Tragic's Wake

When I was young I was reckless, I had a death wish, I was unstable. I was in mourning for a death, a murder even, it was my own. I believed I had lost my soul, that I was already dead, it’s how I felt inside. I had to hurt myself to feel anything at all, I had to force others to hurt me. I was numb. I wanted to be free but one day, after many years of hurting myself and the ones I loved, I realized that I was my own warden, nobody else, just me. I took a long time but I gave myself a pardon. Sometimes I still feel I’m on parole but I am mostly free and working hard every day to get myself back.

The kids in my schools they never got it. They hurt me, they picked on me, they made fun of me and took my things, they defaced my property and my body. Every time they hurt me though, a part of me felt I deserved it. Those kids were “normal” they had happy little families, perfect little lives. Or so I thought.. Turns out many of them were taking their own pain out on me. They were hurting in their own special ways but I was too self absorbed and too alone to see it, if only someone had given me the benefit of the doubt, trusted me, let me in, we could have suffered together.

But wait, a few did. A few cared enough to stand by me no matter what crazy shit I did. Did I ever appreciate them and say that? Probably, did it change the destructive path I was on? Hell no. I think it may have even fed me, justified me, gave me reason to fight more.

I tried to “act normal” off and on through the years, it was always a giant epic fail. It seemed that even when I wasn’t a total freak, people still hurt me, used me, discarded me. I was fucking worthless, right? No, I was stubborn and hurting, a lot. I didn’t know how not to, it was a vicious cycle and there was no way out. Counsellors gave up, people turned away, the system failed me. I failed me. I didn’t want help. I hurt so bad and so deeply that I didn’t want help, I thought I was the only person in the world who had ever hurt so much, been so misunderstood.

I hid in my makeup and my metal gear. I buried myself inside of this tough bitch persona that had formed over the years. I became my mask and I finally mostly felt safe, at the point where I’d lashed out so many times and so harshly that nobody would ever penetrate my armour.

I attempted physical suicide a few times, all obviously failed or I wouldn’t be here now to be the raging bitch that I am but for a long time, the emotional suicide was a blinding success. I was up above it. I was so up above it.

I wasn’t, I’m not. I really am down in it.

Eventually I was too exhausted and broken to continue patching up the old armour. I crashed out a few times because life simply kicked me in the snatch. I mostly just gave the hell up. But… Yeah, get this: when I stopped trying so fucking hard everything got a whole lot easier. I stopped making it so hard. I didn’t cave to the system or to the people around me, I gave in and just stopped fighting with myself.

I’ll never be a ball of sunshine, off and on over the years I’ve gone back to the doctors and their head pills but not because I want to conform, I’ve done it because I need to shut myself up so I can fucking live.

You have two real choices in this life: you can be spoonfed the bullshit that the world throws at you in multitude, or you can stand up and take the reigns and just survive. You can live or you can die. You do need love of some sort though, and you do need faith. I don’t mean a fucking Edward/Bella bullshit romance saga or a bearded make-believe man in the sky who tells you what to do.

You need to love something enough that you give a shit about protecting it, nurturing it, keeping it safe, sharing it’s joys and sorrows in some way. You need to believe that something is worth it, something is beautiful enough or logical enough, or just plain sexy enough… You must believe in something. You must have faith in yourself. That’s it, or you can just die and trust me, I do know the many ways one can die without ever harming a single hair on the body physical. How do I know? Because I’ve done it to myself a dozen or more times.

So to the freaks, geeks, losers and lost causes. People who understand what its like to be called “less than” and still won’t let it drag them down. Deviants (the legal kind), crazies (the good kind), artists, dreamers, loners and underdogs. emo, goth, rock n’ roll, princesses, preps: you’re not all alone on this idiot rock we call home, oh no, you are not. Open your damn eyes, look around you. Pull up your bootstraps and stop the fucking insanity. Everybody hurts. I love you. I may not even know you but I fucking love you.

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