I’ve been reflecting a lot these past couple of weeks. Sometimes when you journal your life, it really puts it all right on the table, and franky it’s hard to make out.
I’ve recently had a bunch of old friends starting to find my site, and reading up on what I’ve been going through. Now I sit here and wonder if I’ve done them a disservice by subjecting then to the time to read it all, and I have to wonder just how acurate it is.
Seems my entire life has been a complete state of confusion, being driven by emotions that it’s taken me 40 years to figure out, and I still work daily to make sense of it all.
I feel I have three worlds, three different versions of myself, in three distinctly different periods of my life, that are all very much me, but how do I make the three worlds all understand each other?
I have so much love for those I left behind, but I’m also engulfed in fear of a lack of ability to make them understand the level my brain was functioning at.
It seems any personal site has a sandard “about me” page, and now I sit here and realise that page, and all my other stories along with it, simply give you parts of me, based on my mood of the day it’s written. This doesn’t serve anyone any good.
So Im going to attempt a true “about me” page, that everyone in my life can hopefully use to put some of the peices together and see the larger picture. I’m just learning it all now myself. My psych team has taken me DEEP down the rabbit hole.
Episode 1: A Weed Grows in Brooklyn
In this first story we’re going to jump right into the events that made me what I am, and something my closest friends, who were and are my family, have never known about me.
When I was 10, I witnessed, and experienced, a horrific violent event that essentially broke me. I was just a child, and I was stuck in a situation where I had actually tried to kill a man in defense of myself and another. I was badly injured, and then stuck outside of myself helplessly in shock, as I witnesed something no child should ever have to.
Two weeks after that something else happened, that I can’t even say, but I now understand how someone can be completely outside themselves and driven to unspeakable things due to thier own experiences.
In a nutshell, 10 yrs old, 2 weeks after that horrofic event… there was attempt at my life.
At that very moment, I became exactly who I am now, and have always been, struggling to figure myself out.
From 10 years old, I’ve been emotionally on my own. There was simply nothing that anyone was going to tell me. There would never be anyone I would trust, an the idea of authority was right out the fucking window.
From 10 I made every decision for myself. Oddly enough finished school. Was one of those who did no work, but just absorbed the material.
However, I do build strong relations. I’ve basically been trying to build a family in every step of my life.
I found another family in my friends and thier families.
First and foremost Rick. My brother in every sense of the word, and I walked out of his life and all my friends without ever turning back. It’s because I still didnt understand all this, so how could I ever explain to others.
At a young age, I basicay installed myself right into Ricks family.
Bro, as disunctional/unconevnional(I say with love) as your family was, I didnt have a family in my mind. They were there but we just passed in the night. It was your family that took me in, and I felt part of it. I needed to feel part of a family so bad. As much as I loved you all over the years, is also how much I resented you for having it for real, where I was still really just an outsider, waiting to be turned against.
My relations with women also run hot or cold. I want to love you, and due to past events, I have a very strong protective part of me. While I would die protecting almost any one of you, I could never truly trust anyone.
Thats why when it comes to women, I am either fully dedicated, 110% loyal, or else I will fuck someone new every night (and i have the verbal skill to do just that)with absoluely zero emotion atatched.
I’m very honest about it, but that behavior can quickly turn to compulsive self medicating and become all consumimg.
When 911 happened, it’s not the event in itself that broke me, as some reporters who wrote my story focused on.
I had lost another family that day. Andrea was killed but what got me the most, and the image I can’t get out of my head, is seeing families aimlesly walking wth pictures of lost loved ones….. and there was Poppie’s family, holding his picture. Thier eyes were empty and hopeless and through the television I felt connected, yet emotionless. I shared emptiness in thier eyes.
Everthing changed. And I felt once again a family, that I worked hard at, had been taken away from me.
Where do you go from here? Down
I tried different things, but the inability to focus on any one thing too long, just left me looking to isolate further and further………. Til I finally had enough. I didn’t have anything left in me to offer anyone as a friend, or family.
I was dead inside just going through the motions. Being the classic life of the party, then do noting but cry when alone.
At least this time, walking away with nothing, into nothing, but this time it was I who left the family, not the other way around. Sounds crazy, but at the time that was all I had, and somehow I felt stronger for it. As bad as I wanted it, I didn’t know how to operate on the same funtioning level, and same loving level. I didn’t know how to do “normal” and the thought of it terified me. Just more to be taken away from you
Goodbye Brooklyn. I love you, but it’s time to go down the rabbit hole….
Stay tuned for Part 2: The Flesh Failures/Forget the Sunshine