#so many issues but somehow my family is perpetually stuck in circles where people care more about their delicate little egos and preserving

[isfjmel-phleg]

This is a personal post.

so many people I know are burned out I am burned out and I want to fix that but can't

why must everything be so stressful. for everyone.

[lifeofveronika]

NYC, 10/26/19

Months prior to this actual date, I knew I would be there. Brendan and C.J. were playing a set for BangOn! Warehouse of Horrors the day before, and since I very seldom get to hang out with them, I decided I would stay both nights in the city. Not a far, inconvenient trip for me. Seemed worth missing my parents annual halloween party, I mean, partly because Brendan didn’t even take a second to consider skipping a rave for something that was kind of important to me. But -

I digress.

Friday was fun. Their set was so incredible, and I loved seeing how happy Brendan was, even through his anxiety of it being a big deal. Lots of pressure, but they made diamonds with it. 

So now we come into Saturday. It was a nice day outside; we walked around Brooklyn and got some food, laid on park benches for a bit, found some weed and then trucked back to our AirBnB to start getting ready for the night. Of course, I was a little hungover and had a hard time getting motivated to rage once again, but I knew I had to. And I have issues with circumstances like that. Feeling “trapped” into something is like a breeding ground for my anxiety. Not wanting to let anyone down by pulling out of plans, not being able to speak up for myself out of fear of disapproval or perhaps just complete disregard. But Brendan was with me, so I thought “at least I have you. If I need anything, if I slip too far into my head, you’re here for me.” I know that this is becoming a much-to-common phrase I am using in my writing, but ...I was wrong.

Before we had even left the apartment, I had scary, dark thoughts in my head. I always try to tell myself “if you anticipate failure from the beginning then you have no chance at succeeding. Success is a mindset at times; a different perspective on a situation at hand. The success I was looking for was just being able to make it through the night peacefully, and with a little fun. That did not happen.

It took us about 40 minutes to get to the venue in our Uber. Those horrible, dragging 40 minutes had me holding back the nausea my anxiety was causing like nothing I’ve ever had to do before. There were even a couple times at red lights where I had to stop myself from slamming the door open because I felt like I couldn’t even breathe. But I pulled through until we got there. Upon exiting the Uber, I knew that was it. I got sick on the sidewalk on a main street in the city, people walking around me but I couldn’t muster up the ability to care. I wanted to run home. I wanted to cry in Brendans arms. But I put on my brave face and again, rejected my idea of “failure.”

We stayed at WoH for probably 15 minutes, such a waste of a free entry to a big show, but they wanted to go to another venue, and you know me: I say nothing. Why? Because I didn’t want to be a burden. I didn’t want to put myself in a situation where its 3 versus 1 in a game of “Hm, I wonder whose plan we’ll actually choose,” only to have mind so obviously rejected and then I’m back doing exactly what I had to do. Nothing would have changed, so I stay silent.

This place was a madhouse. No room to walk, no room to dance, no room to breathe. The second we walked in I knew I was doomed. At this point I was so deep in my head that I couldn’t even fake my emotions anymore. I was miserable, bordering on a panic attack yet somehow mustering up the strength to keep it just at bay. Just a little longer, I would tell myself, it will pass. But it only pushed me deeper down. 

I was mad. Mad at myself for being so fucked up in the head that I couldn’t pull it together to have another fun night. Mad at my “friends” for neglecting to see that maybe I needed a minute. Mad at Brendan because his facade of “caring” was shallow enough for me to see right through. Of course, he didn’t like the fact that I was struggling, but when push came to shove, he chose the party over me. And thats just a sad, cold, hard fact.

Finally, I decided to give up on the possibility of the night turning around. I knew I had failed. I looked up at Brendan; I could feel how horrid the look on my face must have been. I was shaking, but I forced the words out. I gotta get out of here. He walked me to the outside smoking area; just the fresh air alone lifted a little bit of the weight from being inside, but it wasn’t enough. I told him that I was going to leave, and that I was sorry. He didn’t question a thing. He asked me if I was okay, as if that weren’t an obviously answerable question. I was the furthest from “okay” that I had been in a while, and he’s a smart guy, he knew it. I didn’t want to ruin his night further, so I didn’t ask him to come with me. I didn’t tell him how bad I was and how I didn’t think I should be alone. I didn’t want to believe it myself, so I couldn’t make it real for him. 

I have fallen before. I’ve attempted twice, and thought about attempting many more times than that. Part of me knew that night held potential to be a third, but I ignored it and said nothing. I guess that’s a problem in itself. But really, what kind of a person would I be if I looked Brendan in the eyes, at a show I knew he wanted to be at, and said “Please don’t leave me alone, I’m having thoughts of suicide.” Rereading that made me feel stupid, because obviously my life is worth more than a show, but in the moment it felt like it wasn’t. I can’t hold someone to expectations if they don’t know the whole twisted slur of thoughts running circles in my head. 

He told me he would be back in 3 hours. He thanked me for compromising and “letting” him stay at the show, and told me that in 3 hours time, he would come back to the AirBnB to be with me. I knew I wouldn’t be able to sleep anyways, but I figured if I could get through these next three hours, then it’ll be over and I can relax with the man I love.

3 hours went by, and his phone was dead. I had a minor panic attack when I had first got back, but managed to sit on the couch and rock back and forth like a crazy person until my heart rate slowed. 

4 hours.

5 hours.

Nothing.

I felt abandoned. I felt worthless. I felt so utterly unimportant in the present moment, which only pushed my thoughts into a darker place. I started hearing those words again. You can make it stop. You can make all of it stop.

I climbed out onto the fire escape and tried to take a deep breath through the tears. I looked down and I could feel myself leaning too far. I wanted this. It seemed too easy, like it was the universe telling me it was time to just “let go.”

Symbolic, really, how something as simple as letting go of the metal banister could help you let go of everything. But instead, I gripped it tighter. 

In the past, the only thing thats kept me from following through was the thought of how it would effect my family. How alone my little sister would be. How betrayed and useless she would feel. How broken my mother would be, and how confused my father would be.I think there’s a certain darkness in that fact too. I hold on for others, but not for myself. 

8 hours went by, and finally they came home. I was in pieces, and I just wanted to leave. I almost did, too. It wasn’t difficult to get back home if I really wanted to. Something in me made me stay. I wanted to see the look on his face when he realized how alone he made me feel. I wanted to look into his eyes and make him feel how I felt. Disregarded completely.

He knew instantly where my head was. I said nothing, and just waited until we could all go our separate ways. He looked so sad, I remember. And it made me feel sorry for him. I really believe he didn’t fully understand the severity of my situation, but then again I thought “would it have changed anything if he did?”

He got defensive, which is natural. He blamed everyone but himself for fucking up. I didn’t want to hear any of it. It almost hurt me more, feeling like he was trying to “clear his name” or make it seem like he was the victim as well. It’s much harder to fix problems when you’re not together, though. And even though I could have tried to make some time to talk to him while we were together, the idea of it made me sick. I didn’t even want to look at him. I didn’t want to look at myself, either. I had no shred of caring left. I just needed to get away from them. 

In the days following, I tried to be honest about how I felt. I told him I forgave him, but it was a lie. I knew I would, eventually. And it just seemed to be hurting him too much. So I decided to try and ease his mind, with hopes it would maybe boomerang back to me. Instead, it got harder to talk to him. Going back to casual small-talk and trying to act normal/loving when you’re bleeding is incredibly difficult. But I pushed through, for him. The entire time, though part of me never wanted to even see him again, the stronger part of me just wanted him next to me. I took that as a subliminal sign that I truly believed our connection was real, and worth saving. 

I tried my best to not think about it, like I do with most things, and it started to work. I felt better in general, but as the weeks passed I felt a disconnect forming. The distance we struggled with made it that much worse. But the last time I had touched him was when I didn’t want to be anywhere near him, so that feeling kind of stuck. I didn’t have a warm embrace and a passionate kiss to fall back on. Rather I had the remembrance of a hollow hug and an emotionless peck to fall back on.

I believe him now, that he is sorry. He’s made me feel like I’m important to him, and thats a nice feeling to hold. But I can’t let go of my apprehensions towards future situations. My social anxiety has gotten worse since WoH, and sometimes I wonder if it’s because I feel like that night solidified my belief that even those who promise to be there for you won’t be. Not always, at least. 

I still fight this perpetual feeling that I am completely alone every single day.