Recently I’ve realised that I struggle to feel meaningful connections to people. This has always been the case, and as a result when I do feel a connection to someone I have a tendency to latch on to it. Those few connections I’ve felt have been some of the most important things in my life – frequently to a greater degree than familial connections. So when the longest standing connection that I had was tarnished by an event that still makes me want to let go of my entire identity even after a year, it put significant strain on the other connections that were interlinked.
I didn’t understand what it was until now, but nothing had really felt the same since. I could be in a room full of my closest friends and I would still feel alone. Almost as if I wasn’t really there. To those around me I probably just seem a bit quieter than usual or a bit more distant, but I have long been known for spacing out at times so perhaps they don’t see the change. While I still recognise that those connections are present, I find it hard to use them and be aware of their meaning. My trust in those I care for is gone; if he could do that then everything I thought I knew about anyone is up for question. I just don’t know how to be around people and let them in to my heart or mind anymore. It’s not just the pre-existing connections; there was a time when I would try to meet new people and forge new potential friendships, but now I don’t know how to let myself do that.
I’ve started a new job recently and my coworkers barely know anything about me as I can’t bring myself to open up to them or take an interest in getting to know them. The online communities I’ve been active and involved in for years now barely hear from me and when I am present they think of me as the quiet type – only saying anything when there is direct relevance or need for it.
To those that have offered support recently I will say this: I am not yet ready to trust again to the degree that would be required for the type of help you have offered. I hear you and I appreciate that you are concerned for me, but I need some time to heal on my own before I can learn to trust again.
I’ll start off by saying that if I have misinterpreted your intended recipient then I’m sorry and you can proceed to disregard this (not that I think you would anyway).
In a way you’re right – I’m looking for an opportunity, a way out. I’ve known for a while that it will be difficult to find one, but probability and chaos suggest that there is going to be one. If I am looking at the time then I will take it. I know what a chance would mean to me and how I would recognise it, but it isn’t something I can articulate.
Part of the problem is that I feel trapped. I got a job in hopes that a sense of responsibility would change things, but now it not only feels like I am in a cage but there is a guard telling me when and how to breathe.
I am under no illusion that things are guaranteed to be better past the way out but I am willing to roll the dice. At this point, carrying on due to not knowing seems worse than the alternative.
All of this doesn’t mean I’m not looking for other ways to change it, quite the opposite in fact. I just don’t want to try indefinitely.
For the uninitiated, packet loss is a term used in computer networking to refer to the loss of data packets when communicating between two computer systems or networks. There are some ways in which packet loss can be considered analogous to the way in which I struggle in life.
When writing I know the exact shape that the letters should take, I know exactly how my body should move in order to transfer ink to paper in such a manner to have the words take perfect form, yet I find myself unable to scrawl them down in a commonly legible manner. My fingertips miss the finer details of the motions and as a result the words become sloppy and unrecogniseable to those who have not taken time to decipher my script in the past.
An explanation of my thoughts and understanding may rest firmly in my mind in perfect form, yet my mouth betrays me. I become unable to send the words from consciousness to voice, unable even to express their sentiment.
For the last few years I’ve held off my suicidal urges by reminding myself how death effects those around it, I wouldn’t hurt my friends and family like that while alive so what gives me the right to do it by dying? At least if I were to hurt them like that while alive I could take action to ease the suffering it would cause.
The thing with hearing the same moral argument over and over again is that it eventually becomes banal and meaningless. It’s now something I tell people to help them understand, and when I am gone perhaps they will realise that I put all I could into staying here for them.
I’m sorry, but I’m not strong enough to remain here indefinitely, even for them. There are a few prior commitments I must fulfil then I’ll quietly step out into the night and embrace the eternal darkness.
I don’t know what it is but something feels different. It’s like a presence has been lifted and it took some of the deeper scars of my past with it. The fresh ones are still here and so are most of the old ones, but a few of the more sinister wounds have healed.
It almost feels peaceful in my head, like I can just stay in this moment and ride the wave of serenity. But I know where that wave will lead me. The jagged rocks below the surface will break it into a violent and choppy broil which will cast me down onto the cruel and twisted island that my mind calls home, just as it has countless times before. This short reprieve won’t go unappreciated though; I’ll make the most of it and enjoy myself as much as I can before the storm returns bringing the old clouds with it.
Last night I prayed to a god I don’t believe in. I prayed for the pain to ease up for just a moment. I prayed for the mental anguish to fade away. I prayed for the voices to stop and their noise to be obscured into nothing but a memory. I prayed for the icy blood to stop pumping through my veins. I prayed for her to be better because that’s what she deserves. I prayed for this to be the last bottle she had to throw. I put my heart into an idea which to me feels like nothing but a way for people to control others because I have nothing left to try. It was a last minute chance like a dying dog getting sudden energy to chase a stick one last time.
Today I did nothing. I just sat in my chair staring at the desktop screen of my laptop trying to think of something to do but finding no inspiration. I feel empty, like all desire and drive is gone. I miss having purpose and wanting to do things, but now everything seems pointless. I can’t help but think about how meaningless everything is; we are not capable of meaningful actions because anything we do will be forgotten. We live and we consume then we die. Our existence doesn’t span more than a few moments in the grand scheme of things so why does it matter? Soon the world will be consumed by the sun exploding as it dies and there will be no record of human existence other than a few pieces of debris in space and the odd radio signal yet to die off. It’s strange how my mind feels both empty and bursting at the seams at the same time, but in some way it feels like that’s how things should be.