Mentality

Prelude

The first time was June of 2013.

I had told a momentous lie that slithered into the cracks of my existence. My mouth spewed words as my brain was unsure why. I did not want to say this horrible forgeries about the man that I love more than life itself, yet they were tumbling off my tongue like water cascading over the edge of a bluff.

I had known what I did and I could not live with the fact that it could have ruined him.

So I tied a belt around my neck and proceeded to pull tighter and tighter until I could feel my face swelling and my hands shaking.

The second time was two weeks ago.

I had had sex with the fourth man three different times, yet in different ways. This time it felt as if emotion could actually be tied to the act. This time it felt right.

But I was wrong.

And he left me like they all did.

After he had let his emotions of being non-emotional slip from his mind, and I stood against a car shivering in the damp garage with my bare feet against the cold concrete, I went to my car and I drove to the lake.

I took him to the lake and we made love there.

I sat in front of that lake and looked out over the water. I saw how calm it was, how soothing water could be. Each quality had their own appeal; the cold would numb me, the waves would push me, the depth would drown me.

I looked out over that lake as my hands shook and I hit the steering wheel with all of the force I wanted to hit myself with. I screamed and sobbed and writhed into a mass of nothingness.

I watched the waves of the lake crash against the pavement as I sped towards them, wanting to plunge all the way in, wanting to immerse myself in serenity and finality.

But I did not.

Instead I drove back home.

All of this was not the scariest part of it all.

No.

The scariest part came last week.

I was laying in my sheets covered in blankets and regrets when my mind could not think anymore. All of the other times, thinking about my family, my father, stopped the bad things. I could think rationally. I would never in my life leave the man who has raised me. I could never let my daddy live without his baby girl.

But last week the thought did not occur to me. I laid out on the carpet and began breathing heavy. This was usual: first the heavy breathing, then the shaking, then the wailing, then the serenity of unconsciousness. It is a process that I am used to. I can calmly remember the events and analyze them after I regain sanity.

But last week I was scared. I was panicking, and this time there was no light. There was no family, there was no reason. There was no God and there was no hope. There was only nothing. I had no reason left to live anymore.

I have never been more petrified.

I do not want to die.

But I do not want to live like this anymore.

As I sat there contemplating what to do with myself, if I could even do anything with myself, a message appeared on my phone. A girl, whom I thought despised me, had messaged me saying that this time of the year reminded her of me, and that she hoped I was doing well.

And at the moment I knew that I was going to be okay.

Someone cared.

God was there.

And now I continue on my journey of what I call a good life, most of the time.

Now I carry on as I battle the two demons inside me: one holds the name of depression, while the other one timidly likes to be called anxiety.

This is life when your insides are tearing you apart.