Fall of 2009 I was 15; I went to the doctor to get on antidepressants. How long before that was the Sadness manifesting in subtle ways before it started ripping at my seams? Thinking back, I never felt heard. People were always telling me to not be so loud and to stop talking so much. I never felt validated. Like when I used to write letters to my dad when I was 9 asking him why he never called to invite me over or came to any of my sporting events. The next time we had visitation his girlfriend asked me if someone was making me do it, as if I weren't in touch with my own feelings or lacked awareness. Psychologists say children that come from divorced families are automatically broken. Cracked from the jump. I can see it. My mom spent a decent amount of time talking shit about my dad. She told us he was a cheater, a liar, emotionally abusive, lazy, narcissistic. My dad would dog on her as well: how she thought she was Mother of the Year and how she brainwashed us into thinking he was the bad guy. Meanwhile, they were both contributing to molding fucked up humans.
I wish I were mentally stable. I feel like that would truly have changed the course my life has taken. Maybe I wouldn't have been such a fucking bully in elementary/middle/high school. Maybe I wouldn't have been so angry. I feel bad for treating Justine the way I did. At the beginning of my sophomore year, I used to listen to "Beautiful" by Eminem and "It's Been A While" by Staind on repeat and cut my wrists in my living room late at night when my brothers and mom went to sleep, tears streaming down my face, obsessing over why I was never good enough. Everyone in Peetz thought my family was delinquent trailer trash. They weren't wrong. I started drinking heavy with Paige and smoking a lot of weed with J-Dog. I would party on the weekends, completely neglecting my schoolwork. My grades were low despite my high intellect. It used to piss my teachers off so bad. Originally, I partied because it was fun but after that horrible party in Sterling when I was 19, it stopped being a good time. (You know... the one where I had dropped out of LPN school because I wouldn't stop drinking & drugging, broken up with Traver, and choked Alissa out so Nicole found a country party miles outside of town where I drank a whole bottle of UV Blue, blacked out, took off my shirt, tried to fight Brooke and other boys there, got the cops called so everyone fled since they were underage but no one would give me a ride since I was the one starting shit ((Nicole was supposed to DD but ended up drinking too)) so we had to walk and I somehow ended up getting deep barbwire cuts on my arms and legs. We went to someone's brother's trailer and he called us a taxi. When Nicole went into the bathroom, I had smeared blood alllll over the walls and was sitting naked on the toilet just spitting on the ground.) That truly was the turning point where my hobby morphed into a coping mechanism.
I clearly had a lot of issues before Lock killed himself but that fucked me up on a whole other level. He was the first person I knew who committed suicide. I'd seen it in movies but it was an abstract concept to me until then. Some people blame Morgan's death on Lock. I can see it. I have dreams about him frequently. Lately, I have the knowledge inside my dreams that he is gone and I try to explain to him that he is but seeing him again fills me with so much joy. Brains are strange. I think about these things MINIMUM once a week. Usually more though.
Back to the future. 2020. I thought moving to Texas would be this beautiful new start. I've always visualized it as an Etch-A-Sketch: shaking that red square as the pixels of my past disappear before my eyes. I tried to do the same thing with Florida. Then with Fort Collins. Then with San Diego. Rene told me, "Wherever you go, there you are." He's not wrong. I've applied for jobs. They're interested in hiring me until they get my criminal background check. I don't know if it's the Refusal to Submit to a Breathalyzer from October 2018 or the Shoplifting (less than $500) I got a few weeks later that puts them off. "We've rescinded our offer." No chance of upward mobility at this time. Being a waitress at Red Lobster is not where I pictured myself when I was a child. I mean, sure I have an Associate of Arts from NJC I got in 2016 but you can't do a damn thing with that. I've been too poor to go to university. I've tried to do a nursing program on three separate occasions and fucked up those opportunities every single time. I am a criminal and I am a pauper and I am a drug addict.
Sometimes I get on dating apps and match with plenty of men. I'm too emotionally unavailable and detached and strange to connect on a romantic level. And that's the whole point of living, isn't it? Spending time with people who you love and who love you back? Our animal brains only think about reproducing and carrying on our seeds. I know for a fact I am not cut out to be a parent. My miscarriage with Aaron was necessary & relieving for so many reasons. I know even harder I could never be a wife. Growing up, and maybe this is the Hollywood conditioning in me, all I wanted was to have a husband and a couple of children and a two-story house with a white picket fence. As time goes on, I see that I will never attain these things. A few months ago my mom told me there's eight dimensions of wellness: physical, intellectual, emotional, social, spiritual, vocational, financial, and environmental. I am unstable on every level and have been for a long time. I don't even see how they find this shell of a person appealing in the first place.
I have friends. I love my friends. They know this. But, fuck, they have their own lives. And anyway, even when I do confess the depths my depression/bipolar disorder has drug me to, they never know what to say. In all honesty, I don't think there's anything in the world that could console me. It's all bleak. Kurz, Whitney, Kyli, Kassandra, Keith, Jenna, Holiday... Marcus & Olivia & Daniel & Izabela & Shalynn & Nina & Mallori... I love my people. I know I can be overwhelming when I send songs and memes and podcasts and articles and comedy. So I just stopped sending them. I considered them extensions of myself and when they were ignored, that childhood pain was brought back to life with a defibrillator's jolt. I'm sensitive, I know. Probably too much.
I'm so incredibly drained. Tired of being sad. Tired of feeling useless... worthless. Tired of feeling like a bother. Tired of this existence where all I do is sleep my days away and wish I could start over. That I could have been like those preppy Sidney/Sterling girls I used to envy. The ones with self-discipline that took summer trips to Europe and went to homecoming with smart soccer players. I'm embarrassed of the pick-me ass bitch I was with Dillon and Jordan and Jared. I saw this quote on Instagram by Sarah Manguso that said, "The trouble with letting people see you at your worst isn't that they'll remember, it's that you'll remember." And, maaan, if that isn't the realest shit I've ever read.
My love for my mom knows no bounds. I know that she would murder someone for me. But you can't live for others. Or die for them. That's peak co-dependency right there. All she wanted was a daughter and that turned out to be... me. Fuck, I feel sorry for her. She tried and gave and sacrificed and endured and persevered. She deserves the world, that lady...
Brian would be upset. He says it's selfish. He says that Lock gave up and left how many people hurt and confused, meanwhile he's still showing up to PHS every fall, putting up with shitty sevies and apathetic seniors fighting the good fight. I agree with him. He's my angel.
Kevin would be upset. No one I know has ever met Kevin. But he thinks giving up will just lead to your next life being even more miserable. On some karma shit. That you'll have to deal with this life's drama and trauma and issues on top of all your past lives' baggage. Maybe. I'm interested in seeing what's on the other side. And that idea alone leads me to believe I have driven myself truly and completely fucking crazy. Not like quirky Susanna Kaysen or intricate Sybil or silly Kevin Wendell Crumb... Neurotic, delusional, self-pitying Janessa Garvin insane.
I used to come up with these scenarios... where, even though I'd only visited Lock's house after his death, I would serendipitously show up on Lock's front porch, moments before he shot himself. He would be surprised at the interruption of his plan. I would somehow talk him down and tell him I hurt as much as he did and that we could make it through. And then he would still be alive. I wish [they] would have reached out. Okay, but what if they have? Time and time again. Year after year after year after year. And your answer remains, "It'll get better." But then it doesn't. You still fixate on the fact that you let your mental health get in the way of your career at Broadcom where you called in all the time and put extra hours on your timecard and left work four hours early too often. Or you remember when girls would shower after basketball games and leave the locker room and you would steal money from their purses. You think about the time you told Austin you would watch 2010 A Nightmare on Elm Street and then canceled 30 minutes later and he texted you, "It's not like I went and got it already...." (He was mad. Sad? Why were you so aloof when all he wanted was for you to let him in?)
I don't have answers. I don't. I wish I did. (This isn't one for the genie...) I desire to be whole and content and appreciative and happy. Not this insatiable, incorrigible ingrate. I've had a headache for days now and just want it to go away. The stress gets to me. I can't forgive myself but I hope you do.
“All I ever really want to know is how other people are making it through life—where do they put their body, hour by hour, and how do they cope inside of it.” ―Miranda July
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Part 2:
I guess this makes it seem like the whole 26 years have been unbearable. Untrue.
Off the top of my head, my favorite memory is dancing with Keith & Emily to Adventure Club in the rain at Red Rocks rolling on molly. Perfection. Beautiful. Oh my, was that amazing. Datsik at First Bank Center with Dustin, Keith, & Skyler was fantastic, too— I don't remember if that was just molly or acid as well. Shows were really special to me at one point.
Marcus has helped make my adulthood comfortable & easy. His funny ass personality and kindness is an experience all in itself. I love him big. When Olivia, Chantae, & I day-tripped at my dad's house and then his tenant came by & we had to pretend like we weren't balls deep in a rabbit hole. It rained and there was a psychedelic rainbow. ♡
Sol being born. Obvs. What an angel. I visited Ocean Beach in San Diego on a sunny day and was exploring over these rocks and in the puddles were tiny snails, just minding their own business and inciting awe in me. Designing MySpace pages. Just today, on this 90 degree Texas summer day, "Gypsy" by Fleetwood Mac came on the radio and it almost moved me to tears.
One day my dad and I were listening to music and making up stupid dances, making each other laugh... I really liked that. Taking naps with my mom. Meeting Mac Miller. When Cassius was a puppy, he would make me laugh at his awkward, adorable puppy mishaps. Holiday telling me about his wild adventures in boot camp. Watching Dave Chappelle stand-up. Corissa and I tripping on acid and her laughing her ass off at me for unlocking a car door with my finger instead of the button. Staying up after a delicious dinner, drinking wine with Lorna as we binge-watched "Sex and the City". Brother Josh playing basketball at lunch in high school, his uncoordinated ass getting furious and struggling to make a basket even when he was only a foot from the rim. Daniel Ryan— everything about that angel child... he means everything to me. Roberta and I tripping on acid in Las Vegas watching "Pan's Labyrinth" and "Ready Player One". Kyli's hilarious jokes and her mellifluous laughter. Whitney Nicole and her radiance and strength. KURZ!! oh my... those 5 amazing years in his classroom and all our texts & conversations since. The books and work Maria assigned. My uncle Ricky's laugh and his gigantic heart. Watching "Wanted". Listening to J. Cole, Tech N9ne, Tyler the Creator, and Megan Thee Stallion albums front to back.
Some of these may sound corny or boring or unfunny, but I promise, at the time, they were everything I could have ever dreamed of.