My Story

             I have been putting a lot of thought into whether or not I should write this. I came to the conclusion that I should. Not because it has ‘‘gotten better”, but, because I feel like I just need to get it out of me. I feel that if it comes out, even in writing, it will be out. It’s not an easy matter to talk about. And it took me quite a while to actually sit down and write about it. After I decided I would write about it, I procrastinated sitting down and actually doing. When you try to remember the past, and it’s not pretty, you can only take so much at a time. But here it is;

             I grew up in a religion where I was taught that taking ones life would result in disconnecting with God. In other words, it was like giving a back-handed slap to the face of God since he was the creator of life and was the only one who deserved to give and take of it. As a child I always wondered why someone would ever come to that terrible decision. It wouldn’t fit in my little kid brain why someone would just want to die. I heard of people killing themselves when I was young but I never fully grasped the meaning of it until I got older.

            I do now. Even though I’m writing this I can’t fully say that I am completely over self harming. I can’t say that I have no more suicidal thoughts. I have though, learned to control them.

             But how did it all start? Well, I never really knew I was different. Yes I remember buying sparkling shoes that I got made fun of because they were “girly”, but that had nothing to do with my sexuality. At least I didn’t think so. I just knew that one day I would grow up, marry, and have kids. That was so ironic seeing as I didn’t want to get married or have kids.

             Back to my religion though, I grew up in this religion where you had to live your life exactly how the Bible said you should. (Jehovah Witness). It isn’t as hard as people think it is. It’s not to bad, and maybe I would have had some great teen years if I hadn’t turned out to be fucking gay. That pretty much ruined my life. Not completely, but enough. It’s one of the main causes of my pain if I’m brutally honest. Still to this day.

             I hate when people say “it gets better.” No it fucking does not. It hasn’t for me at least. Maybe I’m getting ahead of myself? But at the end of the tunnel I see no light, I see no fucking tunnel.  But then again, maybe that’s me getting ahead of my self and my “better times” have yet to come.

             Anyway, I was in and out of this religion. I would go with a passion and then I would hate it with a passion. I never really made up my mind. Not even today. Today I just go, not for me or anyone else but for my mom. It makes her happy that I’m there and that makes me happy.

             I “came to terms” with my sexually on Nov 17th of 2010. That’s the day that I said I’m Gay. Before then I had never actually said it out loud. I knew I was but I didn’t want to say it out loud. I thought maybe if I didn’t say it, it wouldn’t be true. Sometimes I thought I could change being gay, but it never worked. That was the actual first time that those words came out of my mouth. In that order, “I’m gay.”

             I remember going on-line and searching ‘Gay Jehovah Witness.’ I had the impression that I was the only one in this religion in the whole world who was gay. I was wrong. After looking past many articles that threw shade and dirt at JW’s for not accepting the gays, I found an article about Tim. He was also a JW. Grew up in the same religion and his father was actually an Elder (People who are like pastors). There was an email address and I emailed him. Telling him how hard it was for me because I was gay and I was scared to come out because so many people would be disappointed, and ultimately I would be disowned felt good. Plus, at that time I had no legal status so how would I even fend for my self?

             I loved my mother too much to break her heart that way. But Tim said it was all too much for him so one day he almost took his life, well actually tried but didn’t succeed. He said he had to change his life after he tried killing himself. He couldn’t take it any longer so he left the religion. I understand his decision. But I was not yet there (still am not) and even though it was extremely hard I still was not even close to the thought of taking my life. We would email back and forth and it was encouraging to have some one to talk to who understood. Then, he stopped.

            That crushed my heart. But I guess he got bored or maybe had more important things on his mind than helping out a seventeen year old across the world he didn’t even know. I knew was getting married and was moving so maybe that’s why but still, could have said something.

            Of course being in the religion that I was in and also being gay wasn’t going to work out. So I left. I stopped going and it broke my mother’s heart. I was still the same person nothing changed. I just didn’t act any more gayer. I didn’t go to pride. I didn’t hook up with every guy in town. I just simply stopped going to church. I was the same old me.

             I don’t know what made me go back. Maybe because I never found love? Or deep down I hated myself for being gay when I knew it was wrong? Not sure. But months when I returned in the summer of 2011, my uncle and aunt asked if we wanted to spend the summer with them.  (Take in mind that they too were JW’s). My brother and I said yes of course. They lived in our home town where I grew up and it was a beautiful town, I cherished that town.

             So I went to the congregation there. While I went there, I was being pressured into dating. Who I liked would always arise in a conversation. I finally gave in and picked someone. A girl I knew since I was little.

             It’s funny at the time I felt straight. Or possibly thought I could be. I can honestly say that I thought I was, right then and there. Deep down I knew I was gay, but I was faking it all so well that I almost started to believe it myself.

             The girl that I ‘liked’ had an ex boyfriend who was tragically messed up. I think he was bipolar. (Now I think I am). He once wrote the name of a girl on his arm with scissors. That didn’t surprise us because we kind of all knew he was cutting himself. Everyone told him to stop and they got him help. I thought that was ridiculous and immature not knowing that I would be following the same footsteps.

             Summer ended and the day after I left town I told that girl I liked liked her. She said the same thing but didn’t know if I felt the same way. How cute. Wrong. We soon started dating. Long distance dating. Wasn’t that cleaver? We broke up about seven months after. I was the one to end it. I told her I “needed time.” But the truth was that I just couldn’t take it anymore. Guys still would look appealing to me. I did love her though. I don’t know in what way. But it really hurt when we stopped talking. There was something missing in me now. She was my first love.

              From there it was just a spiral of hate. My life wasn’t going too well and I had to deal with the fact that I was gay. I played the happy guy for so long until I couldn’t take it. There was so much pain. I didn’t want to feel it. I was jogging that night. In our back yard. I was so overwhelmed that I just got on the ground and started crying. I was so mad on how my life was turning out to be. The next ting I knew I was picking up a rock and sliding it along my arm. It felt as all the pain was running out of the fresh wound.  For the first time in a long time I didn’t feel pain inside, I felt it on the outside. A minor distraction fooling my brain into a better state of mind.

            I didn’t think about it. Maybe I wanted to know what it felt like? Maybe I was curious? Maybe it was the feeling of wanting to touch fire but knowing you were going to get burned anyway. It was like that feeling you get when something isn’t working so you bang it on the side to make it work, like an old static TV. I knew it was wrong but I still did it. In a way it made me feel better. Like I was in control of the pain and the pain stopped controlling me.

             After that the thought of suicide would come and go for me. I always thought of ways I could end my life but I could never go through with them because I always thought of my mom and brother. Who would look after them? Who would protect them? Who would guide them? What would they do when I was gone? What would their reactions be? These questions only added to the already huge pile of stress I had. So it was more like a game. Did I want a painless death? Or did I want to feel pain? How did I want to be found? Who would find me? I am such an over analyzer that I was even over analyzing my own suicide! How pathetic. Well, I guess that’s why I’m still here, right?

             I got in to the habit of measuring how suicidal I felt. Some days it was 25% others it was 75%. When it was high I made sure I stayed away from sharp things because it seemed that I would go deeper. And in all of my scenarios, death in a pool of blood never seemed to suit me.

             One time, and the only time, I had been at 85% I  had self harmed my wrist really noticeable. I had to work the next day and a coworker saw. Her name was Jessica. She asked me what happened. I had wristbands on. Twenty One Pilots. I said nothing and just continued working like it didn’t bother me. She didn’t ask again. A month later I quit so I never saw her. She probably still works there. Her seeing my cuts didn’t make me quit.

             I’m pretty sure a lot of people noticed. I think Eli noticed once but never really paid attention or just waved it off, not sure if jenny ever did. I think Hellen did once, on my knee. She asked what where those scrathes I just told her I played to rough with my dog. Did anyone else say anything? No.

             I haven’t self harmed for almost nine months now. That’s only because I’m getting a tattoo removed and I read that having cuts or bruises will take the body’s focus away from helping eliminate the tattoo. I get an overwhelming urge but I always see my tattoo on my arm and how much I want it gone. At first it was hard to resist. But I soon got over it little by little. Hopefully I will never go back but that feeling will always be there.

             Maybe I’m bipolar. Maybe life as made me this way. Maybe I have made me this way. I see people go through shit and still have a smile on their face. Then again I don’t know what they do when they get home. Maybe they to self harm. In different ways. Drinking, smoking, hurting others. That’s the same as self harm. Inflicting pain somewhere else so the present pain will subside, but it never does, does it?

              So, that’s pretty much it. I am almost twenty-three years old and still haven’t come to terms with almost any part of my life. It’s weird. Because when I see a girl and I really like her personality I do think, wow she would make a great wife, or, I wonder what it would be like to date her.  So maybe I’m bisexual? Pan-sexual? It doesn’t really matter. My sexuality doesn’t defined me. Plus, would I even want to date anyone knowing all the shit my life as turned into? Yeah, they would have to be some type of super human to put up with me. Plus all the world wants is sex, and I just want to be held and taken care of.

Anyway there it is. The truth, raw, candid, and straight to the point.

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A Letter To Myself

            I wrote myself a letter because I felt that no one really understands me except myself. I try to communicate, but the only person who actually listens is myslef. I have waited for help from others but it hasn’t arrived, I guess, the only person I can expect help from is, myself. 



Dear Pedro, 

            I can see what you are going through. I can almost feel it. You left social media. Deleted Facebook. Never post on Snapchat and have grown distant with your friends. They must not understand, but I do. I see how every morning it’s hard for you to get up. To face another day with problems. It seems like you can’t get a break. Don’t give up. 

            I understand you have no money. You can barely afford to keep the fridge stocked up for your family. How do people expect you to go out? And have fun? When you could use that money to pay bills and buy food. Survive. No one sees that, but I do. Don’t give up. 

          When I ask if everything is ok, you always say yes. But I know that’s not true. I ask again, surprised you look at me and tell me the truth. No one has asked you twice. No one asks for the truth. They only want to hear “ok” and “fine” to get on with their lives. But I care. I want to know. I can’t fix it, but I can lend my support. If you don’t want to talk we can just sit in silence. I know how sometimes you want to be alone, but not feel alone. Don’t give up. 

            I can see how sometimes you can’t even cry because you see no use in that, you just want it all to stop. But wait, think about your family. Your mother and brother. You have to stay and look after them. Who else will? Don’t give up. 

            I know that your mom has cancer. I’m sorry. Life has treated you very unfairly. Your going to lose your job due to a work permit that has yet to arrive. I know, life is hard. Don’t give up. 

            With all the problems you have, I won’t ask you to come and have fun. I know you can’t. I know that when you go out all you think about is your problems. The how’s? And the why’s? Don’t give up. 

            You can’t focus on anything else. So then I’ll ask you what you want to do. What will help? I’ll give you a warm hug just so you know I feel your pain. I’ll tell you it will get better. That it will be ok. You will respond in a negative way. Saying how it’s not, and I don’t understand. But I do, so I’ll say, “even if it doesn’t, I’ll be there by your side.” That will put a smile on your pale face, no one has ever said that to you before. Don’t give up. 

            I know each day gets harder. I know each hour drags on by. I know every minute is excruciating. I know every second air seems to get thinner and it’s difficult to breathe. Don’t give up. 

            I know how many times you have thought about it. Don’t do it. I know it seems like the only way out. Don’t do it. I know the reasons why you would want to. Don’t do it. Don’t give up. 

Even though you want to do it really bad, and sometimes you are on the edge, hanging on for dear life, and you might think that there is no turning back, I plead and beg you, just don’t give up

If You Didn’t Ask It’s Because You Didn’t Want To Know

I’m pissed off Journal,

      Well, not as much as I was a couple of hours ago. I posted a story on Snapchat yesterday (that was rather depressing) I hadn’t posted anything in over two months. My two “best friends” both saw it and messaged me. One (Jen) said, “you’re not in this alone.”  The other (Eli) said, “we’ve been texting you but glad to see you’re ok.” To both of them I replied “I know” which led to Jen not responding and Eli messaging back, sorry for bugging you I’ll leave you alone. 

      Now, I’m not in a good place but it’s not that bad. But what if it was? What if I was on the verge of leaving this life and they acted this way? All bitter and sassy? I can’t think that, that would only contribute to me taking one of the worst decisions in life, death. Like everyone else I have my good days as well as my bad days, but the difference is sometimes my bad days are really bad.

      Lets try some common sense. If you have a friend that you know is going through some shit, per say. Like money or health problems or even both (because life’s a bitch). Lets say they have social anxiety and have a hard time expressing their emotions. They always smile because they don’t want to bring attention to themselves and their problems. They don’t want to bring anyone down. Everything seems fine but they seem very distant. What would you do?

      I don’t know if it’s just me, but I would try to help that person. Listen to them. At first yes they’d say that everything is fine. They would possibly ignore me. But that doesn’t mean I would stop trying. I hate it when people ask me “how are you?” and once I say that everything is fine the conversation goes on but we both know that it’s not. I’m not sure if its pride or timidness but I wont come out and say that I’m hurting, or not ok. My brain thinks if you didn’t ask it’s because you didn’t want to know.

      Maybe its a wrong way to think. Maybe I have the fault in all this. Maybe I’m the one who should be apologizing. But my brain isn’t wired like that. All I think is, why haven’t my friends tried harder? Why haven’t they called me until I answered? If they don’t see me posting on social media why don’t they ask whats going on? Haven’t we known each other long enough to be worried for each other? All I get is empty words and no actions. Is our friendship over?

      While they’re out going to museums, movies, and concerts, I’m home sitting wondering how they have the courage to be within so many people. I wish I was more social. Social like them. I remember when I would run my mouth to people. I wouldn’t shut up. But that was only a part of my life, it has come and gone. It was like a small role in the movie that is my life that I played so well but that scene has ended. I have always been shy, timid, quite, antisocial. I keep to myself. I’m scared of human contact, may that be physical, emotional, or even mental. I live in a shell.

      Why don’t they understand that I’m not the type of person that when a problem arises, I wont run towards them for support. I hide and think. Think and think. Overthink. The only way I will open up is if I’m asked. And there’s nothing I can do to help that. And I hate it. Because then they think that I don’t want to tell them anything. They start to think that I don’t need their help or support. That’s possibly how they feel right now. But I have no clue how to make amends. I just wish they tried harder. Because I can’t anymore.
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2/27/2017