Tough To Describe

Yet another new today. I feel compelled to relate something. Someone very close to me was upset not too long ago when she found out that I still thought of killing myself. Indeed, I even crave death sometimes, as an escape. But from what am I escaping? I'm not complaining about my life. Outside of a little bit of poverty and some health problems, I know I'm a lucky man. I can walk into my kitchen or bathroom and produce hot water. My ice box has butter, cream, milk, eggs and jam. My pantry has plenty of food; canned fruit, cereal, pancake mix and lots of other goodies. I have a bed and a computer, and heat and air conditioning. My cats and family are relatively well, too.

However, the reason I sometimes want to blow my head off is simple, at least to label. I'm driving myself crazy. Paranoia and anxiety sometimes make it impossible for me to appreciate any of the things I mentioned. Right now, I feel certain that all of my friends despise me for something that I did. I don't know what it is, and on some level I know that I've done nothing, but emotionally and in many other hard to define ways, I feel like all I want to do is escape my reputation. I feel the need to escape, because there is no forgiveness, as I've learned from experience. My dear brother, whom I love, hates and resents me. Why? I don't know. It's absurd, but I feel that it is true. That he is out there right now, hating me. It makes me sick. The same is true of every single person I call a friend. I know you're all out there, shaking your heads and secretly wishing that I'd go away. I'm blocking happiness for so many. I'm an enzyme that speeds a reaction to pain. Removing myself from judgement helps a bit, which is why I like my room so much. But even here I feel heavy guilt, on my chest and churning my stomach. Why would I hurt the people I love so much? When I love, I love deeply. But it's a delicate thing. Those I love I love so much that I fear that I'm causing hurt and pain and humiliation. I live in absolute terror of that irony.

Whenever I get close to finding freedom from this by declaring, "I didn't do anything" there is an unseen force that pulls me back and forces me to consider that yes, maybe I am responsible for unspeakable pain. Maybe I'm evil, or so fucked up I'm blind to how much pain I'm causing all of you.

I'm so tired of it. I wish it could lift again, as it has briefly in the past. Instead, I sit here under a barrage of whispers. And the whispers are telling me things, about the bad things I've done, or creating feelings of guilt for things I didn't even do. HELP!

I'm angry now, and more tears, of course. I don't deserve this, as if "deserve" ever had anything to do with it. Could you deal well with the guilt of having profoundly and deeply hurt your family, friends and lover? That's what is fucking Darren W. Lyle up. When they write my obituary, make good mention of that...that his mind wasn't right at all. That he felt under attack. That he was so inept and awful that his loved ones hated him. I'm taking some lorazepam and heading to bed for now.