Quinn's Chronicles

Companionless

"Why don't you ever smile?"

Recently the person I said "I love you" to stopped saying "I miss you." I call myself the fool for knowing that up to the point before I decided to save her, that a long standing relationship could never be, and when I had became blind to this and so deep in love is when I lost the person that was my "everything."

Please don't expect me to smile. I can't tell you this, but I'm always in pain. There is no amount of professionals that I can talk to, no amount of drugs I can take that will make this pain go away. I am in deep pain.

I am burdened with this pain, loneliness, and sadness. For a time, I had the mentality of "Others are feeling such sadness, so what good does it do trying to help someone like me that always feels sad?" I wondered if perhaps it's when I am most sad that my strength emerges most. Sometimes I feel like the saddest being to exist.

"How many times have you wanted to speak up but never did?" Too many. Do I deserve to announce this pain, as a demon in human skin?

Perhaps to try awakening and healing from the seals of my past is why I have been brought to this place of sadness, learning from mistakes and uncovering hard earned truths. The universe deals in balance, not good nor evil. I have conquered all that sought to destroy me aside from the wrongdoings to my own soul. I can only move forward but I can't trust myself to make the right decision when I'm not okay. I don't know how to feel okay. Even I am hard on myself. Even I push myself to do the things I believe I must. I don't know what makes me happy. I've been dependent on the happiness of others to try and understand the meaning of happiness. For a time I thought that perhaps it was love and the satisfaction of doing what I perceived to be was the right thing that brought happiness to my soul. In truth I don't know what happiness means to me. I don't want to just work, sleep, consume, and die.

I wondered what healing meant and hoped to find it through the wishes of my mundane family. They believed that talking about my problems to them or some other professional would help me feel more at peace. Though what power did I have, seen unequal and amidst their care, to have a say in anything that happened? Even back growing up I was defiant and stubborn. I would stay up past my bedtime to watch older themed programs on television. I would go out and smoke marijuana and cigarettes, drink and take psychedelic substances. I wanted to understand my mind and also be numb and free of this reality. I can't tell my father anything. I don't want to tell him I'm not okay because I can't talk about any of it. I can't tell him that I am still experiencing deep turmoil. He wouldn't understand.

This is a sea and my parents are waves. They didn't understand that I was lonely nor sad. There's nothing I could've done to prevent moving place to place, at a time when my "everything" were the connections I'd had made. They tried to reinforce some ideals on me that when I followed would only end up making me feel like I'm naught but a collection of scripts. "I'm fine" is my favorite. I could be feeling anything other than alright, but fine defines things well. In truth, "Fine" is more of a status than a feeling. Most of the time I have a roof over my head, I'm not dying that I know of, yes I know I'm visibly tired from never getting the rest I need. I'm fine.

I couldn't talk to my parents or the professionals. Several times I stopped seeking help, once after lying out of a hospital form having been condemned there for three days, another after being told they just don't know how to help me. Sometimes talking about my feelings to professionals felt almost like a game, and I was trying to understand their methods just as much as they were trying to understand me.

I don't remember all the times I've been condemned to the hospital for psychiatric treatment. There was a time I felt so trapped as to take my combat knife and cut down to the bone through my flesh, cursing the world and begging to die. My parents saw my suffering but never understood my pain. I have been on many of those hospital forms and never truly got the help that I needed. I thought I was immune to antidepressants.

"What can I do to help?"

I don't know the answer to that question. Mother, Father, if you listened fully to what I had to say beyond trivial matters, if you let me be who I wanted to be, just maybe we wouldn't be here in this situation. Perhaps I am at fault for not understanding and avoiding being sincere. This area where I am now is a result of circumstances beyond my understanding or control and we ended up moving away from the place I grew up in this lifetime. Mother, Father, we cannot have sustained peace. You've never "felt" like my parents as parents should be. You've never felt like my friends. You will never see the spirit trapped in a human's body, only a man diagnosed with a mental condition, going through "the same things other people with depression go through." Sometimes I made my mother cry for being forward with not wishing to see her.

I thought cigarette smokers were weak minded. In truth a lot of smokers just smoke out of habit, having something to do with their idle hands. At least in the beginning, the nicotine isn't that bad, except after a while it's just tainted air and there's not much point to actually smoking them. Maybe they aren't weak but like me didn't care anymore. Not all cigarette smokers are weak minded, often they are looking for something to ease the pain of reality. To be weak minded is to continue smoking poison after realizing its toxic effects while wanting to live a full life. You can always tell who's a cigarette smoker by their energy. I used to practice sending out vibrations of craving nicotine to others nearby so I can bum a smoke. I used psychology to my advantage and almost always got one for free. Eventually I threw away this addiction as the satisfaction did not outweigh the annoyances to health.

I take satisfaction in thinking my parents know nothing of my personal life. I realized something after I fell through the ice and moved away, which changed the way I perceived the world as a kid. I realized that from a young age that I was always going to be alone. I was afraid. The person I called my friend wouldn't reach out and quietly observed my struggle. For a moment, the cold water was the only thing I could feel and not my body itself. For a moment, it felt like I was part of that water. I reached to get out of the water only to break off more pieces of ice. Desperately I grabbed on and stood up into the cold breeze. I walked home in the midst of a storm and what felt like an eternity where I could only feel my hands against the cold wind.

I was afraid in that moment but didn't understand why. I feared not death walking home from that river, the only thing I had on my mind was how damn cold my hands were. I later realized I was afraid because I felt alone. I felt like if I had gone under too long then I wouldn't have had anyone to save me. I moved away from "everything" again and left that self behind. I didn't want to be a kid anymore.

I quickly became depressed in a place I didn't want to be in. I tried to change myself further also to better understand the people around me. At the time, I didn't care about how people felt about me. I had done some ridiculous things, dangerous and reckless things. I started to run into others that were feeling the immense weights of sadness upon them and even if only to listen, I started to realize that professionals will never be able to make me feel better. I needed to confide in someone that not only understood what I felt, but would also be there for when this feeling of loneliness takes hold of my heart.