You can take this for what it is, but I'm just going to be honest. Probably because I was drunk but I failed my six month of being clean of cocaine tonight and I'm tired of sitting on a hotel bed drinking by myself so I what do I have? This. In a ******* hotel. I always picture my death of over dosing in a hotel room. How ******* sad and cliche. But who cares? No one.
I'm not going to give you all the "there is hope" and "life will change" and "love yourself". I can't do it, because I don't really ******* believe it. I can't.
I'll say it straight out right now (and I'll probably regret this in the morning or whenever I come down off my high because I'm usually a fairly private person) but I had a **** childhood. We all do, right? My brother died before I was born. He was the, to term it, "All American Dream" (read Canadian). Football, high school jock, QB, popular, blonde blue eyed 6 foot hunk. Exactly like my father. Just what he wanted. He killed himself drinking and driving at 17.
So my parents grieved. Decided "Hey, we can make Matthew again". So, there came me. The short, black haired (at least I got the blue eyes??) little wimp. My father pushed me into football until I broke my arm and the teacher said no more. I hate sports. I love watching hockey, but I can not play. I am too small (5 foot 6) and I couldn't "tackle" or fight. Why? Because he realised early that I wasn't what he wanted. I think he knew when he was pushing me I was going to fail. So I was raised to be seen, not heard. You take what's given to you, no matter what. I had no opinion. Want irony? My brother was named Matthew. Mine? Judas. As if that wasn't ******* planned. I was ****** right from the start.
He couldn't stand the thought of having a son that would rather read a book then throw a ball. He regretted me for as long as I remember. Playing ball in the backyard once (ball, yeah. He'd throw it at me fairly hard and I'd get whacked with it and then he'd beat the **** out of me for not catching it) and this is my first memory of him really losing it. ****, I took a beating. The people who owned the place used to have a dog. So what was I? He hooked that chain on my and told me to stay in the dog house for the day. Collar and all. Didn't tie my hands but you know what? I was too ******* scared to take it off and run. So I did. All night. I think I was 13.
That year I did my first suicide attempt. Obviously I failed but I had to go the hospital and then social services came in and it was a nightmare. I was taken for a bit but I made all the right cries - It wasn't my parents, it was this guy at school (I was regularly beat the **** out of two "jocks" and it was all recorded so it made sense) and I just had enough of dealing with them so I tried and I'm okay and I'm scared and I just want to go home - because I knew what would happen if I didn't try and I went back home. So I was returned. Yeah, you can imagine how that went. My dad was the main abuser. My mother... Once in a while when she got really high or drunk she could come in while I was sleeping and lash out that "Why can't you be Matthew?" but most the of the time she just stood by and watched. I think that was worse. I remember making her something for mothers day in school - we went to this clay making place or whatever you call it - and I was all proud when I gave it to her thinking "She'll love me now" but she looked at it and threw it across the kitchen and said "I shouldn't be your mother. You're a mistake". ****, right? What do you say to that when you're seven years old?
Fast foward a year, we moved a lot. They had too. Neighbours would call the RCMP, they'd get calls, they'd show up, I'd lie and on and on and on. Then they went to crack. Lost everything and we were renting some pretty good dives. Ran out of cash and he really wanted an eight ball. So what does he have? Me. Yeah. "Take him for a night in exchange."
That was sort of my breaking point. I started drinking. I started doing blow and crack. It wasn't like it wasn't available. I'd never take enough to get caught, but enough that I didn't mind the beatings so much. 14 I got kicked out of school for getting caught doing a rail off the bathroom sink. The principle calls my father (I tried to play tough that I didn't care but I remember asking to be excused to go the bathroom to puke) and he comes to pick me up. He didn't even wait till we were out of the parking lot to start. We get home and I actually, for once in my pathetic life, stood up for myself. I hit him back. I doubt it was hard but I caught him off guard because I always curled up and took, like I was raised. I lost the fight, anyways, and was tossed out.
I lived on the street for quite a bit and you know what made it easy? Blow. But how can you afford that with nothing but the clothes that I had on my back?
They let me back off and on but I just couldn't handle it. Now that I fought back it just made it so much worse. So while I was out on the street I got a job offer out of town, and hell yeah I jumped on it. Camp job, making good money. Food. Shelter. No parents. I was in heaven. So I left for six months. Then I had a month off so now where do I go? Stopped by home. I went up to the door and knocked (like **** I was just going to walk in) and this strange guy answered the door. How ******* awkward was that? What do I say? "Uh...who are you and where are my parents?" And my boss is sitting in his car watching because he wanted to make sure I got in okay. I told him nothing but I think he knew. So I think I made some lame *** excuse that I just really needed to use a phone and I would be in and out, I just needed to get a ride, had a late night, blah blah blah. I have a baby face and look pretty innocent so he did. I waved at my boss and he let me in to use the phone. I waited long enough for him to go and I left. To where? I have no idea where they went. They didn't leave a note, fowarding address, **** all.
That was a pretty ****** moment. Knowing that they just up and left and **** you Judas. That's where I started with the hotels and man did I get into the drugs. I had to numb it. What did I do that they would hate me so ******* much? I tried to make them love me. I tried everything they asked until I just couldn't anymore. I was tired of living in brother's shadow and knowing I would never be what they wanted. I was tired of getting beat up at school everyday. What helped? The ******* blow.
I remember one day the guy who used to beat me up everyday started and I ******* snapped. I learned a lot from my father, at least. It was bad. I got expelled for the year it was so bad. So I went from being the **** to being the psychopath. Why? Because for once I had power. I didn't care that I was turning into my father. Just that, for once, I'm not laying down and taking it. I ended up with a few assualt charges and juvie between 15 and 16. I didn't care. At that point, I felt good and I had shelter so **** it.
I was a mess for years. From 13 to...Well, now. But mostly 13 to 17. I did it all. Sex, drugs, stealing, alcohol...Anything to forget who I couldn't be.
17 was the last time I tried to commit suicide and (state the obvious again) I failed. And when I woke up in the hospital I started freaking out. Because I remembered my father when I got home from my first attempt and I was sitting in the corner of the living room and he threw a beer can at me and said "Maybe try not to **** it up next time." And I did. Still can't ******* get it right.
I had a lot more dope on me then I needed to kill myself (******* drinking whiskey straight and how is this for irony - it saved me because I threw up before I passed out and got rid of enough drugs before someone ******* found me) that I ended up in court. I didn't get charged but I had to a three month rehab thing.
Anyways, I'm ******* babbling. I had a rough time. And the sad thing, I haven't changed. I am still doing the same job, still ******* getting high and drunk in hotel room by myself (in the summer I live in my truck for costs) and as I'm sitting here typing (usually I think it to myself) "He was right. All along." And I spent so many ******* years hating them but for what? Because they were right. I'm a loser. I'm ******. I won't ever make it anywhere. I can't let people get close because I don't trust them.
This is what a selfish prick I am. I have one friend in this entire world. Actually, we almost died together a while ago. I talked him into going to look at a car with me that was for sale and the roads weren't that great but not horrible. We took his car and half way there we get rear ended by someone not watching and shoved into on coming traffic. Traffic being a semi truck. It was weird because it was all split second and I really don't remember thinking it (or much of anything of the accident or three days after, thank you morphine, demeral and fetanol) but instead of driving straight into the ditch (I was driving, A was passenger) I cranked the wheel back into traffic because I didn't want any chance that the semi would hit his side. But it was icy and I didn't make it in time. We hit head on and he came up over the car and peeled the driver's side off.
Never in my life have I ever had anyone stand by me. I broke my femur, hip, wrist and ulna. I couldn't walk for six months. I was in the hospital for three. I don't like relying on people because... Well, that should be obvious. I ******* hate being helpless. Now I can't even go the god damn bathroom by myself. I had to have a nurse help me. I had to have someone shower me. What dignity I had was gone. If I could have, I would have thrown myself out that window... But I couldn't walk and I'm pretty sure hospital windows are cheap ****. So I sat there and I craved a drink and I raved and I...lost it. But, you know, he never stopped coming. He helped me change and shower and go to the bathroom - saw me at my weakest moment. He was the one that talked to the cops (there was one cop in particular that knew me well and was sympathic) and had him look out for my truck when I tried to kill myself two years prior. He saved my life.
And you know what I did the other day? I asked him if he could forgive me if I kill myself. I broke his ******* heart. The only person that ever cared. And I mean, built a ******* ramp into his front step so I had a place to stay while I was in the wheel chair. Helped me in my walker. He gave me everything and I threw it in his face. And I told him that I loved him, I just didn't know if that was enough to keep me around. What the ****, man.
But I don't know. And now, I apologize, I am getting to the point of the thread. I still really, really, really want to end it. I just... I have A. That's all. And that's an insult in itself because he was the first person to really show me love. But these thoughts... I just can't get rid of them. And I don't know that it's enough to keep me here. I think maybe I just might be selfish enough to do it and tear him apart.
So what sort of person am I?
So no, I can't give you any of those kind words and uplifting stories. Just that I completely understand.
Now I've sat here for five minutes debating whether to delete this all but... I'm going to post it. One, because it's kinda nice to get it out and two, it took a long ******* time to type.
OP - I know I probably didn't help and I don't want to encourage you do it because I think some people can be saved, just that I feel you 100%. But I hope you can make it through.
End. Sorry for the rant. I know most of it is irrelevant but like you said, this site is all we have so... I apologize for laying it out and being a sound board. But I won't get a gun tonight, I don't think. Okay, I'm done. Sorry.
![Thomas]](https://cdn.imagearchive.com/alonelylife/data/avatars/s/14/14186.jpg?1631136400){kind=avatar}
