Why is it that people think they know me?
I mean, not someone who wants to understand and just sees a part of them in me, like I see a part of me in them. It is about those who see me and think who I should be, what I should want and what I could possibly not, given the age.
The first time I realize the complexity and damned endless misery of life, when I was a in elementary school. It was obvious to me, that I knew or at least understood more than others. But they expected me to do what they did and always did. So it was obvious to me, that they wouldn’t understand, that their whole concept of school and learning was wrong, at least for the most part. I knew that I wouldn’t be able to explain, wouldn’t be able to escape. Each time I tried, they told me that it can’t be. That I had to go to school like everyone that age. That it was even forced by law.
I knew that I would break more and more each year. Luckily I didn’t just break, but also often found myself in hopeful dreams or sometimes with some friends or a few people. Some of them made my life better, others sadly worse or just confused me in my way to be even more.
Often those I didn’t even speak with or just for a few moments, had given me more than those who talked a lot or were around me many times. And for others I also was often like that, but sometimes also one who betrayed them in the end, by leaving them behind. And usually it wasn’t their fault, they did nothing wrong, it happened because I knew what would be.
It is so painful when you realize as a kid of 7 or something, that you could do anything, only to understand, that others will never let you. And then you understand why, because you are trapped in their system, their way of “life” or what they thought should be a life. Maybe because they remembered it as something good for themselves, since it helped them to become whoever they are now. Or they just had no idea, nor will or thought of a different way of things.
So you lie there in bed as a child and think about it. That you will be forced to go to a secondary school (at least in my country), that you will have to go there until you are an adult (18 by law). And then you hope, maybe afterwards I would be free to do what I want, since then I would be allowed to decide for myself. As if I wouldn’t have been able to do that when I was just 1 or 2 years old. I mean I already knew that something was wrong between my parents, when I was a baby, but all I could do was making an angry or disappointed noise and a face expressing it. I wasn’t able to say something or do much.
I learned to talk with half a year I think, at least the first word, when I remember what my mother said correct. I mean, I knew that I would like to play music, to listen to others and talk with them, when I was just two years old. But I guess, that no one cared, not really. Only in a form which was plausible or logical for them. That I should go to a music school or at least a music teacher. But I knew, that I would and could learn it on my own, just my own. It was pointless.
My age or that I was able to think, understand and do things way before others my age, it isn’t important for me. Many people say things like this to be noticed, to feel good, special or important. In my case it only brought the opposite, while I actually didn’t really wanted all that what others want. It only developed after I felt so ignored, that I ignored myself as well. And then I might have started to think like them sometimes.
And then when I am in secondary school, I lie there in bed again with 14 maybe. I think, well, soon I will be able to do what I want. I got new fire in me, had internet after all these years and finally was able to learn anything I ever wanted. And I did, I learned a lot. It felt good and I was also able to share or use some of my gained knowledge and experiences with friends or family. I thought that I might be actually able to be allowed to make my own decisions. But then people tried to convince me, that what I wanted was too risky, too naive or hard for me. As if they knew… I thought actually the same about their lives, at least when I saw that theirs weren’t any better and so much more boring. At least most of their lives.
I mean what is this, party here, party there, stress before, fruststration afterwards. Job, stress, lunch, stress, dinner, confused and tired.
I knew that it was not good for me, that it also wasn’t good for them and what I wanted. Sadly I usually and still have the problem, that it is hard to put it in words. Not because it is impossible, but simply because it is something about feeling it and seeing it. And I wasn’t really good at expressing these things for a long time. So how should I have written or talked about it, when no one really wanted to know and even if, then I was already not able to anymore. After I noticed that most people behaved this way and didn’t even notice it.
And after all my hopeless trials to explain what I wanted to do, what I could do and how it could help everyone, I had to give up. I had to because I almost ended my life because of this and thought about it so many times, usually when I was in school or on the way to or from school. Since I was a child. At first I was able to tell myself, that things might change over time and that there could be hope. I just had to wait some years in this school system until one day others like me, who came before me, made an end to it. But they didn’t come or at least nothing changed, even if they were here.
Then with 16 I died one of many deaths I died before. I died, eventhough the trial to end my life was blocked by forces of nature and maybe a last bit of hope. When I first tried to convince myself, that while working, I would maybe only have to focus on a few tasks, instead of 12 or more different classes, I only told myself this lie to make this hell more acceptable. All my trials to explain, to fight my way out or show, met empty eyes, confused people and empty ears. All I wanted was a little support, that I would know that I was allowed to be myself, that I wouldn’t have to fear to be completely lost, should it not work out at first. But I didn’t have it. Instead I got convinced by their dream or wish or whatever, of a life. Not really convinced, that would be wrong. I knew all the time that it would kill me, that it wasn’t what I wanted and that it was painful. But since all trials to escape it were misinterpreted, ignored and told to be wrong by others, I made it to my main task to make this hell as acceptable as possible for myself. And as short as possible, at least from what I hoped could be the end. I knew better, knew more, but all this confusion, lies and ignorance of others, made it hard to believe in myself and my hope. While others prepared themselves for their job career or other plans or maybe also hoped for something, I prepared for death.
The worst part about it was, that I really still had hope and got new hope, just when I was about to lose it all. As if it was meant to keep me alive, just long enough, while all by myself I would have died long before.
My life from early childhood on felt like sitting in a prison with a death sentence or life-long prison sentence or as if I would have had to be there hundreds of years, like some people in some U.S. prisons. I still don’t get these laws and judges, but that is meant for the whole of society. I mean I learned to understand them and get them, but only to even more say, that it is madness what they are doing or playing with.
After all these years, knowing that this prison sentence will never end, I lost myself within the thought of it to end faster. But I then knew, that I would also not get that, only if I would do it myself. I mean, I knew that I wanted to live, I knew that I actually had a lot of ideas, maybe talent or at least a big imagination and happiness and interest in people, in things and everything basically. Altough some things might have better stayed untouched because they only made things even harder. And I knew as a child, that I wouldn’t want to drink because it tasted just so bad and burned. I knew that I would want to smoke, since smoke made me feel calm, that I said to myself that I will never start it because I would get addicted. And when as a child I noticed that I was interested in women, I also said to myself that I will have to distance myself from them. I mean, it is not wrong to be “interested” in women, as well as it wouldn’t be wrong to be interested in men or diverse other ways to feel and be. No, it wasn’t that. It was, that I knew, that I would only want sex for the most part, at least when I would let it happen. And I knew that there were so many problems involved with it, that it wasn’t good. That I would only lose myself even more and others would lose themselves. And I also didn’t want to hurt anyone and didn’t really understand what it was about. It was a weird feeling and it made no sense, that it seemed to be so important, although I knew that there were actually way, way more and different things which interested me. A whole universe of things.
But when religion says this, science says that, people do this, people do that and I just wanted to live… then it really confuses ones mind. Especially when it already knew that the whole way of life said to be possible for me, was only a death sentence, a big trap in a big wheel, with many wheels connected to it.
You know, when I accepted that I would never be heard, never be able to actually live how I wanted to live, I pushed it only further, this thought of death as my way out. But my way of life would have been good for most, if not all, well except those who just want to control others and stay above them. If they really never want to be different, then not for them…
I mean, I blamed myself that I wasn’t able to speak loud enough, although I talked with my parents, since they were the only ones who could have supported me at first. Because I knew, that no one would listen to me because I was a child, so my parents would have to talk for me. But they did usually just talk for themselves, because they were also trapped, against their will. My father actually escaped his trap, by trapping my mother, convincing her and probably himself, that he was still in it. I believe that he is in a trap, but he had 20 years time to escape it, almost as long as I am alive. And look at him, he does the same things like all this time before. I mean, it is almost a wonder, when he sometimes actually listens to what I or my mother say. Usually he literally just talks to himself, even out loud when he is walked and working whatever, outside. Usually it looks like more than it actually is and sometimes is even nonsense what he does, like putting black paint on cracks in his asphalt, probably each year, always in the same way. I stopped paying attention to it, but he always did that, always. And obviously it always was pointless, since the paint can’t really fill the cracks and also isn’t meant to do that. Maybe he even puts cement in there at first, I don’t know… but it is just pointless. Instead of doing it right one time, instead he pays a lot of money, time and energy to do it in a way which never works.
When you realize these things as a child, that life is a death sentence for most people or all, but that it shouldn’t be. That I knew what I wanted as a baby or little child, but got broken until I didn’t want it anymore…
It is so painful, so depressing, so confusing and hopeless. While at first I tried to tell them, show them and do something to break free, it all ended up pointless. I just wasn’t “loud” enough, wasn’t “old” enough, wasn’t understood and supported. What much else does one can do, when everything else was pointless, hopeless and took a lot of effort, courage and energy, only to always get the same answer: You have to do what everyone does, you have to live and die. Everyone does that, so you are no exception. You are not allowed to be an exception. At least this is how it feels.
It is as if no matter what I do, say or try, I will stay in this prison cell in the death row part of the prison, together with so many others. And I got there before I even had a chance to commit a crime to deserve it. I was innocent, but when I tried to explain, to show and say it, no one listened.
People: Everyone in prison says they are innocent. Don’t believe them, they deserve what they got. It was their fault and we want justice and this is justice.
But I also know, that someone once said something about prisons and that a country or society (or what he exactly said) can measured or understood by the way they treat the prisoners (and people on the bottom in general).
In my country there might not be a death sentence in prison, at least not at the moment, but I didn’t need that, to understand, that I already was in it. Eventhough it looked different to the other people, most people. At least at first, as far as I know. Deep down they might feel as well, that it isn’t what they want, what they deserve, but they got told this so many times, that they had to believe it. Like I tried to convince myself that I am a bad person, that I am a monster. Because I knew that I would never be able to end my life otherwise. I hated monsters, I hated evil and when bad things happened. I didn’t want them. So I knew that I wouldn’t be able to end my life as long as I am innocent to myself. I tried to make myself guilty in my own eyes, until it somehow happened on its own. But not because I actually deserved it, wanted it or it should have been this way. Only because I knew, that for me there was no other way. I waited long enough, but nothing changed. After ten years in school and a few years in kindergarden, it just makes sense. Especially when you then see how old people realize before their death, that they wanted things to be so much different and then they died. And I thought, I knew that as a child, so if that (according to others) is all what life is about, either to have a lot of fun before you die or a lot of pain, while you should have had more fun, then I thought, I have seen it all already, so why waiting decades for the same result.
My life felt like a death sentence, sitting there year after year. Knowing that no one would come, still hoping that maybe one day there would come someone and say: “You are free, we found out, that you weren’t guilty afterall.” But then in the mean time I made myself believe that I was and also did a few things, which might not seem like much for others, but were enough for myself to hate me. Which wasn’t hard, when others already were not on your side. Usually unknowing or by accident, but sometimes because they just didn’t understand it. As if it was obvious to them, but they simply accepted it as given. As if it was normal to be in prison, while you did nothing to deserve it.
And really, after all these years I started to think that I deserved it. That this might be a sick version of my personal hell because I might have been a very, very bad person before I died. So I had to live a life doomed to always be ignored, misunderstood, broken and forced to do what I didn’t want, while knowing about it. As if I wished for it because I was born evil and just evil. As if I was evil in person. And I believed it at some point, at least for some time. And it often comes back, but not because I want it, but because it seems like the only logical explanation. Although I of course know that it isn’t, it shouldn’t, but sadly then still could be.
Whenever I meet someone who has similar thoughts or maybe a few similar experiences like I had or just someone who is still enjoying their life for the most part, I feel safe. I know that things can still change and I see that there are people out there who want it as well. In horror series like “Horror in Bly Manor”, which I now watched since yesterday and almost finished already. But the horrible part about it is, that after all what others did to me, what I then did to myself and a few others and how the big things still didn’t really change, it still feels like hell, like a never ending nightmare.
Instead that children get encouraged and supported in learning by themselves, the school years got shorter, faster, with more pressure. They have to learn even more, while they can understand less. Instead of letting them think about their life, they get almost no chance and out of school, they have to get into a job, they will probably hate until they die from a heart attack or cancer or maybe by suicide, if not crazy in a psychiatry or at home, with pills and endless therapy.
People also say, first take care of yourself. But I can tell, that whenever I tried, others told me, that I should take care of them or others. Only to hear them say again, that I should take care of myself first, so that I can help them as well. But when they then expect me to do it in a way they want it, I won’t ever be able to, but they don’t understand it and I can’t show them. It breaks me. Even after I finally decided for myself, just for once with all force, from all sides they tried to convince me, that it is a mistake. That I should think about it again, that I am throwing my life away or even that I wanted the life I was about to throw away. As if they know or wanted to know what I wanted.
My boss at first didn’t know whether he would be able to keep me after the apprenticeship and I thought: “I don’t mind. Only one more reason to die.”
But when I wanted to leave he tried to give me whatever was within his power, although we had so many painful conversations about how he thought I should work or such things. My parents tried to convince me that I will regret it to leave the job. And that I should finish the exam I just aborted. My boss tried to make it possible for me to redo it, even the auditing agency / institution tried to, while it always was said to be over, when there is no reason given. My mother even got me to go to the doctor about this, only to hear from him, whether I would want to speak to “my friend” the psychiatrist. I don’t know what he meant with “my friend”, since I didn’t really talk to a psychiatrist and the one I got sent to when I was 16, simply said, that he couldn’t help me. At least he was honest about that.
So I convinced the doctor that I just felt tired and needed a short break, knowing that I would never want to return to this job and this whole mess of system. I then never returned to work and finally quitted officially. My father was completely nuts (like usual, but then about my decision and not just his general madness). The same man who didn’t had to work for 20 years, has enough money to live a life and a family which is there, eventhough against their own will… and my mother (as usual) just also didn’t know what to do about it and told me many times, that it was my wish to work there. But it was only what I told her and myself because they didn’t want to know the truth I told them before so many times.
After some months in which I struggled with severe pain, suicidal thoughts (on a critical level) and a never ending black hole I got a little bit comfortable again and my mother as well. But my father still holds it all back and just recently told me again, that I should get a job and that I am doing nothing, while he has to do everything. If someone does “everything” then my mother, but it is all so damn broken.
For now I can just hope that my mother will finally get her retirement next year, in May or what they said and that maybe until then also many things finally change for the better in the world. But not just fake changes, bad changes and lies. For the moment I just see that these restrictions get more and more, the laws get more obscure and paradox and people don’t know anymore what the next day is about and whether this madness will ever end. Well, for me it was always here, only now more people seem to see it as well. At least I hope so and that it is for the better and not worse, like usually.
I am so, so sick of this and that I have to write about it in so many forms or just the same again. I mean, if you look at some authors, they must feel the same and also think, when does it finally end, this madness. When can we finally just live?
My mother bought me a book, when I started my apprenticeship three years ago. I didn’t read it because for me there was no point in it anymore, because it was all just the same in the end. And I just waited for death to finally make an end to it. But this year I finally started to read in it.
Stille Wasser: Commissario Brunettis sechsundzwanzigster Fall – by Donna Leon
I don’t know the english title, if there is one, but the translation would be: “Silent waters: Commissario Brunettis twenty-sixth case” (or something like that)
It plays in Italy, at least as far as I have read it and when I read a few pages, I thought, man… this actually is what I thought. I mean, not really like that, but similar things. Because the Commissario and his wife also were talking about a change in life, she even asked him where he would want to be or go. And that she already knew, while he was not sure. But that he also was tired of his same old job, how he had a case with a well-known man who caused a teenage girls death. And that he knew, that this man would get free after all. The whole conversation with this man was so clear, that he had done it and showed how perverted, evil and egoistic he was, but also how undefeatable, it seemed. As if he was allowed to do all this, only because he had a job in the law business and knew a lot of people.
Later on the Commissario faked a heartattack, although it could have turned into a real one maybe, to protect his younger colleague to not do a bad mistake. Because this suit man, with his laws and friends wasn’t worth risking his life and future.
After that he got a few weeks off from the doctor and the wife of the Commissario told him to go on vacation to an island, where she also was after her time in the university. When she felt lost and confused.
And there he met an old friend of his father and that he had bees and also was often paddling with a boat to the canals. But the bees were dying, in an untypical way for them. Showing how things in general are. The bees are dying. And while bees already are short living worker drones, when they then die even way before their time, it really is bad and sad. And I had to think about young people who commit suicide, about myself and how I wanted it so many times as well.
I mean, I didn’t even know what the difference between a suicide attempt and just wanting to die was. Because I thought, that a suicide attempt must be, when you already did something which would have caused your death, but someone else found you in time. Or something like that. So when I was first asked about whether I had any attempts, I said no because so far it never went this far. But now I know, that I had a lot, probably more than I remember. But I am still not sure, when something counts as attempt and when not. Because so far I never had to be safed because I always had to safe myself or convince myself, that I could maybe die from something else soon enough.
Each day I hope for either a pardon, so I could get out of the death row or that I will be released and get my life back. But all I hear is, that it is my fault, that I have to fight my way out, as if hitting against the walls, shaking the prison bars or screaming and crying ever helped or changed people’s minds. At least when it comes to this, to what I am talking about.
And I know that you might be someone who understands or want to understand. I mean, I can’t know for sure, when I don’t know you, but I just hope, is what I try to say. I hope that we will make things finally good. I see all these bleeding eyes, crying smiles and how the others keep spinning the wheel. Complaining about time, about people who don’t do what they do…
I have friends and family who say, that they have voices and that they scream inside. Sometimes multiple ones. And I have myself, I usually don’t hear voices, usually just a monolog, but sometimes I also hear or want to hear another voice. Sometimes I don’t know whether I hear something or someone else or just my imagination. But usually I hear not much, I concentrate more on to my environment. Only to feel this endless scream in the back of my head, instead of actually hearing it. It is so strong, that I sometimes think that my head will explode and then I have to calm it down with some music or fresh forest air.
And sometimes I just think random words, even in other languages or even nonsense. I think, that it was my trial to supress this hateful voice inside me, which wasn’t myself. Not what I wanted, but what I wanted myself to hear in order to break me. Like my own personal bully. And I think that I almost got rid of it again. So when it sometimes tries to come up, I only hear nonsense and don’t feel attacked that much. Knowing that it was caused by all the nonsense which was and still is around me. And which grows again, you know what I am talking about, when you know what happens around the world right now and basically all the time, but now even more again.
Someone recently even said or maybe sung, about that they thought that it just seemed to get better, that things might actually turn out good, only to see this happening.
I wouldn’t do anything to make this stop because everyone does “anything” to save either themselves or someone else or achieve something. So no, I wouldn’t do that. But I would do anything, if it would only harm me, like I usually tried to. But I know it doesn’t help either, as if nothing helps, nothing changes. As if it all is wanted this way and only I am the fool who tries to ruin it. But I know that this is not true and that you probably think similar or at least know in a way what I am talking about. I also don’t want that you see or understand everything I went through or thought of. It is not good and meant for one to carry. I mean, I am almost each day sitting here, thinking that everything is my fault, that I have to do something to stop it and that I am only playing a sick game of “life” with myself and I lost it. As if nothing is real and everything and you are just in my head or I am in yours.
I am just so lost in this all because I feel so alone with it because the world continues almost as if nothing is wrong. I mean, sure some things always change, but not really, not the whole thing as a whole.
This is why it is so terrifying for me, that I might be just all alone and I know this can’t be shouldn’t be. This neverending death sentence has to end for us all. Neverending hell has to finally end after all. And so many people wish the sane, please… please… PLEASE!
I already said to my cousin and my parents, that if until next year nothing really changes, I will probably be dead either way. Either because my body gave up, already sometimes fighting with my heart not keeping up and other things or because I would let my guard down at some point and throw it all away because I can’t take it anymore. Because I can take everything, I can, but only if I would know, that it will change the way of things. Otherwise I would only be holding a rock above my shoulders and hold it, hold it until eternity and everyone else thinks: “Oh cool, look this guy is holding a rock. Let’s make a selfie and then back to work.” And I keep holding and holding… but I can’t hold it forever and sadly it isn’t an actual rock, otherwise I could just throw it away and be free. Since holding up a rock just for the sake of it, would be pretty pointless, knowing it won’t change a thing, don’t you think? Only that this rock is my life and maybe your life and when I throw it down, it will turn into dust. And I have seen it so many times turning into dust or not even that. I just finally want that we all who carry such rocks (or bags or whatever) come together and place them on solid ground togeher. So that they won’t vanish, won’t pulverize, burn or break, but build something of which we all will be part of.
I don’t know how to show, how to say, some of you might know and I know some do know, maybe even more than I do. Just let us be and have it, please…..
I even knew how the video would end, although I haven’t seen it before.