#andsoiwrite

Lately I’ve found myself dealing with a lot of unresolved issues, some of which stem back as far as I can remember. I’ve always had trouble expressing my emotions and I’ve never really understood why, but long talks with my sister and months of hammering my psyche down have really helped me to undergo and myself when other people couldn’t. I was abused and neglected as a child, it’s something I’ve had difficulty coming to terms with and the damage that can cause on your emotional and mental development really can’t be understated.

I inherited a horrible temper from my father, one that’s scarred me deep. I remember days where he would be yelling in my face and I would shake and cry and I wouldn’t be able to look him in the eyes. My mother and father used to fight it out in the living room, but when my sister accidentally got hurt they decided to keep their fights private in their bedroom on the other side of my bedroom wall. I never knew what to do when that happened, and anytime I had something to say I’d just end up making myself another victim. It got to the point where I wouldn’t even acknowledge when I was feeling scared, anxious, angry, or upset. I would just shut down. I’d run away to my room and turn the volume up as high as I could on my tv and I’d play video games day in and day out, leaving my room as little as possible. It’s a trait of mine that carried long out of adolescence, to the point where even today if I find myself feeling stressed or anxious I just want to pick up a controller again and go back to a world where none of my problems could reach me.

It wasn’t just my dad, either. My mom would say horrible, dreadful things to me that no child should have to hear. My parents struggled with drugs and mental issues while I grew up and unfortunately I became an outlet for many of their problems. I’d wake up in the middle of the night to my mom screaming at me about anything that might come to mind. I remember my sister sticking up for me and I remember bathroom doors being kicked in as she locked herself away just to be safe from our parents rage. It didn’t work and I never knew what to do. I’d just freeze up and make myself as small as possible, go to a different room and be as quiet as you can, hoping that everyone would just forget that you existed. That usually didn’t work either.

I remember the first time I wanted to kill myself. I was ten years old in the fifth grade and I had decided I was going to drive a knife through my heart, but luckily for me our knives weren’t so sharp and I wasn’t strong enough to actually run myself through.

My home wasn’t an environment where we were encouraged to talk about our feelings, in fact I had such a hard time talking at all that by the time I got to high school I didn’t know the first thing about expressing myself. I would say stupid, vulgar things just to get attention and I never cared about the way people would look at me. I just cared that they were looking at all. It was a funny switch, to go from never wanting to be seen to hurting any time you weren’t the center of attention. I wanted to feel loved and admired by everyone I knew but that was never the case. I had friends who loved me, but I was a handful to be around. No one wanted to deal with emotional baggage that I wouldn’t even acknowledge and oftentimes I found myself running the same patterns as my parents, I would use my friends as outlets to take my anger out on.

I would bottle my emotions so deep that I would blow up over the stupidest things. I remember my friend accidentally knocked over a bowl of chili I had been looking forward to eating all week, and instead of being calm and saying “it’s okay, it’s just a bowl of chili” I got angry beyond belief. I got up and I screamed in her face, emotions that had been burning in me for weeks and weeks suddenly came bursting to the surface and I screamed in this girls face until she cried and ran away from me. All over a spilled bowl of beans and meat. I remember being blinded by hate and not even knowing what I was saying until I’d yelled it for everyone to hear, and I remember a girl that I’d always made fun of was the only one to help me clean up the mess while everyone else steered clear of me and I never even bothered to tell her “thank you”.

This spilled over into everything I did. What should have been calm and rational discussions with people I felt had wronged me never existed, and I just let myself be hurt time and time again without saying a word to anyone because I was afraid of what they might say to me. I was afraid of confrontation because with confrontation came anger, and nothing scared me more than that. I ruined every relationship I had with friends and lovers and more all because I didn’t know how to express myself to the people I should have trusted and I ruined them all because I never knew how to ask for what I deserved, because I never thought that I deserved anything.

I wanted everything. I wanted to be liked, I wanted to be cool, I wanted to be loved, but when it came down to it I never had a reason as to why I should have any of that. It scared me so much to even consider what others might think of me that I convinced myself it didn’t even really matter. If someone didn’t like me then I didn’t like them either and I would say and do whatever I could to make sure my friends didn’t like them either, just so no one would dislike me. In the end I think everyone ended up not liking me.

I became a sort of basket case that fell off the deep end. When I felt that I was receiving love or affection of any kind I attached myself so hard to that source it was unnatural. I dated a girl that I had convinced myself I was in love with. She did everything right, she said everything right. I could talk to her about the way I was feeling and she didn’t judge me for who I was and I suddenly felt so free. Well it turns out when you dump your entire emotional dependency on someone you’ve only known a few weeks, it tends to scare them away. I knew it was my fault, it was clear as daylight that I was crazy and obsessive but I would never admit it. To admit my faults would have taken back to a dark childhood that I wanted nothing to do with. It took me back to a place that I felt worthless and wasteful and I would do and say anything to keep myself from feeling that way.

I struggled with alcohol for a time, too. It got to the point where I would drink when I’d wake up, I’d drink when I was on break, and I’d drink before I went to bed. I lost a lot of friends then too. I know I was far from perfect and a lot of times I wasn’t even enjoyable. I pushed my friends away and isolated myself for a long time, but looking back I can see that no one ever reached out to bring me back to them either. That hurt a lot too. It validated every horrible thought I’d ever had about myself not being worth a moment of anyone’s time, and it took me to the darkest place I’ve ever been. I quit my job. I started drinking and smoking and taking pills again and for over a month I did nothing at all. I maxed out my credit cards paying my bills and taking care of my sick cat and when I thought I could go no further I cried on my kitchen floor with a bottle of bleach in my hand and I thought about ending it all. It wasn’t the first time, likely it won’t be the last. The thing that hurts the most is that every time I’ve been there and I have reached out to someone, I’ve always gotten a lack luster response.

A friend I knew in high school, I remember being drunk and texting him about how shitty I felt and how I felt so alone and wanted to die and he said “that sucks man”. That was it. I hadn’t gotten much better responses from anyone else and the little I did express myself discouraged me from ever trying again.

I think I’ve made progress. I’ve learned to express myself beyond just shouts and curses. I’ll no longer bottle my emotions up until I became a raging machine like my father who still terrifies me to this day. I won’t shut down and lock myself away from the world and kill the person I’m meant to be. I want to say I won’t kill myself, I don’t want to, but suicide is such a scary option because it’s always persistent. It’s always in the back of my head and there are times I’m afraid I’m not strong enough to resist the call. Sometimes I wonder if I’ll end up like robin Williams, spending my whole life with almost no one knowing that anything’s wrong until one day I just kill myself. It’s a scary and obtrusive thought.

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Now we all get star-struck, sometimes. No matter who our idols may be - a pop star, an award-winning

actor, an MVP or even a business tycoon, once we see them up-close, all common sense seem to disappear. We lose the ability to talk, favoring instead to just making incoherent sounds that resembles nothing in the english dictionary.

I wasn't expecting him to be there. Having been stuck at home for weeks, a dinner out with the gang seemed like a pretty good idea. Which it definitely was.

The food was great, company was fantastic and we were all just about to go when I needed to use the ladies. Along the way, from where we were seated, there was a beam, one of several which I suppose was doing it's job holding the whole structure up. Secured at the top of the beam was the restaurant's speaker that acts as musical entertainment.

The restaurant in itself was not a very big place. Tables were arranged quite close to each other, as the case with the beam and the table next to it. I was ready to make a squeeze when suddenly a man came up from the opposite direction and simply leaned against the beam with his head down. He seemed to be focusing on something and it took me a while to realise that he was listening to the music coming through from the speakers. Then he turned his head away from me and yelled, "Cher O'shay!" to the big group at the corner table. I assumed the Jazz singer's name was an answer to a question they asked which, judging by their cheers, he had gotten right.

But he was still blocking my way.

Suddenly, as time seemed to slow down, he turned back around to face me and there he was, floppy brown hair, blue eyes and a wide grin. Looking right at me, was the man of my dreams.

"Oh, sorry. Did you want to come through?" he asked. His smile faltered a little as he must have realised that I was staring at him.

All I could say was, "South-west Minister. Next stop."

As soon as those words escaped from my mouth, I knew my life was over. I felt the blood draining out of me.

"Oh...kay...," he replied kindly, his smile back on his face, before making his way back to his table.

I wanted to scream. I wanted to cry. I wanted to dig a hole and bury myself right there and then. Instead, I turned around and walked back to my friends.

As I put on my coat, I blurted, "I just saw Sebastian Stan."

I could feel all their eyes on me.

"What?" one of them said. I wasn't quite sure who as I was looking down, trying to avoid eye-contact. "Where? Aren't you gonna say 'hi'?"

I shook my head and with a fake nonchalance, I said, "Nah." And quickly head towards the exit.

"Wait, did you pee?" Someone else called out loudly. Must be Katie. She has a knack for embarrassing her friends.