Walls and the Darkness They Contain

This will probably be all over the place and will focus on two different yet connected aspects.  People who don't like negative things shouldn't even bother with this.  It's also long so don't read it if you have no time.
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Walls are built to keep things in or to keep things out.  We build walls to keep or possessions away from people that we don't want to take them.  We also build walls to keep bad people away from the rest of society after they have committed a crime.  We also build walls inside our minds.  These walls tend to serve the same purpose as normal physical walls, but have varying degrees.

Some people have mental walls that allow things to come in and out freely.  With control these people are able to deal with things freely and openly no matter what the feeling it may provoke may be.  Some people have mental walls that act like real walls and blocks out the bad stuff, only allowing things that they want to let in affect them.  The walls I've built in my mind allow everything to enter, but nothing to leave.

Much like anything that fills up after awhile it tends to burst from time to time.  Small things that to anyone else would cause a normal reaction can cause a lot stronger reaction than what would be expected.  Over the years, this becomes more controllable; however, that does not meant it has any actual improvement to it.  I have things in my mind that bug me that I honestly can't even remember why they bug me and yet they are so buried that they just add more to anything that could set it off.

Most people that do that tend to have severe anger issues and lash out at people.  I have outbursts when something bugs me so much that it just doesn't have anywhere to go.  I do my best to avoid yelling "at" someone, but will express my feelings in a somewhat displeased way around people.  I refuse and try my best to never yell at someone for something that they do and if I do feel I have I apologize as soon as I can.  I also do my best to not do something to hastily that it will have lasting affects that I can't undo, sometimes with success and other times without any success at all.

All that being said, I will get into what this whole thing is actually about.  I realized recently that the reason why I was taken to a few sessions with a psychologists when I was about 7 was because I was thought to be suicidal by both my parents and teacher.  Admittedly, the pictures that caused that would lead anyone to believe that, they had no real meaning towards that.  At least none that I can think of, as I remember being a happy kid.  That is until middle school.

In middle school it seems that there are two types of kids.  The ones that are bullied and the ones that are the bullies.  Even though I was of the bullied side, I can say that I am thankful that I don't have to deal with the things that kids these days do.  I understand why there is such a push to stop it, although I don't know how lasting it will be.  I think it would be better to just focus on helping the kids that are being bullied instead of trying to overall stop it.  You will never stop it, because even though the focus on the kids it happens even in the adult world all the way up into everyday news.  You can raise awareness all you want about it, but if you aren't actually trying to help the kid that is being bullied now then you've already failed.

Moving on, as I said I was bullied in middle school and was able to survive it.  It started around sixth grade and continued to almost the end of the eighth grade.  Trying to say it had no effect would be a lie as it had a huge effect.  Around the seventh grade I had started to have suicidal thoughts.  These thoughts were never extremely severe, but they were there.  My parents tried to help me out with the bullying by getting the school involved in trying to stop it, which only made it worse.

Just before Christmas during seventh grade my grandpa suffered a stroke leaving the family all down, and leaving me trying to be the one that kept everyone together.  For someone who's already having bad thoughts in his head and dealing with people giving him crap on a daily basis, adding the extra weight was not needed.  Fast forward to April and my grandpa was diagnosed with brain cancer, which for anyone who knows someone that has had brain cancer you know there is a very slim chance of surviving, which my grandpa didn't have the fortune of finding.

For most people these events aren't as hard as they sound.  They are able to at least escape something for awhile, before having to deal with.  My situation didn't allow me that luxury.  My grandparents lived with us so while I was at home I got to watch my grandpa slowly succumb to the cancer day by day and when I went to school I had to deal with the people who treated me like crap.  By eighth grade I had reached the point that I just didn't even want to be alive.  I prayed for the day that I wouldn't wake up.  Anti-depressants didn't even have an effect, causing me to just quit it cold turkey (something I don't recommend, because I got really sick after doing so).

To my family none of this is known as this was the time when I started to just keep everything buried inside.  The only thing that saved me was a fellow classmate that over heard me mutter under my breath that I wished I was never born.  She helped me out and was a good friend.  She became my only way of actually letting out the way I felt.  To this day I am thankful to her, as if it wasn't for her I wouldn't have made it as far as I had (sometimes I'm not as thankful though).

Near the end of eighth grade I decided to change what I was being harassed over and change how I acted.  It worked as it settled down by the end of my time in middle school.  My grandpa passed away a week or two into ninth grade ending something that I will never wish anyone would have to witness or endure.  I before I went to school that it was probably going to be the last day he would be alive, and of course I end up severely rolling my ankle only an hour before the end of the day causing my mom to come pick me up who had stayed home to be with my grandma.  My mom came into my room crying after he passed and I knew what had happened.  She asked if I wanted to go back and say my goodbyes and I did, but all I did was patted him on the shoulder and said have fun.  That's not something you say when someone you love so much has died, but I was just happy that he was finally able to escape the torture that it to have been to slowly degrade like he did.  Watching it was hard enough, experiencing it had to be infinitely worse.

I could have stayed home and mourned with my family the next day, but I went to school anyways.  At that time I had to be the strong one and had to keep going.  I'll admit that I would have even skipped the funeral if I could.  I wasn't going to let it get to me as long as there was someone around, and I didn't.  Until know I haven't allowed anyone know how much I do miss him and how bad I felt.

And this is how I've gone on since.  I was thankful enough to have enjoyed high school.  The suicidal thoughts subsided to a point although still continued a little bit on bad days.  Since graduation they have since returned to are greater extent.  Sometimes in droves, sometimes none at all.  They reached their heights while at Menards, getting to the point that the last few weeks there I had started to cut my hand just to take my mind off of that place and the other things that had bugged me.  Menards is not the only reason they returned as the thoughts still continue even after that place; however, without that place I have been happier, but the other half of my life still causes those thoughts.

However, there is a difference though in my thoughts about it.  While those thoughts are there they will never happen.  I see those thoughts as a cowards way out, and I refuse to go out at my own hands.  Doesn't stop them from happening and if I was to try and recall how many times I've had to thoughts it would be horrible to see the final count.

These thoughts are also the reason why I try my hardest to be there for people to talk to about their own problems. I don't want anyone to have to hold things in like I do.  I like listening to people and trying to help now as I do believe it is better to let it out then hold it in.  I believe that talking to someone and being for there for someone is a bigger help then any medicine can ever be.  It also leaves me as a hypocrite, but there are worse things that I could be a hypocritical about.

You may ask why I saw I'm a hypocrite and it's because I don't take my own advice.  I can easily dodge talking about myself to a perfection, quickly changing subjects.  A therapist would be pointless as I know what bothers me and I can even call up points in my life where it could have originated from (a lot of it you, the reader, now know).  I'll only talk about anything if someone actually presses me on it, and thankfully I don't know anyone who does that.

I have hopes that with age things will get better and I can go on without having to deal with any bad thoughts.  Maybe I'll become more open, heck this could be the beginning of it as this is kind of a big step.  But who knows as that is the future and no one can predict it.  All I know is that I'll still be here until something or someone ends me.

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If you made it to the end I'm impressed.  If you knew me before, hopefully you have a little more insight into me then you did before.  I promise the next post will be much lighter.  Probably go over early memories and much more boring stuff.