Have to Post this Somewhere - Part 1 - My Friends Are My World
*sigh* Well, WAY too much has happened in my life to play catch-up on here anymore. Bullying landlord, being stuck breathing mold spores for two years, leaving me with chronic coughing and memory loss/confusion, being terribly lonely except the few times I went to cons, and even then often being lonely anyway...
I feel wrong to post a lot of what will be below... but I need to put it SOMEWHERE. And as impolite as it may sound, some people simply need to read it. Whether they will or not, I can't say... but the truth needs to be known.
I was stuck in clinical depression for so long, that my personality was hidden by fog, and I had to “act” like myself. I had to simulate my actual personality because it was buried so deeply, and I was trying my best to bring it to the surface again. It's not like I was pretending to be someone else... I was pretending to be myself, instead of my depressed and blank self.
It's hard to say if it ever worked or not. What I needed, to truly be ok, was to be with my friends. To be able to just call someone up, say “Hey, let's go bowling” or “LAN party at my place!” or just plain “Can I come over?” To physically just plain BE with people who cared about me as deeply as I cared about them. It wasn't a want, it was a human NEED which I have been deprived of for nearly all of my entire life.
I'm 27 years old, nearly 30, and I'm STILL waiting for my life to begin. Waiting to learn how to socialize properly, which I should have been allowed to learn when I was much younger, when mistakes were more forgivable and learning so much easier.
For most people, their biggest hopes and dreams are visions of grandeur. Becoming a millionaire, owning a ranch, publishing a bestseller, becoming a famous rock star, curing cancer. Me, my biggest dream was to save up enough to move up to Wisconsin where I could spend normal, casual time with my friends. That was my big goal in life. My motivation to keep going, and not give into my loneliness. I could only keep believing I could make it happen, keep saving up what little I could, until it was enough and my dream could finally come true.
I forsook most things I wanted, and even needed, so I could keep saving up what little was left after rent and food. I couldn't give up internet, because it was my only lifeline to my friends. I clung desperately to the dear, beloved text we shared, because it was all we had. Except for those magical times where I could spend time with everyone a few days out of the year, losing most of my savings over and over again, each time, just to fill my desperate need to be with them.
Text wasn't enough, but it was all we had most of the time. I would try to converse... but I had very little life to talk about. How do you go on about working, eating, and sleeping without it becoming complaints? So I would try to get them to talk more about their lives, the times they spent together that I could look forward to in the future, to fill the emptiness of my existence. Sometimes a few of them obliged, and I loved every moment, even if feeling a bit wistful. But then, most of them avoided me altogether, and eventually they all rarely said more than a greeting. But even just the chat window being open and them being “there”, I had to find joy in even that, because it was... all I had.
They all had my cell number, but for a while I was conservative about my minutes, as they were expensive. But over time, I managed to collect a lot, and I let everyone know they could phone away all they wanted. But, it remained silent. I did not know most of their work hours, and I did not want to bother them or wake them up, though I let them know I wouldn't mind at all if they called me anytime. Or texted me. But, my phone always remained silent, except for random sales calls or my boss or my Mom.
My family... They were always there for me. I love them dearly, all of them. My parents, my younger sister, my younger and older brother, my niece and nephews, my grandma, my brother-in-law. They were my only consistent source for hugs when I needed them, and face-to-face conversations. But, in that unconditional way, we were there for each other no matter what. Which is beautiful and wonderful. But, it was because we were family.
Every human, to feel worth, needs for at least one, perhaps several, other people who stick with them and like them out of their own free will. Someone who chooses to be with them, to enjoy happy times together, to get through hard times together, to help each other out. You feel you are truly worth something, when someone else makes it clear that you are worth something to them. That is the magic of friendship and love. Something that family cannot truly provide, no matter how supportive they are. That is why friends are so important, so vital, to being healthy in heart and soul.
I tried to make it clear, as often as I could, that my friends meant the world to me. Literally. I would let them vent their problems to me, offer comfort, understanding, advice (both in text, AND in person the few times I was able to visit). I would stick up for them, whether they witnessed it or not. I would confide in them, even if they could not give me the embraces I needed. I laughed with them, shared things I found with them, praise things they shared with me.
I told them how badly I needed to just plain BE with them, how they meant so much to me, how I was working SO hard to just be near them. I wanted them to know that they were more valuable than anything one could hold, and that I would fight for them, even die for them. They were precious, and I did my best to make them aware of it, so they could feel cherished and loved.
They did seem happy when I would be preparing to go up there for the small anime conventions we would share together, and they spoke to me fairly often before, so I figured I meant the same to them. Even when at the conventions most of them ignored me, bringing me to tears, I always forgave them. Even when some of them were oblivious to me when I was feeling sad or was in pain, I forgave them. When some of them only pointed out faults and not good-aspects of things I made, I forgave them.
After all, I know I'm severely flawed, and I know I've made so many mistakes with my words because I'm not good at using them for social situations due to lack of practice, and from being so fogged with depression and poor health... and they still seemed to forgive me.
Family members tend to accept flaws more readily, because they're together regardless. With my family, we were always brutally honest with each other, trying to help each other improve, so unfortunately I often talk to my friends that way as well. Because to me, they become like family. Partially because I rarely got to have a close bond outside of family, thus the honesty has become a habit. And partially... well, when you rarely get something, you want to nurture it as strongly as possible.
Since I was always a bit of a tomboy, I identified strongly with my Dad. He taught me many things, we'd hunt and fish together when he was in better shape, I'd eagerly listen to his stories about the old days. He was born in the '40s, so he was there through many segments of history.
We conversed about so many things, sometimes agreeing and sometimes disagreeing, but always respecting each other. I'd always listened to him as a kid, and when I was an adult I continued to. I always tried to make him happy, and at least when I was older, he acknowledged my efforts. Even when he couldn't be active anymore due to his bad back, we would watch tv together, talk, sing, listen to music. I made him coffee and he loved it.
When he was in bad pain, I would massage his neck or back. I even learned how to find pressure-points on him by sheer instinct, and was able to greatly ease his pain at times. I wanted to do more for him than I ever could. When he got more and more health problems, spending more time in the hospital, I visited him whenever I possibly could. He remained cheerful and optimistic in-between his times of despair. I always wanted to take his pain away completely, but never could. He ended up in hospitals more and more, getting therapy, being released way too early, getting put back in again, just being doped up with pain medications and nobody doing anything to find an alternative for the steroid dependency which was keeping him alive and killing him at the same time, not fixing his ailing lungs which barely sucked in enough oxygen to keep him going no matter how many machines he was hooked to...
And then, came an excruciating several months where my sleep schedule got completely erased. I could only get bare minimum one- or two-hour naps every few days, then would hibernate for up to 16 hours, back and forth. I was practically delirious, sick, always dizzy and confused, and constantly having to play catch-up with work, barely getting enough time to do it as it seemed I could only sleep when deadlines were approaching. I STILL found time to try to chat with my friends for a while, but they seemed to lose interest in me, and I had nothing I could say in my condition, so I eventually only showed up a few times a week, and then most times nobody was there, or they just said nothing past greeting if anything.
And in the midst of this, I'd followed Mom's insistence to turn in my 30 day notice for the apartment and get moving out to my sister and her boyfriend's new two-story house that we planned to share. This was wise because breathing all those mold spores were probably contributing, if not causing, my condition. But, now I was under time pressure, and between work and collapse, and exhaustion inbetween, I was finding it impossible to move my things out in any sort of timely manner.
Finally, my kyoudai (sis n bro-in-law) stepped in and did large chunks of it for me. With only a day or two to spare, we had gotten most things out... And then one morning I got a call from Mom saying that Dad was “in very bad shape” in the hospital, that they told her they were doing CPR on him and that she was on her way over there...
I feel wrong to post a lot of what will be below... but I need to put it SOMEWHERE. And as impolite as it may sound, some people simply need to read it. Whether they will or not, I can't say... but the truth needs to be known.
I was stuck in clinical depression for so long, that my personality was hidden by fog, and I had to “act” like myself. I had to simulate my actual personality because it was buried so deeply, and I was trying my best to bring it to the surface again. It's not like I was pretending to be someone else... I was pretending to be myself, instead of my depressed and blank self.
It's hard to say if it ever worked or not. What I needed, to truly be ok, was to be with my friends. To be able to just call someone up, say “Hey, let's go bowling” or “LAN party at my place!” or just plain “Can I come over?” To physically just plain BE with people who cared about me as deeply as I cared about them. It wasn't a want, it was a human NEED which I have been deprived of for nearly all of my entire life.
I'm 27 years old, nearly 30, and I'm STILL waiting for my life to begin. Waiting to learn how to socialize properly, which I should have been allowed to learn when I was much younger, when mistakes were more forgivable and learning so much easier.
For most people, their biggest hopes and dreams are visions of grandeur. Becoming a millionaire, owning a ranch, publishing a bestseller, becoming a famous rock star, curing cancer. Me, my biggest dream was to save up enough to move up to Wisconsin where I could spend normal, casual time with my friends. That was my big goal in life. My motivation to keep going, and not give into my loneliness. I could only keep believing I could make it happen, keep saving up what little I could, until it was enough and my dream could finally come true.
I forsook most things I wanted, and even needed, so I could keep saving up what little was left after rent and food. I couldn't give up internet, because it was my only lifeline to my friends. I clung desperately to the dear, beloved text we shared, because it was all we had. Except for those magical times where I could spend time with everyone a few days out of the year, losing most of my savings over and over again, each time, just to fill my desperate need to be with them.
Text wasn't enough, but it was all we had most of the time. I would try to converse... but I had very little life to talk about. How do you go on about working, eating, and sleeping without it becoming complaints? So I would try to get them to talk more about their lives, the times they spent together that I could look forward to in the future, to fill the emptiness of my existence. Sometimes a few of them obliged, and I loved every moment, even if feeling a bit wistful. But then, most of them avoided me altogether, and eventually they all rarely said more than a greeting. But even just the chat window being open and them being “there”, I had to find joy in even that, because it was... all I had.
They all had my cell number, but for a while I was conservative about my minutes, as they were expensive. But over time, I managed to collect a lot, and I let everyone know they could phone away all they wanted. But, it remained silent. I did not know most of their work hours, and I did not want to bother them or wake them up, though I let them know I wouldn't mind at all if they called me anytime. Or texted me. But, my phone always remained silent, except for random sales calls or my boss or my Mom.
My family... They were always there for me. I love them dearly, all of them. My parents, my younger sister, my younger and older brother, my niece and nephews, my grandma, my brother-in-law. They were my only consistent source for hugs when I needed them, and face-to-face conversations. But, in that unconditional way, we were there for each other no matter what. Which is beautiful and wonderful. But, it was because we were family.
Every human, to feel worth, needs for at least one, perhaps several, other people who stick with them and like them out of their own free will. Someone who chooses to be with them, to enjoy happy times together, to get through hard times together, to help each other out. You feel you are truly worth something, when someone else makes it clear that you are worth something to them. That is the magic of friendship and love. Something that family cannot truly provide, no matter how supportive they are. That is why friends are so important, so vital, to being healthy in heart and soul.
I tried to make it clear, as often as I could, that my friends meant the world to me. Literally. I would let them vent their problems to me, offer comfort, understanding, advice (both in text, AND in person the few times I was able to visit). I would stick up for them, whether they witnessed it or not. I would confide in them, even if they could not give me the embraces I needed. I laughed with them, shared things I found with them, praise things they shared with me.
I told them how badly I needed to just plain BE with them, how they meant so much to me, how I was working SO hard to just be near them. I wanted them to know that they were more valuable than anything one could hold, and that I would fight for them, even die for them. They were precious, and I did my best to make them aware of it, so they could feel cherished and loved.
They did seem happy when I would be preparing to go up there for the small anime conventions we would share together, and they spoke to me fairly often before, so I figured I meant the same to them. Even when at the conventions most of them ignored me, bringing me to tears, I always forgave them. Even when some of them were oblivious to me when I was feeling sad or was in pain, I forgave them. When some of them only pointed out faults and not good-aspects of things I made, I forgave them.
After all, I know I'm severely flawed, and I know I've made so many mistakes with my words because I'm not good at using them for social situations due to lack of practice, and from being so fogged with depression and poor health... and they still seemed to forgive me.
Family members tend to accept flaws more readily, because they're together regardless. With my family, we were always brutally honest with each other, trying to help each other improve, so unfortunately I often talk to my friends that way as well. Because to me, they become like family. Partially because I rarely got to have a close bond outside of family, thus the honesty has become a habit. And partially... well, when you rarely get something, you want to nurture it as strongly as possible.
Since I was always a bit of a tomboy, I identified strongly with my Dad. He taught me many things, we'd hunt and fish together when he was in better shape, I'd eagerly listen to his stories about the old days. He was born in the '40s, so he was there through many segments of history.
We conversed about so many things, sometimes agreeing and sometimes disagreeing, but always respecting each other. I'd always listened to him as a kid, and when I was an adult I continued to. I always tried to make him happy, and at least when I was older, he acknowledged my efforts. Even when he couldn't be active anymore due to his bad back, we would watch tv together, talk, sing, listen to music. I made him coffee and he loved it.
When he was in bad pain, I would massage his neck or back. I even learned how to find pressure-points on him by sheer instinct, and was able to greatly ease his pain at times. I wanted to do more for him than I ever could. When he got more and more health problems, spending more time in the hospital, I visited him whenever I possibly could. He remained cheerful and optimistic in-between his times of despair. I always wanted to take his pain away completely, but never could. He ended up in hospitals more and more, getting therapy, being released way too early, getting put back in again, just being doped up with pain medications and nobody doing anything to find an alternative for the steroid dependency which was keeping him alive and killing him at the same time, not fixing his ailing lungs which barely sucked in enough oxygen to keep him going no matter how many machines he was hooked to...
And then, came an excruciating several months where my sleep schedule got completely erased. I could only get bare minimum one- or two-hour naps every few days, then would hibernate for up to 16 hours, back and forth. I was practically delirious, sick, always dizzy and confused, and constantly having to play catch-up with work, barely getting enough time to do it as it seemed I could only sleep when deadlines were approaching. I STILL found time to try to chat with my friends for a while, but they seemed to lose interest in me, and I had nothing I could say in my condition, so I eventually only showed up a few times a week, and then most times nobody was there, or they just said nothing past greeting if anything.
And in the midst of this, I'd followed Mom's insistence to turn in my 30 day notice for the apartment and get moving out to my sister and her boyfriend's new two-story house that we planned to share. This was wise because breathing all those mold spores were probably contributing, if not causing, my condition. But, now I was under time pressure, and between work and collapse, and exhaustion inbetween, I was finding it impossible to move my things out in any sort of timely manner.
Finally, my kyoudai (sis n bro-in-law) stepped in and did large chunks of it for me. With only a day or two to spare, we had gotten most things out... And then one morning I got a call from Mom saying that Dad was “in very bad shape” in the hospital, that they told her they were doing CPR on him and that she was on her way over there...