn’t much strength left to claw myself out, and my will to fight being buried alive diminishes as the days come and go. I dream of a life worth living, but I’m stuck with this one, leaving much to be needed and desired. No matter how much I beg and plead, and it never matters how many times I convince myself to start anew, I always land back here, lost, invisible, undeserving, because if I wasn’t, then why would the divine continue to take from me and ignore my desperate cries? How come the powers that be leave my ghoulish spirit to roam this land when they could call me to a peaceful home?
In despair, endlessly
trying to hold on the sheer will, desperately
but with it fading, my every move acted out recklessly
with emotion raw, melting my armor away
to only a coat of tears
I remember I once could fight these demons away
but I no longer feel equipped for battle
Maybe I died on that field,
A gun to the head, exploding the darkness inside, all over the earth
or maybe a blade to the heart, one deep cut
to free the pain, all the gore from being broken,
raining over my corpse to revive the flesh
And still I rise through the blood and dirt in decay
May God grant me the peace to accept myself in a world that tells me I won’t be accepted, God grant me the strength to put my all into tomorrow.