I was asked "How are you today?" toady. This is a question that is pretty common, since we ask it in many forms through out the days as a way of saying 'hello' in the halls at work, with people we don't know.
But it is different when people who you grew up with ask you. When those who raised you ask you, you are taken back, and actually spend a second to process that question.
When I was asked that question, by my dad, it took me almost a half an hour to answer it. I was torn in two. I wanted to shout and scream, I wanted to tear the world asunder, I wanted to watch it burn and pour my pain into it. I wanted to smother all of the memories I have that keep me up late at night. I want the nightmares to fuel the flames that would burn the world to ashes. I wanted to pour my heart out and tell him I am hurting. Everyday I am hurting. I wanted so much to tell him that I don't know how to survive anymore. I don't know how to be an adult, and pay bills, and drive a car to work. I wanted to tell him that I no longer have those skills, that my fear is real, and it has taken his son from him.
I wanted to do that. But I didn't. I couldn't bring myself to tell him I am not who he raised, I am not who I was when I entered this world. That chubby little kid is no more. That son that he watched grow and mature, that son that brought a smile to his face as he watch him have dreams and goals of his own is gone forever. That son that he watched board the plane never made it home.
I tried for over a half hour to be honest to myself, and to him. I was able to muster one word:
Maintaining
That is where I am at in life. I am maintaining. Everything is boiling over, and I am falling apart, I see my life decay around me, and I see the streets calling my name louder and louder everyday. I lie in bed every night fighting back the tears that someday I will see someone else driving away leaving me on the streets. Leaving me there because just like myself, they aren't strong enough to battle the demons.
There will come a day, a day when I am once again physically running from the demons in my head, and I will look upon the cold eyes of those who drive away. And I will look back upon this day, and wish I had the strength to shout that I need help. I will look back and wish that, as the demons whisper, "Run little boy, no one is coming, you have been forgotten once again".
And run I shall, I will be lost to the world, and to myself.
Until then I maintain.
But it is different when people who you grew up with ask you. When those who raised you ask you, you are taken back, and actually spend a second to process that question.
When I was asked that question, by my dad, it took me almost a half an hour to answer it. I was torn in two. I wanted to shout and scream, I wanted to tear the world asunder, I wanted to watch it burn and pour my pain into it. I wanted to smother all of the memories I have that keep me up late at night. I want the nightmares to fuel the flames that would burn the world to ashes. I wanted to pour my heart out and tell him I am hurting. Everyday I am hurting. I wanted so much to tell him that I don't know how to survive anymore. I don't know how to be an adult, and pay bills, and drive a car to work. I wanted to tell him that I no longer have those skills, that my fear is real, and it has taken his son from him.
I wanted to do that. But I didn't. I couldn't bring myself to tell him I am not who he raised, I am not who I was when I entered this world. That chubby little kid is no more. That son that he watched grow and mature, that son that brought a smile to his face as he watch him have dreams and goals of his own is gone forever. That son that he watched board the plane never made it home.
I tried for over a half hour to be honest to myself, and to him. I was able to muster one word:
Maintaining
That is where I am at in life. I am maintaining. Everything is boiling over, and I am falling apart, I see my life decay around me, and I see the streets calling my name louder and louder everyday. I lie in bed every night fighting back the tears that someday I will see someone else driving away leaving me on the streets. Leaving me there because just like myself, they aren't strong enough to battle the demons.
There will come a day, a day when I am once again physically running from the demons in my head, and I will look upon the cold eyes of those who drive away. And I will look back upon this day, and wish I had the strength to shout that I need help. I will look back and wish that, as the demons whisper, "Run little boy, no one is coming, you have been forgotten once again".
And run I shall, I will be lost to the world, and to myself.
Until then I maintain.
You've made it this far...take one more step and tell your Dad all of this. And if you can't tell him, send him a copy of what you've written. Make sure the lady in your life reads it as well. You might be surprised at the fears they have... of not knowing how to help. Fear is destructive and paralyzing. The only way to defeat it is fight back. I know you're tired. But those who love you will listen, even when it's painful. I don't even know you and your pain hurts my heart.
ReplyDeleteExisting is not the same as living. You deserve to live. When you feel alone, know that the people here want the best for you. I may be "invisible", but I care.
Some days I exist, some days I am struggling to hold it all together, others I have never felt so alive, and grateful to be alive.
ReplyDeleteToday is a good day.