There is one thing I should have done ages ago. I sometimes regret, that I didn't. I am sometimes scared, that someone will actually read it. But it needs to be read. If only one person in the world will read it. If only one person in the world will be touched by it.
I am scared my relatives might read it. I am afraid, that people, who have no opinion of me, now will have this one. I'm terrified, cause that is not all who I am.
But it has a huge impact on why I am here and now. Why do I have this character. Why do I choose these things. What I love and what I don't. So here it is. A very fragile moment of my life.
There was such a time in my life, that I can not fully call "living". At that time, everything was blank and black too. Nothing had a meaning. At least nothing, that was connected with living. At that time, I felt like nobody treasured me. I felt like nobody believed in me. I felt so freakin' useless. I felt as if it didn't matter if I just disappeared. As well, as I hurt my body, I was also hurting my soul. Day by day I was living by hurting myself in various ways. By overdrinking, by cutting my wrists, by blaming myself for everything, that happened in my life, every chance I didn't use, every failure in all kinds of relationships.
Coming back to that time I thought it is so not fair that nobody cared for me, or, if they did, they didn't show it. But now as I look back, I seem so selfish. Being useless is not the right word to describe it. Being selfish is.
Being useless - being not able to help in any way.
Being unable to understand, what happens around me, blame everything at myself and at others at the same time, not watch carefully and not try to understand what everyone else feel - it is being selfish. This is the only right word to describe it.
It seemed to me, that my mom didn't care what I was doing and whom with. What was I thinking about. What was inside me.
At that time I started to dress completely in black and act maybe a little bit improperly.
I kind of got an understanding, what is it like to belong to a subculture. First was the one we call heavy metal subculture, or something to that side. Lots of heavy music and drinking, and friends with "the same mind". At first it really was fun and I didn't notice something had changed in me. Then I came closer to the gothic subculture. Pretty dresses, gloominess bla bla bla etc.
It didn't matter much to me either.
The fun actually started when I met people, who I could describe as "people, who love Lithuania". This is where it quite worsened and in some conflict I ended up on a roof with few girls with their knifes in their hands. Now that I think of it, it was quite entertaining. These were not the people, that cared about Lithuania, but rather people, that cared about intolerance. Not in the way to reduce the intolerance, but the opposite of it.
So loving Lithuania was quite not enough to belong to that group.
I'm still not sure, how I ended up even not being beaten once, but I was quite close to it few times. If I remember it well, I had someone on my side, that had just enough influence to stop all of it and leave me safe. Well, kind of safe, let's just say that I didn't try my luck in that sphere anymore.
At that time last of my "friends" stopped talking to me and I couldn't blame them - I really was a walking-and-talking nonsense. I demonstrated my ego-centrism any way I could without even thinking it might have been selfish. I really strived for attention. However, since I've been there and done that, I can now say, that there is no clear border between just selfishly asking for attention and really needing anyone's attention while you are still alive. Been there. Done that. One day I found myself making a plan to end all of that shit.
Fortunately, the way to die wasn't the only way to end all of that shit, and at that time I met few people, who, in one way or another, been there and done that. First few friends from the other city, that I met on the internet. They might be not the ones who did all the job from the start till the end, but they definitely were the ones, who started it, and who saw I had problems, and I had lots of them. Only while crossing the street, everytime I had to overcome about five ideas about me dying in that street.
I was being addicted to being hurt. I was quite addicted to every possible pain. I was sure I coudnt stand a day without feeling it.
And that is how my days went by.
At that time, recovered only a little, I met a girl. She was quite depressed at that time, but I was not able to see that. However, she started taking care of me. Being only a year older and so much more feminine and beautiful, and thoughtful, she was a person I started to look up to. I wanted to become something as charming as she was. As regardful as she was. As beautiful as she was. And even though her looks was not the only thing that made her beautiful, I was seeking all of it. She shown me, that it gets better. She gave me lots of, without asking anything back. And in the process of my recovering, I hurt her countless times. By speaking bad about me or others, or even about her. By being inconsiderate.
And she was here. Still here. Still. She was with me.
Then, I got better. And she finally broke down, as a person, having million times bigger problems, her mother, hurting her physically and psychologically, her mother having cancer, all the stuff like that, that you can usually find in these cool holywood dramas. Well, the truth is that these dramas aren't based on nothing. It really happens. And it really happens, that such an amazingly fragile person, doing everything she can to help others, does not have anyone to rely on.
And that is where I came in. I do not know, if it is my merit, that at the moment she is somewhere in Kaunas and she is alive.
While we were friends (although, I believe, it was quite more than that), I first learned, that by helping others "thank you" is not what counts the most. There are more meaningful things. Such as helping someone.
I then first learned how to sacrifice myself everyday. How to listen to someone who had been saying painful things day by day. I then first learned, that these amazing people sometimes don't have anyone to rely on. And it hurt the most. How is it even possible?
I learned to say I'm sorry and it is my fault and all the other stuff like that, just to make one feel better. I learned to say what I didn't mean just to let someone stay alive. I trampled on my pride and my ego, my feelings and my heart, it so ached, at the same time, it felt so good to help someone.
Many days and months and maybe even years passed. Things finally started to get better for her. I think, it was her senior year, when we finally broke up. When we maybe didn't have anything else to say to each other.
We created amazing things together. By the means of sms or skype chat or email, we created the stuff, the best stuff I could ever read of. Nope, there is none of it left. It was for us. It was to make us feel better. I was texting during my Lithuanian lessons, and I remember that quite well. I was waiting for my Lithuanian lessons (since I am keen on languages and it is not difficult for me to multi-task in those lessons).
We also came to the point there I knew how she feels without asking her. Without seeing her. During these years we met definitely not more that five times. Meeting was not the most important thing. /
We were somewhat so close we felt everything what was going with us, mostly without asking. When something happens, when she feels bad or good... By only imagining me being with her in her room I managed to match up the colour of her sofa she never told me about. So close we were.
That is why it was tragically painful to let her go, when the time actually came. For about half the year I was feeling terrible if I was actually smiling. I couldn't sleep much. I couldn't enjoy life much. Cause I was not letting myself to do so. I just felt too guilty to enjoy something when she was gone.
But when the time went by, I learned to appreciate. To appreciate that fact, that me, myself, being here and now was the proof of her. That I couldn't have done that without her. I started to almost worship her. She was an angel to me, and now every person, who shows up at a difficult time for me, is some kind of angel.
And only after lots of time passed, I finally understood, that not only I couldn't make it without her. I couldn't make it without myself being involved.
Now I look at it as having sunglasses on.
If you don't want to, noone will ever be able to take these sunglasses from your face. Noone can heal you without you being involved. You need to really start wanting. And then it gets better. It gets better with lots of slips, with painful words and actions, with memories you want to erase. But it gets better.
From the point I was about to kill myself about seven years had passed. I am living a happy life. I have someone, who I can unofficially call a husband. I play and write some music, I love meeting new people. But the most important thing is I now know, how important it is to take care of something or someone. It is definitely a way to heal. Paying attention to little things that you see everyday and enjoying them - it is definitely a detail of every happily living person. Now there are better things to think of than thinking that nobody cares. That my mom does not know, what is happening in my life from time to time. Now I also see, how many problems they had. I was not the only one having problems. Just the only one having it so difficult to express my feelings, that these problems started to gamble with my own life.
Although I never got a chance from my relatives to hear "I'm glad that you are okay", since my sister and mom discovered a little part of my depression on my hands quite after it ended. My sister (we were going to the same school) once grabbed my hand, took me to her classmates and showed them "look, my sister is hurting herself". I have from little to none idea how can it be joked about. It didn't help much.
My sister told my mother what she saw on my hands. And we never ever talked about it. And my father and his mother, most possibly, does not know anything about it.
So that is why I am scared. I am scared that they might feel guilty. I'm scared that they might feel responsible. Well, they shouldn't. Even if they should, now it is gone. Nothing to be guilty for right now.
Because of what I experienced, I am now here. I am standing. I am helping. I am being helped. I am expressing things. I am communicating.
So this blog entry - it is not about who I am. It is about how I came to this point. Why am I in this world. Why am I smiling. Why is everything so good for me now. Now a tight salary or small flat is not enough for me to feel sad. Not being able to wear a beautiful dress is also not enough for me to feel bad about it.
I now know, that there are more important things in life. And I learnt it by making mistakes. Lots of mistakes. Almost any possible mistake at the age I was at that time. Being hurt. Hurting others. Being impolite, being careless. I made all the kinds of mistakes. And that is why I am here now.
My world now differs so much from the one I was living in, when I was thirteen. It didn't change, yet became so peaceful, beautiful and warm. There are still lots of people, that I sometimes meet, whom I recognize from these times. Some of them also didn't change much. My mom and my sister didn't change much. But suddenly, or no, maybe even year by year, everything changed so much. Not because it actually changed. The world remains, it is still the same.
It is me who changed.
It gets better. It gets perfect. Have the courage to strive for it.
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