Wat volgt is een Mail die ik eind Mei 2009 ontving. Voorgeschiedenis: Suicidaal en op het toppunt van een nauwlijks leefbare borderlinstoornis, waar ik niet voor gekozen heb, stopte ik op een dag met goed humeur faken. Enkele uitspraken die ongetwijfeld erover waren, waren hier het resultaat van. Had men me de kans gegeven, had ik meteen mijn excuzes aange-- wacht, dat deed ik zelfs die avond nog en men zei dat het in orde was!
Context: Een vakantiereis naar Zwitserland georganiseerd door vrienden, waar ik zelf aan dacht deel te nemen. Echter vond de organisateur, "vriend" van mij, al van in het begin dat ik een kakmens en te lelijk was om mee te nemen naar een plek waar ik zijn familie zou kunnen tegen komen. Echter zei hij hier nooit iets van tot hij achter een andere vriend kon schuilen toen die tegen mij begon te lobbyen. Deze andere vriend stuurde deze mail:
>
> Dit is de mail die ge zou gekregen hebben, lees hem eerst eens goed en
> zeg dan nog iets. Deze mail is wel et ieders goedkeuring opgesteld. (opmerking van Anna: hoe kan hij door iedereen goedgekeurd zijn als meerdere mensen je tegenhielden om dit effectief op te sturen?)
>
> Anna...
>
> We hebben je een niet zo fijne boodschap te melden. We zijn gisteren
> samengekomen om de
> laatste afspraken te bespreken. Helaas zijn er ook minder leuke zaken
> naar boven gekomen.
> Het kwam er op neer, dat enkele mensen het echt niet konden pikken dat
> je zo hebt zitten
> afgeven op facebook. Ook je meldingen over mensen die je 'minder
> graag' hebt of wel graag hebt
> kon voor ons niet echt door de beugel (oh maar jullie laten het mij constant "subtiel" voelen, dus wat is er mis met het expliciet uit te spreken?). We zijn vrienden, en de één
> komt nu eenmaal beter
> overeen met de ander. Je mag dit uiteraard zeggen, dat je iemand niet
> graag hebt, maar je kan
> niet eisen dat 'als ik meegaat, die niet, of als die wel meegaat, dan
> ga ik niet mee' (dit zei ik nooit, het is bovendien mijn keuze om niet te gaan wanneer iemand anders meegaat, dat is geen chantage). We
> willen gewoon dat je weet dat dit niet kan. (en achter mn rug tegen mij lobbyen, kan wel? Naar de cinema gaan na mij in een ambulance te hebben zien stappen, kan wel? Me beledingen omwille van mijn uiterlijk, kan wel?)>
> We hebben het er met z'n allen over gehad. (leugen, een derde van de deelnemers van de reis was afwezig) Sommigen hadden iets van
> 'je m'en fou', anderen
> hadden iets van 'liever niet' en ja nog anderen dachten van 'waarom
> niet'. Hetgeen er wel
> algemeen heerst is het volgende: We hebben gewoon schrik dat je ook
> zo'n vreemde reacties (vreemd? Ik zei terecht dat ik me aan bepaalde dingen ergerde, meer niet) gaat
> geven in zwitserland: we zitten er nu eenmaal een hele week met zen
> allen op mekanders
> lippen, er zal sowieso al wel wrevel ontstaan, maar aangezien je nu al
> op o.a. facebook zo'n
> extreme reacties geeft, zijn we ervan overtuigd dat dat op reis ook zo
> gaat zijn. Het zou de
> sfeer ronduit verpesten. Dit wil geen van ons meemaken. We steken er
> zoveel tijd in om alles
> voor te bereiden (ja, een chalet boeken en mailtjes sturen over wie welke DVDs meebrengt, bus of trein?) en dan zou het stom zijn om dit te laten ruïneren
> door één persoon die zich
> afstandelijk houdt van de rest van groep. (leugen: ik deed niet afstandelijk, ik had in eerste instantie kritiek op de planning, en deze kritiek had als doel om voor iederéén de beste oplossing te zoeken)
>
> Ook het feit dat dit al zoveel discussie en wrevel, zelfs bijna ruzie
> heeft veroorzaakt, is een extra reden om te beslissen dat het een
> beter idee is dat je niet meegaat. (voor discussie en wrevel zijn er minstens twéé nodig, dus waarom mocht de schrijver van deze mail, waarmee ik voornamelijk "discussies" had, wél mee?)
>
> We beseffen dat dit hard aankomt en willen je niet kwetsen, ook
> al is dit waarschijnlijk zeker gebeurd, maar we hopen ergens dat je
> het kan begrijpen. Dit betekent niet dat we geen vrienden zijn, willen
> zijn, (leugen, vrienden stemmen mekaar niet achter elkaars rug "eruit" omdat één van hen eens een moeilijke periode had) dit betekent gewoon dat we niet alles op het spel willen zetten
> voor één iemand. (alles: 6 dagen vakantie. Een iemand: suicidale vriendin waarvan ze de gezondheid en het leven op het spel zetten door zo'n dingen uit te halen) De reis gebeurd met elf mensen, en als we moeten kiezen
> tussen de hele groep of één persoon, is de keuze evident.
>
> Daarnaast is het gros van de mensen die meegaat ook beledigd door de reacties
> op facebook in de dingen die je gezegd hebt in het echt, wat zeker meespeelt
> in de beslissing. (ik was ook al beledigd geweesd door deze oh zo perfecte mensen en o wee als ik daar iets van zeg - onder vrienden vergeef je dat)
>
> Ook heb je het recht om te weten wie er nu juist is samen gekomen om dit
> te bespreken. Het waren Ik, (en nog mensen, wel was niet iedereen die erbij betrokken was, die dag aanwezig). Niet al deze mensen waren per se tegen jou, er waren ook mensen
> neutraal.
>
> We hopen dat je het begrijpt en niet al te zwaar opneemt,
> al is dat natuurlijk een ijdele hoop.
>
> Als er iets is dat je hieromtrent kwijt wil, of jouw zijde van het verhaal wil
> geven, bel dan één van ons op, dan kunnen we afspreken om erover te praten.
> Je mag natuurlijk ook altijd mailen. (dit is een leugen gezien ik eerst zelf moest bellen om, naief dat ik was, iets omtrent de reis te vragen, ervan uitgaande dat ik nog steeds deel van deze groep vrienden was)
>
> Het spijt ons heel erg, (échte spijt uit zich niet enkel in woordjes)
>
> P.
Ook is de organisateur, iemand die beweerde mijn vriend en er altijd voor me te zijn en me te aanvaarden zoals ik ben (zie boven voor bewijs dat hij liegt), precies te lui om op volgende mail te antwoorden (niet te lui echter, om uren aan het stuk Bomberman te spelen):
Mail naar organisateur:
Ik weet dat je momenteel veel werk hebt, dus je hoeft nu en ook volgende week ni te antwoorden (mail is van Maart). Tis niet mijn bedoeling om u te teisteren. Beloof me gewoon dàt je gaat antwoorden. En éérlijk.
Ik weet dat het voor jou oude koeien zijn want jij zat dan ook in de bergen en ik in guantanamo-achtige toestanden (gesloten instelling na door hem bewust!! (hij wist van mijn suicidaliteit en bleef me toch maar kwetsen) geprovoceerde zelfmoordpoging), maar ik kan me geen moment van geen dag op iets anders concentreren, tenzij ik eindelijk een éérlijk antwoord op al mijn vragen krijig. Als je wilt dat het eindigt, werk dan mee he. Ik teken nimeer, ik schrijf nimeer, ik naai enkel op beurzen om te doen alsof ik leuk vind wat ik doe. Want wa voor jou 8 maand en 2 of meer te gekke vakanties geleden is, is voor mij gisteren, vandaag en morgen met NIKS positiefs ertussen. Mijn honden en Moshe zijn dood (dood der honden: direct gevolg van zelfmoordpoging die weerom gevolg van zijn verraad was), dat is het enige dat ondertussen veranderd is.
Ik vind dat het uw recht ni is om te zeggen dat het uw ruzie nimeer is. Het is met jou begonnen, je kunt ni ineens zeggen dat het u niks meer aangaat.
Wel raar: Als P. iets tegen mij doet, is het jouw ruzie niet en bemoeit ge u er ni mee. Als ik iets tegen hem doe, ontplof je meteen en maak je er wél uw ruzie van. Waarom?
Vergeet niet dat hij (en jij..) heel mijn zomervakantie verpest heeft en ik maar één avond probeerde te verpesten (ik probeerde, nadat zij mijn hele vakantie verpestten - zie mail boven - één avond voor hen te saboteren, namelijk P. en J.s verjaardag, nadat mijn verjaardag systematisch genegeerd wordt). So what als het ook jouw verjaardag was - JIJ was dan ook degene die met P. tegen mij samenspande en hem, aan de foto's van Braunwald te zien, nog niet de helft verwijt van wat je beweert (en het is mijn recht om eindelijk te weten wat je hem verwijt, het ging immers om MIJ), plus, ik zat door heel die zaak op mijne verjaardag alleen thuis en was zelfs geen SMS waard voor u. Je wist ni wanneer ik verjaar? Waarom doe je bij anderen wél de moeite om daarachter te komen? Dus jij mag ni klagen. Je mag dingen vergeten, maar vergeet het dan ook bij iedereen als je ni wilt dat ik me door u als stront behandeld voel.
Nee, het was ni bewust op jou, maar jij bent de laatste die mag klagen datm "collateral damage" is geworden. Want eigenlijk ben ik ni eerlijk tegenover P. die alleen maar JOUW strijd uitgevochten heeft. Eigenlijk zou ik jou in de ballen moeten shotten, niet enkel hem. Waarom verdedig je hem altijd? Je zocht zelfs iets dat goedpraat dat hij ook aan mijn bestanden gezeten heeft! WTF?
Vertel eens waarom Pizza Pronto erger was dan Braunwald? Vooral, de meesten konden daarmee lachen, bijna iedereen vond het schandalig van Braunwald...
Je kunt niet verwachten dat ik het zomaar laat gaan, want JIJ bent niet degene die eronder moet lijden. En P. ook niet. Ik wed zelfs dat je hem nooit vertelde wat zijn walgelijke daden voor gevolgen hadden, zo te zien vindt jij het prima dat ik de enige ben die het moeilijk heeft, ook al zijn er DRIE mensen bij betrokken, en dit godverdomme van begin tot einde.
Einde: Heel simpel. Gewoon, vanaf het moment dat je mij en P. gelijk behandelt. Ik vraag zelfs niet om béter behandeld te worden, ook al was ik eerst, was ik degene die ondanks uw stunt daaromtrent meteen met uw verhuis kwam helpen (ontvanger van deze mail zei dat we gingen samenwonen, liet me lekker achter woningen zoeken en in werkelijkheid stond allang vast dat ik niet welkom was), ook al was ik degene die als enige belangstelling voor uw clip had terwijl P., euhm, in Plopsaland ging inbreken omdat DAT belangrijker was dan een vriend helpen (een misdaad plegen was voor hem belangrijker dan jij!!)? Je liet u één keer door hem manipuleren, wie zegt dat het niet weer gebeurt? Het is zelfs weer bezig! Je verdedigt hem en kakt mij uit als ik terugschiet. Hoe is dat mogelijk?
Je zegt dat je gewoon laf bent. Waarom raakt die lafheid dan niet zowel P. alsook mij? Je mag ermee bevriend zijn. Je mag gewoon niet de een beter behandelen dan de andere en lekker hypocriet doen van "Zaag vooral ni als P. iets tegen u doet, maar doe nog één ding tegen hem en tis boel met mij". Of je laat ons allebei op mekaar schieten of je kakt ons allebei uit.
En gezien zowat alles wat ik tegen P. deed gerelativeerd kan worden door de ongelooflijk walgelijke dingen die hij éérst deed (en hier zijn veel mensen het mee eens!) heb je gewoon geen recht om te wenen over Pizza Pronto, en dit als argument gebruiken om uw woord te breken (hij had mij beloofd om P. te zeggen dat die moest stoppen met mij overal zwart te maken). Want wat ik deed, was rechtstreeks gevolg van wat hij - MET JOUW GOEDKEURING! - deed. Hij heeft voor JOU gedaan wat hij deed, en jij liet hem doen, dat maakt u even verantwoordelijk als hem.
Ik zeg niet dat ik onschuldig ben in deze ruzie, maar ik doe precies als enige een inspanning om alles op een rijtje te zetten.
Als je wilt dat het stopt, doe je de volgende, supersimpele dingen:
1. Houd uw beloofte, na Braunwald is Pizza Pronto géén argument het niet te doen
2. Behandel ons gelijk, en dat doe je niet, al beweer je dat.
3. Vertel me alles dat je hem verwijt en wat jullie met mekaar besproken hebben toen je voor de eerste keer, vergeefs, met hem praatte, want HET GAAT OM MIJ DUS MAG EN MOET IK HET WETEN!!! Wast per mail? Doorsturen dan. Heeel simpel.
4. Antwoordt op alle bovenstaande vragen
Heel simpel toch? Ik zou ook nooit weigeren om op jouw vragen te antwoorden, want wat jou betreft, mag je weten.
En ik vraag me nog altijd af wat deze uitspraken, die uw argument waren dat het NA Braunwald nimeer zo "tof" is om met mij om te gaan, met mij te maken hebben:
-B. deed een zuipspel in Braunwald
-Uw zwitserse familie is belangrijker dan uw belgische - ja, en? Ik had toch ni de indruk uw vader gechokeerd te hebben toen ik hem tegenkwam, dus wat is uw probleem? Da porno plaatje was 50% idee van K. Ik deed die avond mijn best en loog er zelfs tegen alhoewel ik liegen vreselijk vind, toen hij vroeg wa voor werk ik deed, en ik loog voor JOU, aleens bij stilgestaan? Ouders en jappen zijn dol op mij omdat ik perfect manieren kan faken.
Je moet eens beseffen dat uw zwijgen en heel uw ontwijkend en oneerlijk gedrag, alles alleen maar erger maakt. Ik ben iemand die liever de waarheid heeft dan goedbedoelde leugentjes, en erger kan je het niet maken door gewoon op te biechten (ZONDER rond de pot te draaien van "ja ma je had kritiek op het feit dat uw ma haar katten liet doodgaan"). Je belet dat het einidgt door dingen open te laten. Ik wil alleen de hele waarheid en dat je op A ook B zegt. Uw "mannelijke eer" lijdt ni onder het feit dat een meisje uw baggage helpt dragen, maar onder precies deze lafheid.
----
Nu vraagt de lezer zich af, of het niet mogen deelnemen aan een onnozele reis naar onnozel Zwitserland en die mail, een reden is om zelfmoord te plegen. Natuurlijk niet! Gevolg van die mail en het verraad was, dat ik op een avond bestanden, die P. sowieso niet hoorde te hebben omdat ik er de auteur van was en ze hem nooit gestuurd heb, verwijderde om hem te teisteren. Hierop zei de organisateur, waar bovenstaande mail aan gericht is, dat deze schending van hen vertrouwen, 100x erger was dan hun schending van mijn vertrouwen (bedenk: ik was toen zwaar depressief en suicidaal en de organisateur van die reis was toevallig ook de enige mens waar ik nog aan geloofde, zijn vriendschap was toen wat mij in leven hield en dat wist hij en dat wist iedereen). Hij vond dus dat ik door verwijderen van die bestanden, een slechter mens was dan P. en hijzelf door tegen mij te lobbyen en mijn tot dan toe loyale vriendschap te verraden op een ogenblik dat ik het meest kwetsbaar was. Zij keuze van woorden hiervoor was de reden van mijn zelfmoordpoging.
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Ik vraag me nu ook af: Hoe verwachtten zij, dat ik op die mail van P. zou reageren? "Ok, jullie hebben gelijk, ik ben een kakmens, fijne vakantie!". Haha...
Wednesday, July 21, 2010
Thursday, July 2, 2009
Almost died 3 weeks ago
I knew it from the very beginning, so I’m not sad
That’s a line from the lyrics of “D.L.N.” (Dark Long Night) by The Gazette. The first part is true, the second part couldn’t be any further from the truth, actually I was heartbroken.
I had or have, I dunno, that one special friend. I really loved him (as a person, not as a man) from the very beginning, I also grew fond of him as a man but especially, I appreciated the person he is: Calm, friendly, down-to-earth, normal and eventhough he’s got a good sense of humor, he can be serious and mature when needed. Or that’s what I thought. Anyways, his calm and his helpfulness have worked wonders on my quality of life, I finally had a trustworthy, sweet and honest friend.
And again, that’s what I thought. However, being too attached to him, and him being rather shy and stuff, I knew from the very beginning that our friendship would end in tears and shards. I once told him I could no longer be friends with him, that he’d hurt me too much. That made him cry, but we talked it over and things seemed fine. The 2nd time, he told me, but not so nicely, and I was the one crying, then dying. I knew it’d end that way, I always had known. I’d push him too far, he’d hurt me too much, and we’d just clash hideously.
So yes, he’s always been very helpful and nice to me but I got a good “6th sense”. I can smell when something isn’t right. When people are hiding things from me or when they’re being dishonest. Which is why I have, at some point, started to doubt or friendship and its sincerity. Being a borderline personality, I appreciate honesty and my emotions, good or bad, are intense. Impressions also hit me harder than others. And with him, I’ve had that feeling, for a while, that he isn’t as fond of me as he once seemed to have been. By “once”, I mean him initiaing hugs and kisses (on the cheek, dumbass), starting conversation etc. I thought it was because I once got pissed off at him for lying to me and making me waste efforts in the process by pretending he and I and 2 more friends were still moving in together while he simply didn’t know how to break the news to me that he said so on a whim and doesn’t really want to live under the same roof with me. I saw him lying to my face but the whole truth reached me through another friend so I got pissed and sent him an overly emotional, angry mail. He apologized but what he doesn’t seem to understand is that an apology ain’t worth shit when you’re gonna do it again and again. He says I should change some of my behavior and he’s damn right, but so must he.
And that’s the thing. Why should he? My flaws have a name and a therapy. His probably don’t, so why bother? That’s his mistake. He thinks it’s enough to feel guilty and say so a thousand times, and go on just the same as before.
So now I got into a fight with another “friend” we share. That asshole ruined something for me that I was looking forward to, all because borderline bitch me said a few bad things on a few bad days. It was a vacation in Switzerland, our whole bunch of friends was going because my friend here, has a house there. So behind my back, little asshole had me voted out and my friend said that this whole thing was to his convenience because now, he finally had a “valid” reason to not take me along because oh my god, how to handle a crazy borderline bitch? Easy, when I’m pissed just leave me alone for 30 minutes. Everyone else seems to do just fine, only he was lying to my face about me being welcome to join in until the damage was already done.
But since Little Asshole was the one I fought with and the one who screwed me behind my back, I found that he was to be punished. Everyone will confirm that he has been an asshole. But he was still welcome to the trip, I was excluded. So one night I stayed at my special friend here, and Asshole’s external hard drive fell into my hands. I found photos on it that I had taken but definitely never sent him. WTF? So I thought, “Hey, you fuck me so you’re not enjoying my work, motherfucker!” and deleted them. My only thoughts were: Piss that Little Asshole off. It never even occurred to me that I would, by doing so in his house, break my friend’s trust.
And so the next day, he said the following: “Fuck off, I don’t wanna see you ever again”.
Having read those words, I sent the email he said them in, to my mum who I was chatting with, explaining why I was now gonna kill myself. She didn’t really take it seriously, but soon I went offline and also switched off my phone. That was the tenth of June 2009, the day the others departed to Switzerland.
Since I’ve been suicidal for a while, I had a 100 pills of Phenobarbital 100mg, and 100 Diazepam 10mg. And although the good sides of our friendship have worked wonders on me, the bad sides have always been hurting. His lying (by which he tried to AVOID hurting me but ended up doing so even more), his distance. And as I said, if I grow too fond of a person, I can react very intensely on an emotional level to everything they do. So him having said that, I posted a message on Facebook saying “I’m not home, don’t bother, but my pets need to be rescued 2 days from now”. By that, I wanted to guarantee my pets’ safety and at the same time, make sure I was dead by the time anyone’d find me.
I crushed the pills into powder and mixed them with some pudding. While falling asleep, I wanted to watch the Kubozuka movie I’d been looking for for 2 years but the region wasn’t compatible with my DVD player. So I just put on some music. Evanescence, sad stuff. Originally, my suicide plans (I’ve been having them since last December) were to first send my suicide note and last will to my friend(s) but I had just lost the one I’d trusted the most (eventhough he was the biggest liar of them all). So I didn’t bother and just put it in a visible spot so the police, or whomever, would find it and pass it on. I also didn’t bother going to the old ruin at the sea to off myself, I was afraid I’d change my mind en route. So the couch had to do. I took some anti-vomiting pills and something to speed up blood circulation (= speed up the effects of the other drugs), and ate the disgusting mix of drugs and pudding, then drank some alcohol just to be sure. Tried to slit my wrists but damn it hurt.
I put on some decent clothing (who’d wanna be found ungroomed?) and lay down on the sofa, smiling, I remember I was smiling. I never cried. I was a bit sorry, about my mom and my cats who loved me so much but I was glad, and hurried, to finally have found the “guts” to relieve myself from all pain and grief that had accumulated since the 90s. My heart had always been cracked and my friend had now broken it completely and I kind of thanked him for doing me this favor. I was finally determined to let go and rest.
2 days later, the first thing I saw was an orchid next to my bed. My hands were tied down, I had tubes in my nose and mouth. Things were over-exposed and I kinda noticed the presence of my mom who was supposed to be in Berlin, Germany, not Leuven, Belgium. Somewhat later, the nurses asked me whether I’d agree to be moved to the psychiatric facility in Kortenberg. I think I said yes, but I was in no state to judge or think, no word I heard or said was truly valid. But they still stuck me in an ambulance and a little later, I was, still totally out of it, I found myself locked up in a closed facility with surveillance cameras above your bed. 3 weeks.
3 weeks during which I’d lost my apptetite and didn’t eat in 2 days, at all. When they put me in a straitjacked in a dark room for no valid reason other than me complaining about there being no internet, I put my fingers into a socket, hoping to electrocute myself but nothing happened. In that solitary confinement room, they’d thrown me to the floor and just left me there with a sprained tailbone, stretched out in water I’d spilled. I hit the alarm button many times, crying for help, but no. They were watching me on video, but no help came. Hours later, I’d fallen asleep, they let me out, traumatized. I remember the first 3 days because I basically don’t. I was only dizzy, sleepy, drowzy, or sitting/lying on the floor crying. I remember crying and bawling out my friend’s name, sometimes accompanied by “I’m sorry”, sometimes by “How could you?”. But soon the whole department, the closed one, knew his name. It came in high amplitudes and frequencies from my room. I also remember crying about the flowers in the closed yard being mowed off. They were the only beautiful thing and I remembered begging an orderly to stop the lawn mower guy.
I had 4 messages on my voice mail from June the 10th. 1 was one of my best friends telling me he was gonna miss me in Switzerland (he had voted for me). He'd lateron visit me in the nuthouse. 2 of them were from an old friend who was worried and who told me that he had been the one who read my Facebook message and called the police. One message was from a cop, very friendly, worry in his voice, “Hello Anna, this is Jan from the local police department, we heard that you were about to kill yourself, please open the door and let’s talk things over.”. Of course I didn’t open, I was already gone. My mom then got a call from my mobile phone, relieved to see my name coming up. It was that cop saying, “Your daughter’s alive, though her condition is critical.”
They must have used those “1, 2, clear!” electro shockers on me, judging by the way my black gothic mini dress looked. Cut open and stuff. I was in intensive care for 2 days, then in the nuthouse.
Today, July 2nd, I was transferred to an open department specialized in borderline personalities, and there, I was free to go and I did. In the 3 weeks, I thought about a lot. About how my friend wasn’t pissed about the JPEG files, but about the trust I broke (what about mine he’d broken more than once, btw?). That he wasn’t ignoring me out of sheer hatred, but because he was scared and feeling guilty. That I could manage without binge eating. And that death feels nice when it’s sleeping pills. I was happy to leave, devastated to find myself alive and my Phenobarbital dealer arrested. I hated my friend for calling the police and for saving my life, because now I had been locked up with the pain of my broken heart, unable to escape.
My mom had taken care of me all the time, one friend visited and one called, both events had me burst into tears. My mom should have gone on a world trip, Berlin to Beiruth, she was looking forward to it but instead, she had to take care of her near-dead daughter. She’s an angel really.
I still feel like killing myself off. I also made sure I find another dealer. But as long as my mom is here, I won’t. I’ll try to live on for a while. Death didn’t feel so bad and I’m not shocked by my actions at all. I’m glad to know how easy it is when required. But right now, I don’t have the heart to waste my mom’s efforts. And the last bit of hope that our friendship be revived. Although I have a ton of things to throw at his head, from hurting me to insulting me, I’m very forgiving to my loved ones, and he’s one of them.
But dying felt okay. It was not really my friend’s fault, he only was the last straw. It was everyone’s and no one’s fault and my own, my personality disorder’s, the world’s, to hell with it.
I have no regrets trying to kill myself. I did it once, and people, when they did something once and don’t regret it, they will do it twice. Me, too. Not now, not tomorrow, maybe tonight, maybe in 10 years, maybe never.
That’s a line from the lyrics of “D.L.N.” (Dark Long Night) by The Gazette. The first part is true, the second part couldn’t be any further from the truth, actually I was heartbroken.
I had or have, I dunno, that one special friend. I really loved him (as a person, not as a man) from the very beginning, I also grew fond of him as a man but especially, I appreciated the person he is: Calm, friendly, down-to-earth, normal and eventhough he’s got a good sense of humor, he can be serious and mature when needed. Or that’s what I thought. Anyways, his calm and his helpfulness have worked wonders on my quality of life, I finally had a trustworthy, sweet and honest friend.
And again, that’s what I thought. However, being too attached to him, and him being rather shy and stuff, I knew from the very beginning that our friendship would end in tears and shards. I once told him I could no longer be friends with him, that he’d hurt me too much. That made him cry, but we talked it over and things seemed fine. The 2nd time, he told me, but not so nicely, and I was the one crying, then dying. I knew it’d end that way, I always had known. I’d push him too far, he’d hurt me too much, and we’d just clash hideously.
So yes, he’s always been very helpful and nice to me but I got a good “6th sense”. I can smell when something isn’t right. When people are hiding things from me or when they’re being dishonest. Which is why I have, at some point, started to doubt or friendship and its sincerity. Being a borderline personality, I appreciate honesty and my emotions, good or bad, are intense. Impressions also hit me harder than others. And with him, I’ve had that feeling, for a while, that he isn’t as fond of me as he once seemed to have been. By “once”, I mean him initiaing hugs and kisses (on the cheek, dumbass), starting conversation etc. I thought it was because I once got pissed off at him for lying to me and making me waste efforts in the process by pretending he and I and 2 more friends were still moving in together while he simply didn’t know how to break the news to me that he said so on a whim and doesn’t really want to live under the same roof with me. I saw him lying to my face but the whole truth reached me through another friend so I got pissed and sent him an overly emotional, angry mail. He apologized but what he doesn’t seem to understand is that an apology ain’t worth shit when you’re gonna do it again and again. He says I should change some of my behavior and he’s damn right, but so must he.
And that’s the thing. Why should he? My flaws have a name and a therapy. His probably don’t, so why bother? That’s his mistake. He thinks it’s enough to feel guilty and say so a thousand times, and go on just the same as before.
So now I got into a fight with another “friend” we share. That asshole ruined something for me that I was looking forward to, all because borderline bitch me said a few bad things on a few bad days. It was a vacation in Switzerland, our whole bunch of friends was going because my friend here, has a house there. So behind my back, little asshole had me voted out and my friend said that this whole thing was to his convenience because now, he finally had a “valid” reason to not take me along because oh my god, how to handle a crazy borderline bitch? Easy, when I’m pissed just leave me alone for 30 minutes. Everyone else seems to do just fine, only he was lying to my face about me being welcome to join in until the damage was already done.
But since Little Asshole was the one I fought with and the one who screwed me behind my back, I found that he was to be punished. Everyone will confirm that he has been an asshole. But he was still welcome to the trip, I was excluded. So one night I stayed at my special friend here, and Asshole’s external hard drive fell into my hands. I found photos on it that I had taken but definitely never sent him. WTF? So I thought, “Hey, you fuck me so you’re not enjoying my work, motherfucker!” and deleted them. My only thoughts were: Piss that Little Asshole off. It never even occurred to me that I would, by doing so in his house, break my friend’s trust.
And so the next day, he said the following: “Fuck off, I don’t wanna see you ever again”.
Having read those words, I sent the email he said them in, to my mum who I was chatting with, explaining why I was now gonna kill myself. She didn’t really take it seriously, but soon I went offline and also switched off my phone. That was the tenth of June 2009, the day the others departed to Switzerland.
Since I’ve been suicidal for a while, I had a 100 pills of Phenobarbital 100mg, and 100 Diazepam 10mg. And although the good sides of our friendship have worked wonders on me, the bad sides have always been hurting. His lying (by which he tried to AVOID hurting me but ended up doing so even more), his distance. And as I said, if I grow too fond of a person, I can react very intensely on an emotional level to everything they do. So him having said that, I posted a message on Facebook saying “I’m not home, don’t bother, but my pets need to be rescued 2 days from now”. By that, I wanted to guarantee my pets’ safety and at the same time, make sure I was dead by the time anyone’d find me.
I crushed the pills into powder and mixed them with some pudding. While falling asleep, I wanted to watch the Kubozuka movie I’d been looking for for 2 years but the region wasn’t compatible with my DVD player. So I just put on some music. Evanescence, sad stuff. Originally, my suicide plans (I’ve been having them since last December) were to first send my suicide note and last will to my friend(s) but I had just lost the one I’d trusted the most (eventhough he was the biggest liar of them all). So I didn’t bother and just put it in a visible spot so the police, or whomever, would find it and pass it on. I also didn’t bother going to the old ruin at the sea to off myself, I was afraid I’d change my mind en route. So the couch had to do. I took some anti-vomiting pills and something to speed up blood circulation (= speed up the effects of the other drugs), and ate the disgusting mix of drugs and pudding, then drank some alcohol just to be sure. Tried to slit my wrists but damn it hurt.
I put on some decent clothing (who’d wanna be found ungroomed?) and lay down on the sofa, smiling, I remember I was smiling. I never cried. I was a bit sorry, about my mom and my cats who loved me so much but I was glad, and hurried, to finally have found the “guts” to relieve myself from all pain and grief that had accumulated since the 90s. My heart had always been cracked and my friend had now broken it completely and I kind of thanked him for doing me this favor. I was finally determined to let go and rest.
2 days later, the first thing I saw was an orchid next to my bed. My hands were tied down, I had tubes in my nose and mouth. Things were over-exposed and I kinda noticed the presence of my mom who was supposed to be in Berlin, Germany, not Leuven, Belgium. Somewhat later, the nurses asked me whether I’d agree to be moved to the psychiatric facility in Kortenberg. I think I said yes, but I was in no state to judge or think, no word I heard or said was truly valid. But they still stuck me in an ambulance and a little later, I was, still totally out of it, I found myself locked up in a closed facility with surveillance cameras above your bed. 3 weeks.
3 weeks during which I’d lost my apptetite and didn’t eat in 2 days, at all. When they put me in a straitjacked in a dark room for no valid reason other than me complaining about there being no internet, I put my fingers into a socket, hoping to electrocute myself but nothing happened. In that solitary confinement room, they’d thrown me to the floor and just left me there with a sprained tailbone, stretched out in water I’d spilled. I hit the alarm button many times, crying for help, but no. They were watching me on video, but no help came. Hours later, I’d fallen asleep, they let me out, traumatized. I remember the first 3 days because I basically don’t. I was only dizzy, sleepy, drowzy, or sitting/lying on the floor crying. I remember crying and bawling out my friend’s name, sometimes accompanied by “I’m sorry”, sometimes by “How could you?”. But soon the whole department, the closed one, knew his name. It came in high amplitudes and frequencies from my room. I also remember crying about the flowers in the closed yard being mowed off. They were the only beautiful thing and I remembered begging an orderly to stop the lawn mower guy.
I had 4 messages on my voice mail from June the 10th. 1 was one of my best friends telling me he was gonna miss me in Switzerland (he had voted for me). He'd lateron visit me in the nuthouse. 2 of them were from an old friend who was worried and who told me that he had been the one who read my Facebook message and called the police. One message was from a cop, very friendly, worry in his voice, “Hello Anna, this is Jan from the local police department, we heard that you were about to kill yourself, please open the door and let’s talk things over.”. Of course I didn’t open, I was already gone. My mom then got a call from my mobile phone, relieved to see my name coming up. It was that cop saying, “Your daughter’s alive, though her condition is critical.”
They must have used those “1, 2, clear!” electro shockers on me, judging by the way my black gothic mini dress looked. Cut open and stuff. I was in intensive care for 2 days, then in the nuthouse.
Today, July 2nd, I was transferred to an open department specialized in borderline personalities, and there, I was free to go and I did. In the 3 weeks, I thought about a lot. About how my friend wasn’t pissed about the JPEG files, but about the trust I broke (what about mine he’d broken more than once, btw?). That he wasn’t ignoring me out of sheer hatred, but because he was scared and feeling guilty. That I could manage without binge eating. And that death feels nice when it’s sleeping pills. I was happy to leave, devastated to find myself alive and my Phenobarbital dealer arrested. I hated my friend for calling the police and for saving my life, because now I had been locked up with the pain of my broken heart, unable to escape.
My mom had taken care of me all the time, one friend visited and one called, both events had me burst into tears. My mom should have gone on a world trip, Berlin to Beiruth, she was looking forward to it but instead, she had to take care of her near-dead daughter. She’s an angel really.
I still feel like killing myself off. I also made sure I find another dealer. But as long as my mom is here, I won’t. I’ll try to live on for a while. Death didn’t feel so bad and I’m not shocked by my actions at all. I’m glad to know how easy it is when required. But right now, I don’t have the heart to waste my mom’s efforts. And the last bit of hope that our friendship be revived. Although I have a ton of things to throw at his head, from hurting me to insulting me, I’m very forgiving to my loved ones, and he’s one of them.
But dying felt okay. It was not really my friend’s fault, he only was the last straw. It was everyone’s and no one’s fault and my own, my personality disorder’s, the world’s, to hell with it.
I have no regrets trying to kill myself. I did it once, and people, when they did something once and don’t regret it, they will do it twice. Me, too. Not now, not tomorrow, maybe tonight, maybe in 10 years, maybe never.
Sunday, February 15, 2009
Where do I go?
I hate it at home. It's dirty, chaotic, lonely and everyday it's only a matter of time before I melt down in tears over ridiculous things.
School is only once a week anymore and I don't know the majority of people there and my best friend there is leaving anyways.
I hate being with my mum, and there's no life for me there.
My brother offered to share his place with me but what can I do in Israel?
A psychiatric institution is out of the question.
I can't hang around my friends' place all the time.
I have nowhere to feel home anymore. I'm only going from one random, meaningless place to another. Some places suck worse than others but none is home.
School is only once a week anymore and I don't know the majority of people there and my best friend there is leaving anyways.
I hate being with my mum, and there's no life for me there.
My brother offered to share his place with me but what can I do in Israel?
A psychiatric institution is out of the question.
I can't hang around my friends' place all the time.
I have nowhere to feel home anymore. I'm only going from one random, meaningless place to another. Some places suck worse than others but none is home.
Friday, February 13, 2009
Nathalie Merchant - My Skin
Find the song here
Take a look at my body
Look at my hands
There's so much here
That I don't understand
Your face saving promises
Whispered like prayers
I don't need them
I don't need them
I've been treated so wrong
I've been treated so long
As if I'm becoming untouchable
Contempt loves the silence
It thrives in the dark
With fine winding tendrils
That strangle the heart
They say that promises
Sweeten the blow
But I don't need them
No, I don't need them
I've been treated so wrong
I've been treated so long
As if I'm becoming untouchable
I'm a slow dying flower
Frost killing hour
The sweet turning sour
And untouchable
O, I need
The darkness
The sweetness
The sadness
The weakness
I need this
I need
A lullaby
A kiss goodnight
Angel sweet
Love of my life
O, I need this
Do you remember the way
That you touched me before
All the trembling sweetness
I loved and adored?
Your face saving promises
Whispered like prayers
I don't need them
No, I don't need them
O, I need
The darkness
The sweetness
The sadness
The weakness
I need this
I need
A lullaby
A kiss goodnight
The angel sweet
Love of my life
I need this
Is it dark enough?
Can you see me?
Do you want me?
Can you reach me?
Or I'm leaving
You better shut your mouth
Hold your breath
Kiss me now you'll catch my death
O, I mean it
Take a look at my body
Look at my hands
There's so much here
That I don't understand
Your face saving promises
Whispered like prayers
I don't need them
I don't need them
I've been treated so wrong
I've been treated so long
As if I'm becoming untouchable
Contempt loves the silence
It thrives in the dark
With fine winding tendrils
That strangle the heart
They say that promises
Sweeten the blow
But I don't need them
No, I don't need them
I've been treated so wrong
I've been treated so long
As if I'm becoming untouchable
I'm a slow dying flower
Frost killing hour
The sweet turning sour
And untouchable
O, I need
The darkness
The sweetness
The sadness
The weakness
I need this
I need
A lullaby
A kiss goodnight
Angel sweet
Love of my life
O, I need this
Do you remember the way
That you touched me before
All the trembling sweetness
I loved and adored?
Your face saving promises
Whispered like prayers
I don't need them
No, I don't need them
O, I need
The darkness
The sweetness
The sadness
The weakness
I need this
I need
A lullaby
A kiss goodnight
The angel sweet
Love of my life
I need this
Is it dark enough?
Can you see me?
Do you want me?
Can you reach me?
Or I'm leaving
You better shut your mouth
Hold your breath
Kiss me now you'll catch my death
O, I mean it
Thursday, February 12, 2009
Hospital again
Felt a crisis coming again so I went to the psychiatric emergency station of a city hospital. After 3 or 4 hours of waiting, all they gave me was half a fucking Xanax. I explicitely asked for pillS (<-- note the plural) to help me survive the coming DAYS and that bitch gave me one half Xanax. And ofcourse I had to pay myself a taxi home. Fuck emergency services, they totally play with your balls.
Wednesday, February 11, 2009
Drawing
I'm so fucking tired of my so-called friends who drag me along to hang out and then just park me on the couch to forget all about me. The only thing that I EVER got positive attention for, are my artistic skills, especially drawing. I'm that chick who draws well. That's all people have ever appreciated about me. If it weren't for my drawings, nobody'd ever talked to me in the first place. I hate it. Drawing's become the one thing that makes the world give a damn about me. That's why it started in the first place. As a child, I was already lonely so I made up imaginary friends and drew them. Drew imaginary adventures with imaginary friends and what I drew happened to be above average in quality so people noticed me for the first fucking time and praised the living bajeezus outta me. I mean, when I wasn't being praised and cuddled for my drawing skills, I was getting yelled up and/or beat up for my existance. I mean, ugly fat kid mustn't exist, world keeps proving that to me even now. As long as I produced nice drawings, I was safe, people liked me. But drawing is something I do best when I'm undisturbed (though among people who peek over my shoulder; love the silent attention), so the vicious circle started. In order to have my existance appreciated, I had to draw. But in order to do that, I had to be alone. And that wasn't so hard to accomplish, ugly fat girls are usually alone. And that's how ugly fat girl got better and better at drawing: Having lots and lots of time alone, undisturbed, unnoticed, unappreciated. That's how you get good at this kind of things. By having lots of alone-time. Of course, encounters with people who were as good as or even better than me, were catastrophic. They were a threat to my very existance or at least, to the world taking notice of it. So the pressre I was constantly under, was enormous. And while I was frantically working on improving my skills, I grew to HATE drawing. My mental aversion to drawing at one hand getting me attention and at the other hand stealing it from me, became physical and I had back- and headaches, my wrist would suddenly hurt and I could no longer take the smell of pencils. The dilemma and a vast mental emptiness started at that point. I no longer enjoyed drawing because I'd suddenly realized that all the time, it had only been a way to have my existance noticed in a positive way. But it has also become my only real hobby. But now that I no longer enjoy drawing, now that I no longer feel inspiration and accomplishment now that the truth has come to me, what do I do? What can I kill my abundant alone-time with? There's nothing I enjoy doing. And how can I now get appreciation, now that I can no longer hold a pencil for more than 10 minutes without feeling that immense hate and despair rising inside? What now? More boring alone-time. More binge eating. More being fat and ugly and nothing else because the "drawing" is gone. The only thing people appreciate me for, has gone from me and I hate it for leaving me but at the same time, I hate the thought of picking up the pencil. I want to all the time but I know I wouldn't enjoy it. I'd love to draw comics, but as soon as I start, the mental hate of drawing turns into aggression and panic attacks, physical pain sets in that artists usually feel after HOURS of hard work, but not after a few strokes; I have to stop for it'd break me, but when I stop, I have nothing left to do with myself.
I hate this gift.
I hate this gift.
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