I’m Not Leaving

The last time I made a post like this, it was in December 2013, and I’m not linking it because all but one of those things are completely and wholly untrue now.

Recently, I started thinking about Disney’s upcoming, new Disney Princess, Moana. I plan to see it in theaters with my boyfriend and it will be the very first Disney Princess movie I’ve ever seen in theaters. What crossed my mind was if I’d acted on any of suicidal thoughts I’ve had in the past, that wish wouldn’t be becoming reality.

In truth, I have those thoughts more often than I feel comfortable admitting. I suppose it’s not really bad, but aside from my boyfriend and my best friend, the things I list are usually small. Video game series, television ones, art and stories I’ve created, even this blog. I’m happy to know these things. While I still hold the belief I’d prevent my existence if I could go back in time to do so, since I’m already here, I don’t want to leave.

Of course, that doesn’t mean I don’t struggle with my self-worth and value as a member of society. I very much do, as I’m sure I’ve made evident. Even as I type this, those thoughts of if I’ll ever be more of a contributor than a tax burden are going through my head. Every so often, those thoughts do take over and become very powerful, but the upside is it usually passes within about two days. A very mentally painful two days, but two days nonetheless. It’s not enough to make me wish I wasn’t an adult or make me miss my childhood.

This past weekend, I was with my boyfriend and I realized I frequently call his house “home” when we’re together (“Are we going home after this?” “Who’s home?”). In the latter example, it might make sense because I’m asking who’s at his home, but the former example is obviously including myself. He’s fine with it, but that was the first time I caught myself doing that. I do feel at home with him, not only in his house, but in the state and city he lives. Not so much I’d dare venture around it alone, but enough to have no anxiety about ever going out there. If it were possible and I knew for sure I wouldn’t become homesick for the city I live in, I’d stay there for a week if he and his family allowed it.

I don’t have everything I want in life, but I’m happy because I do have what I wanted more than anything as a kid. I wanted to be surrounded by people who love and care about me. The “surrounded” part doesn’t exist in a physical sense, but I feel it’s there. I never cared if it was a huge team of people. Him and my best friend really are enough (although that doesn’t mean I’d be closed to more). I wanted to go on trips like I did as a kid. I go out of town, out of state, to visit him and it’s a lot more fun than the same museum five times in a row. I wanted another place to call home. I found it.

I’ll keep trying, particularly since I can’t do much else, but I’m not completely unhappy with where I’m at now. I understand things do happen slowly. It certainly took a lot of friends to find my best friend, and a lot of bad dates and relationships to reach my boyfriend. It only makes sense it’ll take a lot of missed jobs to finally find one. I still did score an interview, so that’s something. At least, I know I’m worth being considered.

I’m not happy to be alive, meaning I’d still have preferred not existing to begin with, but I am happy to have things and people in my life that make it not so bad.

A Promise Isn’t A Promise

These days, it seems my avoidance of drinking alcohol, smoking, or using other drugs is less because of the promise I made to myself and more because I lack access to these things.

From observing my grandfather, it seems being an addict is a free pass to take money from everyone else after blowing all your own. You don’t have to concern yourself with their possible needs because you need their money more than them for your needs. If they temporarily have to go without, it doesn’t matter because you’re not going without. All while being in denial or not realizing you’re an addict.

I can’t say being an addict doesn’t look appealing when I judge by that view. There seems to be little unappealing about it. On top of that, the urge to start is getting stronger with each passing day.

I left home without bathing or eating this morning. Not eating breakfast isn’t unusual for me since I haven’t eaten breakfast regularly since I was 17, but not bathing is. I’ve never been frustrated to the point of not bathing, so it’s a first. All I did was put on deodorant. What’s more surprising is I really don’t care.

Yesterday, I had a dream about driving off a bridge and I feel like that’s my brain trying to tell me something I really don’t want to admit, but might be necessary. Unfortunately, my own cowardice prevents that, as it always has when I first began feeling that way several years ago, so it’ll never be reality unless it’s done by someone else’s hand. Truthfully, I feel like all of this is my fault for ever expecting my efforts to lead me anywhere and wasting my time with trying. I’d think the first decade of my life alone would mean I know better than to expect things to get better, but apparently not. To quote a character of an anime I recently watched: I was stupid. So stupid.

I may not keep that promise. It seems to be pointless. I turn to comfort food when I feel so badly, but that hasn’t been helping like it used to. Perhaps alcohol or nicotine or whatever else there is would be the better alternative. It’s certainly better than selling myself on the street, which I’ve also considered doing out of desperation. Really, I best not get into the things I’ve felt desperate enough to consider for money until I manage to find steady paid work (yes, I’m still looking, for some reason even I fail to understand).

At this point, I’m wondering how much longer I can refuse the desperation or the urges to intoxicate myself. How much longer until I finally decide it’s not worth it and break that promise?