Sunday, January 2, 2011

Music and suicide

Music is like 75% of me. Literally everything else in my life could be taken away from me, and I could care less (not literally but you know what I'm saying). But taking my music would break me so fast.

Growing up, I was seclusive. I didn't like meeting new people, being in charge of anything, or doing anything in front of anyone. I stayed away from all that like it was the plague. Family figured that out, and it wasn't too big of an issue. In primary school, a couple fights made me not want contact with anyone, so I quit talking to nearly everyone. I bought my first portable radio/tape player when I was 7 or 8, and listened to it waiting for the bus, on the bus ride, during breaks at school, at lunch, and the bus ride home. I became what some would call "addicted" to music of all sorts. Listening to music pretty much 24/7 helped relax me to think clearly about what at the time I considered "my problem".

In 4th grade, close to the end of the year, I got in trouble for something, and my parents wouldn't let me listen to the radio as I fell asleep. That devastated me to ends undescribable with words. That was the first time I became suicidal.

Before I go on, I don't feel I had much of a childhood. I "knew" too much. Just like now, it ruins a lot of things.

Anyway, I got a 45 cal. revolver from somewhere I won't mention while my parents went out of town for the weekend. I sat in my bed and wanted to die. I thought about killing myself for hours, and finally decided to do it. I couldn't stand who I was anymore, and emotionally couldn't deal with what life was dealing me. So I turned the radio off, and wrote a note explaining to my parents why I did (was going to do) it. After I finished, I sat there, put the pistol in my mouth, and pulled the trigger. Nothing. The firing cap must have been a dud, because absolutely nothing happened. All I had was one round, so I couldn't try again. Put the pistol up, got rid of the shell and cried myself to sleep.

Several years went by, then I was in middle school. I still listened to music 24/7. I had gotten myself a record player and records, and fixed an 8 track player I had an got hundreds of 8 tracks. Music was obviously becoming a major thing in my life. In middle school, puberty started for me. I started before a majority of everyone, so I felt like I was a freak or something. I was depressed constantly. My parents sent me to shrinks for multiple things, and the last I went to, after asking about my dreams, wanted nothing to do with seeing me. I had, and still have, dreams that would drive people crazy. I'm talking graphic as in any of th million ways of torture and death you can imagine. Imagine combining that with night terrors.

Those dreams and the constant depression of who I was and was becoming was too much for me. Towards the end of middle school, I tried slitting my wrists, but didn't get anywhere. Don't know what happened exactly, but it didn't work.

Onward to high school. My sophomore and junior year was one long acid trip. No clue how I afforded enough to stay that way, but I did. Well, during high school is when I realized I was bi. It didn't take me long to accept that part of myself, but right after I did, a girl a grade above me came out as a lesbian and was taunted to no end. She ended up changing schools after the taunting and being beat to a pulp several times. After seeing that, I got so afraid for myself, for the fear of being outed to who I really felt I was. One day, after a couple hits of acid, and smoking a couple bowls of pot at a neighbors house, I went home and wanted to kill myself again. I thought that the acid would do like it had been and make those thoughts go away like usual. But it didn't. Around midnight that night, I tried to overdose on the acid. I think I had 20 hits left on me, and I took 10 or 12. It wasn't enough, since all it did was give me a bad trip. I don't remember much after taking them, but I do remember waking up the next morning curled up in the fetal position under all my clothes in the floor of my closet. I was sick for days, and ended up not doing acid anymore after that.

I transfered schools my junior year, and ended up graduating a semester early.After high scool, I worked several meaningless jobs, staying depressed for the time. I got s bad, I barely ate anything for days on end. I'd smoke 2 or 3 packs of Salem Black Label ciggarettes, and drink dozens of Code Red Mtn. Dews. I was running myself into the ground hard and fast.

Oh, ever since I was adopted, I went all the time to see my foster mom, who I called Aunt Sylvia. During all the crap of high school, I quit going to see her. I think I saw her once during high school. Now, I don't regret anything I've done in my life, and I've done some really bad things. Then, when I was 20, she died. I hadn't seen her in at least 5 or 6 years. FYI, I've never cried over anyones death in my life till I lost her. (At the time, I had a highly modified mini truck I would street race and road race sometimes) When I found out she died, I drove like a bat out of hell to my girlfriend at the times house and cried for hours. I quit my job. I've never gotten over the fact I didn't ant to go see her before she died.

BTW, I just broke down writing the last couple sentences.

After her funeral, I started almost daily running The Dragon (Google it of you don't know what it is) and the adjoining the Parkway hoping I would make a mistake and disappear over one of the bluffs. 3 days after my 21st b-day, I was in a 11 car pileup. The moron that caused it died on impact, 2 friends ended up in the ER, and multiple people had to be airlifted to the hospital. I was the only person uninjured. I didn't have a seat belt on, and my mini truck slid under the car I hit. Before I actually wrecked, I nearly had a huge wheel and tire go through my windshield. I swerved just in time to not get hit by it. My depression got worse that day. Because some idiot wanted to get high and drink and drive, I lost a truck I had worked on and customized for over 4 years. I had literal blood, sweat, and tears in that truck. Aut Sylvia had to have been looking out for me that day. The State Troopers and the paramedics on the scene all said there was no way I wasn't injured, and I should have died.

Anyway, up till then, music wasn't that important, like it was years before. Same goes for religion. Because of the level of danger of the wreck, I decided I needed religion and opened up towards everything. I've studied every religious book you can imagine. Sadly, nothing has ever just felt right to me. Every organized religion wants nothing to do with non hetero people. But in my study of religion, I came into my beliefs. It's based off Christianity, but not, at the same time. The Bible is the book of choice, but I have a different interpretation. But that's for another post or PM's.

Anyway, music now has become the one thing that keeps me from falling into a deep depression. I don't know what it is about hearing music, but it just melts away any stresses I have. I've been watching/listening to musi videos on youtube the whole time I've written this. Here's the main songs I listen to

First are 2 songs from Mushroomhead.

Save Us and Embrace the Ending.

Ghost Machine - Headstone


Perfectly Flawed

Ghost Flowers


Any Lady Gaga song

and lastly, Katy Perry's song Firework

When I listen, I drift off into my own little world, where I have no stresses I'm the right sex, and I'm comfortable with myself. Doesn't really matter if I listen to my list, or even shortwave. Numbers stations are fun too. Search Youtube if you've never heard one. I feel like I can finally forget about my horrible life, and be truly happy. Stopping is hard, because I come crashing down.

I don't know why I felt the need to write this, but I just felt I should.

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