I am a “21st Century Schizoid Man.” A song by one of my all time favorite bands (and possible genesis of prog-rock) King Crimson. I’ve reached a point in my life that this song has become my wake-up alarm. Not solely for its poignant lyrics or catchy rhythms or masterful breakdown. But because it is where I am at, so to speak. I have lost whatever piece of me that worked like a filter for all of life’s hardships or difficulties. A turbine within the psyche that churns through the stress and agony of life’s many improbabilities to allow for daily unencumbered function. I’ve hit a wall, in other words. This is a wall I hit a few years ago, hoping that after enough time it would eventually disappear or dissolve. However, this wall isn’t made of sawdust, its made of brick, cement, concrete. It’s a tough fucker. I can’t simply wait it out, like I have for so many obstacles in my life.

My motto for life was one I absorbed from a game review for a cherished franchise of mine, Dark Souls. (For those unfamiliar, doing a quick keyword search of “dark souls hard” anywhere on the internet will give you a good summary of what I’m trying to convey.) The reviewer summed up the oppressive and insane difficulty of the game as: “Beating your head against a brick wall until the brick wall submits out of pity.” Which, along with John Waters (another prog-rock reference), I agreed with. The imagery made a good guideline for the murky suffering I was constantly experiencing. “Just keep your head down and bang away.”

To my logically attuned hemisphere, this made perfect sense. What was life, other than a rough drag through an unpleasant rocky hill face, with sparse glimpses of what could be. Instead, what makes this metaphor far more tragic, is the conclusion that the rocky hill face was indifferent to you, and your time was spent trying to extract meaning from your agony. I can say without any doubt (a complete lack of doubt is something I can rarely afford in my life, making this my only exception, which could be a fallacy in of itself, but this argument is mostly pathos so fuck it) I have completely and utterly failed to engage in any sort of meaning from my time spent on Earth.

Since a few years ago, when I was officially diagnosed with clinical depression (an illness my mother’s side carried quite subtly, stretching from my mother to my grandmother to her mother and so on…) I wasn’t able to live like I had before. One specific event really illuminated me to this. I was moving to a new basement suite, when I found my self driving in total bewilderment. I slammed on the breaks in the middle of an intersection (thankfully it wasn’t busy, as at the time I could’ve been killed and would have thought nothing of it) and beat my steering wheel to death. I cried and screamed in my car. Telling myself this wasn’t real, it was all in my head. The slow death of my once tolerable reality was the greatest pain I’ve ever felt. I don’t believe it started in adolescence, but here is an excerpt for my own indulgence.

I had friends in high school. Some stuck around until I graduated but for the most part I moved in and out of cliques for four years. It’s tough moving to another city. But I adapted quite well. In fact, I believed that’s one of my greatest strengths aside from a decent sense of humor. Anyway, I never really had a good friend. They always seemed to get close to me, then runaway. I know they had their own paths, but this has affected me on a profound level. Its probably one of the reasons I change jobs every year or 10 months.

To sort of conclude this text, I’ve reached an area of what I believe to be my final timeline. I may be quite young, or beginning to grow old, but I know there is nothing left for me. I’ve contemplated suicide, even attempting it. An event my family will never hear of. But that won’t deter me from my encore. I can feel that I’m reaching a point of no return. The mind can only tear itself apart so many times before it can’t be put itself back together anymore.

To be candid; I don’t know why I would post any of this to the internet. It feels dark and locked away for a specific reason. Sharing it would be an infraction against my demons. But I’m doing it anyway. Perhaps once my death has created waves within the small pool I swim in, this might shed some light on my inner state of mind.

But never the less, I’m going to breath in the air, before it hurts again.

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