It Seems So Surreal Now

And it wasn't even all that long ago. Yet I remember it as if it were a dream. It just doesn't feel real.

I have proof. Journal entries and scars. Charts, health and counseling, that make note of it many times over. And memories, I have the memories. Dark. Though dream-like the memories are befittingly dark. It was, after all, dark time.

It's not that I wanted to die. I just didn't want to be alive anymore. I assure you, such a statement makes sense. However, I am glad you don't understand it. Because to understand would require experiencing such a time and that, my friends, is something I would not wish on anyone, not even my worst enemy.

But as I was saying, it's not that I wanted to die, I just didn't want to be alive anymore. I wish I could explain it. I... Was done... I didn't want to subsist. *sigh* It's so indescribable. The nothingness that consumes your soul. Emptiness that clouds your eyes. It's a point where you don't even feel the depression anymore, a point where the anxiety has faded away and you are truely left with... Nothing. Ugh, you'll never understand. And thank God for that but... I wish I could describe it adequately...

Maybe then I would understand it myself.

*sigh* There was a point to this blog... I'm not sure what it was...

Who endured for me? OR What's in it for Me?

Who sated for me? I'm drunk, I'll admit that right now. I had my last therapy session, at least my last session with the guy that I've seen for the last year, and the last one I know I have for sure. I also had my last meds appointment today, again, at least my last with the guy ice been seeing for a while. All of my lasts at the University Health and Counseling center happened today.

I feel awful. Now, since I've been depressed for something around 12 years (give or take) Awful and I are familier with eachother, very familier.

What in the world is my point? I was thinking tonight, and praying (though God and I haven't been all that close for the last year or so) and wondering, asking: what is the point of all this? This whole mess that is my life. And, if there is a point then it must be for someone else... I exist purely because I am needed to further some other purpose, one that has nothing to do with me, with the struggle I go through daily... And I asked "Who did this for me?" who sacrificed for me? Who lived though everything within them begged for death, to no longer exist? And then it hit me: my mother. She won't tell me a lot of what happened during my childhood, of what my dad out her through... I remember one night we left home... We went to Target in hopes of getting a frozen drink we loved (an Icee)-the weren't open)... We really went because it wasn't safe to stay in our house. I remember dad beating me, mom standing there saying 'Brian, Brian' quietly. I remember what affected ME, what happened to ME. She won't tell me what else happened... What caused her to stay despite the fact that her husband abused her children, out eight beat one(me, the stupid one)... But there was something, I know there was. Because my belief that your child is the most important thing in th world... That came from her... She stayed, she endured who knows what (though I believe it was about the same abuse that I endured), for us... For my older sister, my twin brother and I. Who sacrificed for me? Who lived through hell so that I could make it in this world..? My mother.