So, you wanna join the suicide club…

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Not that it’s a horrible idea or anything. Actually, I was once the assistant secretary of the vice president for the Suicide Club. A respectable role that involved greeting new members, taking down names, and get this: making sure they were suicidal enough to join. Ready for the crazy part? This story is completely legitimate. No metaphors, no witty symbolism, just the cold, hard truth. So what do you do in a suicide club? Well, probably not what you think we would do.

Of the 50 people I met who joined, only 1 of them actually ended up committing suicide. I was there at the time. She OD’d on <insert anti-depressant drug I can’t remember here>. Thing is, I didn’t find out she’d done it until I told her a story about my ex-girlfriend Sarah who had hung herself. It was at THAT point that her eyes welled up with tears and she told me she had OD’d about an hour ago, but that she didn’t want to die. I called an ambulance. They were unable to save her. And that was that.

What changed her mind? She’d already jumped through the final hoop, she’d been smiling (and vomiting) up until the point she said she couldn’t go through with it after all. I think it was a certain aspect of Sarah and I’s story. You see, she and I made a pact that as long as the other one was alive, we would never willingly leave the earth before our time was up, because that would just mean less time together in life. On top of that, we promised that if one of us broke that oath, the other one was obligated to kill themselves as well, in the same manner, so as to increase the probability that we would see each other in the after life. I didn’t do it though. Because I realized something as I sat beneath that great big pine tree, watching her limp body sway ever so slightly in the cool evening breeze… she was gone.

I mean, truly gone.

People talk about ghosts and auras and spirits and all these things when people die… there was nothing. No smile. No beauty. I remember laughing at how absurdly empty she was, when before she had been the most lively and beautiful person I had ever met. So now, here I am, half the man I used to be, and no relationship I’ve had thusfar has filled that hole in my being. If it sounds cliche, then good, because she epitomized cliche. She was/is the other half of me, and is forever lost to a void that is completely unknown to me. All the more reason to commit suicide, right? Well hold on… don’t you realize what all of this implies?

Somewhere out there, there is someone counting on you to be around to save them.

That’s it. Don’t believe me? Well, if you stick around long enough, you will. They NEED you. They may not know it yet, and you may not be able to believe it, but you have to. Your death will effect someone at some point, even if it’s down the road, in ways you cannot possibly imagine. And I guarantee that that someone is going to be the person you love/would have loved more than anything else in the world.

So, after all that, you may be wondering what the rest of the 49 people, including myself, did in the suicide club. Mostly, we talked about life over tea and occasionally a board game. And we lived together. Ironic? Not really, in fact, that would be an abhorrent misuse of the word. Funny? Yah, a little bit. But mostly is was just nice. Dandy. Swell. Simple. So if you wanna join, go right ahead… we’re all waiting for you here, with open minds and open arms.

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Veils, Shadows, Minds, Hearts…

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You feel it coming before it hits you. Did you know that? Insanity, in the true sense of the word. That feeling of not being “all there,” or separation. It doesn’t wash over you like a tidal wave. It rises, from the feet up, it’s hot at first, but it cools down and freezes over your head. You can’t move, you’re too afraid to move…. “what if I make a mistake? what if I hurt someone?” You can see faces, but you can’t see PEOPLE.

How does one like me explain… there are no words in any language created by man. Only analogies and allegories. You’re walking with your loved one, the sun is warm, but it’s overcast, a pleasant kind of overcast and there’s a light rain that feels good on your cheek. You come to a fork in the road and you go right. Your loved one goes left, ’cause she realizes something that you don’t: there is no right. But off you go anyway, you hear her words, but not her voice, and you think she’s still near to you. The path is treacherous, it rains so hard that it starts to flood, you whistle a familiar tune to calm yourself, even though you didn’t realize there was anything wrong in the first place. But when it finally hits you… when you feel the water rise over your head, when you’re drowning, when you see “him” standing in front of you… you know, him, you, but the you that went left… that’s when reality sets in. That’s when you KNOW that you’re different, that the world you thought you knew is not as tangible as you thought it was. That the “reality” isn’t very “real” at all.

At times like these, I just have to separate myself from everything, watch the universe go round and round through a window. I can’t step outside. It’s dangerous out there… that would be suicide for sure. People may forget me… I may forget them, perhaps… I may forget how to walk and speak and pray and love… but I’ll live.

Survival is a talent forced upon all of us, and one I dearly wish I did not have.

Be Who You Want To Be

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“Be yourself” is outdated. It really is. It’s easy to get caught up in that whole “YOLO I don’t care what other people think cuz I’m MAHSELF homie!!” but at the end of the day, do we really think about what that means?

When you’re going through a tough time especially, like a breakup, it’s easy to make yourself feel better by saying “I’m just not going to care, I’m going to be myself and get over this.” I’ve done it, plenty of times. But “be yourself” is so vague, isn’t it? What does it actually mean? Who is “yourself” and why do you want to be him/her? Or here’s a better question: do you even want to be him/her at all?

Think about it! If you’re perfectly content to spend your life either watching TV, driving down to Pueblo to pick up your niece just ’cause it’s something to do and you’ve got no friends in the Springs, or eating, great. Good for you. The problem arises when you don’t manage to make any new friends, people don’t really want to hang out with you, and then you start blaming everyone else for not accepting you for who you are… which is BORING. That’s right… BORING. Is this really who you want to be? Do you truly not care what others think if you have to preach about it?

We’re human. We like to have other humans to socialize with and to interact with, ’cause let’s face it, as much as we like to hate on other people, people are the only thing in the world that could actually potentially care about what happens to us and that we can relate with. That said, no matter what we might think, we do care about others’ perceptions of us. So I have to ask again, do we really want to be ourselves? Or is what we really want to be the best person we can possibly be? Ah, now that sounds a lot more appealing, doesn’t it? I can guarantee Mr. Couch Potato would be a whole lot happier if he tried out some new things, got over his social anxiety (I have it too, so no excuses), and made an effort to strive for something he wants to do. It doesn’t matter if you’re the best at something. Passion is attractive, be passionate for God’s sake…

My point here is, don’t fall for all that “be yourself” crap. Don’t be yourself. Ever. We should always strive to be nicer, more productive, more caring, happier… better, however we may define that word for ourselves personally.

And if you can be Batman, please, by all means, be Batman.

Daughter

I saw a picture of my daughter, Eevee, several days ago. I didn’t have the presence of mind or the will power to write about that experience at the time, but it’s easy to remember how I felt. The first feeling really surprised me: happiness. I felt happy. There she was, smiling her big, beautiful smiling, just being pretty and wonderful. She’s only 2, but I kept thinking, irrationally that maybe she thought about me sometimes and I wondered what she might think.

Then I saw Sarah, holding her. And I felt something different: guilt. And sadness. She was smiling too, but I knew it couldn’t have been the same kind of smile. So many questions began to formulate in my head… What does she think every time she sees Eevee? Does she think about me? What will she say to Eevee about me when she grows up? How can I live with the thought that I did this to someone? Will she ever forgive me?

It hadn’t taken long to get over Eevee after Sarah and I broke up. In fact, I hardly thought of her at all, the only person I could think about was Sarah and how angry and confused I was. But now, 2 years later, Sarah’s become almost an after-thought. The first thing that comes to mind is Eevee, my daughter. I’ve denied her existence more times than I can count at this point. Partly because I hate myself. Partly because I don’t want to think about it. Mostly because admitting it has always just taken me to the brink of what I can handle emotionally.

Just last night I was thinking about how much like a dream that whole section of my life feels. I could almost truly believe it never happened at all if it weren’t for that picture, or for finding the occasional piece of Sarah I forgot to erase in some dark corner of the house or the internet. I want to be able to watch Eevee grow up. I want to experience it, but I know I can’t. I’m not ready emotionally, financially, psychologically… I’m just not ready yet. But I miss her. I miss her and I haven’t even gotten to really know her. And why shouldn’t I miss her? She’s my daughter, a piece of me walking (shakily) around and laughing and hopefully being curious and open-minded.

Hopefully going down a brighter path than my own…

 

I Don’t Exist

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I don’t exist. I’m like a ninja by accident. Even in my own home, it’s crazy… I can walk around the whole house 5 times and not one of the 6 other people here will say a word to me, and I won’t say a word to them either. Why? Well I already told you… I’m a ninja, that’s just who I am. It’s not who I want to be though.
Outside of my home it’s quite the same way in the virtual society that tends to be my main source of contact with everyone else (it’s hard to get out when you’re constantly monitored by silent Watchers and don’t have a car). I try to make contact occasionally, to no avail. At that point I’ll fall off of the map completely, and notice, with some disdain, how NOW I seem to be a source of interest. Now that I’m not there anymore. Now that I’m a NINJA.
It’s a vicious cycle though, really. When I do speak I’m rarely really listened to, and when I don’t I am, but I don’t care. ‘Cause it doesn’t mean anything, you know? NOW you want to talk? Why NOW? Because I’m somehow useful to you NOW? The saddest thing, though, is that I’m the only one I can blame for this situation. I don’t exist, I’m a ninja. If I weren’t that way, things wouldn’t be the way they are. It’s not something I can change though, it’s me…
I guess I’ve deluded myself. They always say “fake it till you make it” and for a while, I was faking it, and I’ll be honest, all things considered I was doing a great job! It always comes around to bite me though, and I realize in the end that, yes, I am alone, and that is the way it is. Again, I can’t blame anyone but myself for this, but boy, do I wish it weren’t so… I do wish… I wish it every night. I wish that I could change, be better, be more like someone else, be less like someone else, be able to truly believe in God, be able to understand why I’m here. Nothing changes, no one answers. I speak; my words float away. Someday, I will too, and that day can’t come soon enough.

Me Part 5: The End

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This is the end of this particular series on my life, i.e. the one based around Fred and Sarah. I like to think of my life as having different stories in it, but all of those stories are part of one bigger story. The conclusion to this story is a sad one.
Sarah and I broke up, necessarily, and I was broken. Very broken. I remember going into a rage that night, tearing at myself, throwing things against the wall, I don’t remember ever losing control as much as I did then in my life. It took me 3 months to get over her enough to start doing stable things again… get up… go to school… come back… go to sleep… friends on the weekends… repeat… repeat… and that’s how my life has felt since she left. Monotonous. Pointless. And that’s just me, I don’t blame it on Sarah. I blame it on the world and on life and on whoever created this system, whether it be God or some other being or just a chance operation.
Why are we here, really? Why do we even ask that question? Surely we wouldn’t wonder if there wasn’t a purpose, would we? Can humans be so flawed that they would question their purpose on earth or the existence of total death or absolute zero or infinity or time if in fact there was none? I believe our purpose here is to suffer. I see no other possible reason for our being here. The one universal amongst human beings is suffering. We don’t all love, much as we’d like to think that. None of us truly has happiness governing our lives. No one, however much they may like to believe it, is truly at peace. We all experience suffering, and suffering and time rule the universe together with iron fists. The purpose of the suffering? I cannot yet say. We will have to wait for death to truly understand.

Life is strange when you think about it…

It hurts to think about it too hard actually. Trees, motorcycles, newscasters, marshmallows, Facebook, TV, jukeboxes… it’s all a blur, isn’t it? What is life? Why are we here? Yes, yes, unanswerable questions since the beginning of time (or did time have a beginning?) I know, but maybe that’s the answer in itself. Maybe life truly doesn’t HAVE a point. And maybe that’s the beauty of it. Think about it. Human beings don’t need a purpose to live. They don’t NEED money, they don’t NEED to survive. They choose how to live their lives. Other animals need a purpose, and that purpose is survival and reproduction. For them, life has a point. Part of being human is coming to the realization that our lives don’t have a point.
It’s impossible for me to describe how I truly see the world, because even I don’t fully understand what I feel. It’s a sort of emptiness mixed with random hope that there’s something more out there. Because if there’s nothing more out there… well, I don’t know. I feel like running away sometimes. Not anywhere in particular, just running away, trying to find something more. But you know what’s sad? I’ll never find anything. That’s the consequence of life on this earth. What you see is what you get, there’s nothing else there for us. We can have faith in something bigger than ourselves, sure, but can we ever truly confirm its existence? The answer, quite simply, is no. We cannot.
Look at the people around you. Look at yourself. What are you doing? Why are you doing it? Why do you want that job? Why do you want a girlfriend/boyfriend? What purpose does your life serve in relation to everyone else? Will anyone miss you when you’re gone? I’m not trying to depress you, I’m challenging you to seriously consider and accept that life has no point. It’s that understanding that will make you truly human. Don’t be like the other people around you, wandering around aimlessly in search of things that present themselves every day. Rather, lose yourself. Wander for the sake of wandering, but stop searching. Because there’s no point. In the end, we die, we are released from this mortal self that is so limited in its scope and understanding of life. How do we escape from the chair, and see the light behind us rather than the shadows on the wall of Plato’s cave? Death is the only answer I have been able to find thusfar.

Why I’m making a blog

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That guy up there is me. Doing what I love to do most, which is to play music. In fact, playing music is the one thing in this world that really seems worth doing. Everything else is just a big old meaningless blur that sort of manifests itself in an appealing way to some oblivious people. But not to me. And that’s why I’m writing this blog. For myself mainly, but also for anyone who either doesn’t really understand what life is about or wishes they did. I like to think I have a pretty good idea, of course this is from the point of view of an angsty 20 year old guy who ran away to NY a couple years ago and realized just how miserable life can really be.

This blog won’t be totally depressing of course, there are a lot of good things life has to offer as well, and I’ll be including all those things. But for the most part, it will be somewhat depressing because life is, by nature, depressing. This is actually an indisputable fact, and you will see I have proof if you choose to read through the many posts I plan on making here.

Thank you for reading, and I hope you find that you can come to some sort of peace of mind or enlightenment in your own way. As for myself, I’m still searching, and probably will be until the end of my days.

-Troy