I’ve recently fixated on this word, “bedlam”. Unsure why, I heard it in a song recently and since then I’ve been thinking of ways bedlam is represented. It means a scene or state of wild uproar and confusion. HA, why does that feel familiar?
I feel like I usually am coming undone at the seams, this torrid life shredding me apart as I struggle to piece others back together. Why? Why have I always done this? It’s something I admire in others, and even clearly see in myself, but it often brings more harm than good. Even when I know I’m valued, sometimes in part due to this on occasion colossal effort to do good for others, I still feel worthless.
One day I’m parading and confident in who I am and how I can do great, just a couple later I’m swallowing pills for a variety of reasons that I don’t want to really talk about with anyone.
I just wish I knew what I wanted, what I really wanted. But, I don’t. So each day I drain away energy doing various unproductive things, sometimes piecing my life together in the dull moments, sometimes scratching away the etchings already in my mind.
When I downed all those pills, I was absolutely confident I would live. I would tell my mom when she got home, drive down to the ER and the doctors would pump my stomach or whatever and I would be at most missing work for a day. So why did I do it? Also, not exactly how it turned out, I was in the ICU for a couple days mostly out of consciousness and under a full delirium, at one point I was at high risk of some interesting heart problems. But really, why? I was so calm about it, like it was just another part of my daily routine. I never once felt scared or regretted it. I also didn’t feel like I would die, but a small part of me was really shooting for it, like if I died, eh, so what?
What would be remembered of me if I just ended there? “Smart kid that leaped about when discussing social issues, he loved to do good, he’d give the shirt off his back. We don’t know what went wrong in his head, but we do know he struggled with some demons. Even so, he was a close friend to many and always strived to impact his fellow man in a good way. He will be missed…”
Maybe when they finally cleaned out my room, (my mom would probably leave it untouched for a really long time) they would find my “vices”. Methods of contraception, indications that I had sex, not that bad given that I’m 24 years old, that’s probably expected. If someone could crack my password or used software to get one of my computers logged in, they’d see I had a porn problem. Though in my defense, I hardly watch the porn, I kinda have some sort of data fetish, where downloading and storing it gets me off, I’m just a weird person. (A quick search reveals at least 329 Gigabytes of pornography in my main porn folder on my desktop alone) I’ve probably watched a despairingly small portion of it. I can also attribute this to manic cycles when my libido is really high.
But that would be all of anything incriminating. I’m a good guy. I do my best to make the world and people’s lives a better thing. I still wish I knew why… Especially if I end up hating myself at the end of the day.
Bedlam. That’s how I live my life half the time, a state of uproar and confusion. The other half is high energy and pleasant. I really do enjoy my manic cycles, I often feel like Superman in them. NO, Batman, because he’s better.
Anyway, really enjoy my new psychiatrist, he’s confident and funny, and makes me feel like I can get better again. To the little bit of hope that hasn’t been shredded out of me, that it may multiply in months to come.