I sat in that bus, on my way to work, on my way to make a living and I saw you. I have no idea who you are, your name or age; but I know you are someone’s son, someone’s friend, and yet there you are, dying on the street. One person, one out of the dozens all around you – including me – stopped to help you. I sometimes wish I was the type of person to bang on bus doors, to cause a scene, to act in impulse, but I’m not, and I’m sorry. I should have ran to help him, help you. I watched from that seat on the bus as he checked for your pulse, but your skin was so grey I doubt he found one. No one else even seemed to care, I looked around the bus to see if anyone else felt the way I did, and not one person looked phased by the idea that you were dying. There were 5 other people on the side walk where your body laid and they didn’t do anything but stare and walk away. I tried so hard to hold it together, to act the way everyone else did, but I couldn’t. I cried for you, I cried because I know something happened to bring you to where you were, I cried because no one wants to get involved, no one wants to help. No one sees that you are just a kid with serious demons, just a person who struggles with memories of the past. You are so much more then an addict, you are so much more than a junkie, you are a human; you are here for a reason, you matter. It’s not okay, none of it. It’s not okay that someone or something hurt you to the point where you had to find a way to escape your pain. It’s not okay that you ended up addicted to a drug that ruined your life, it’s not okay that you have to use to live. It’s not okay that a drug dealer is making money off your addiction, or that they are cutting drugs with poison. It’s not okay that society labels you, but doesn’t help you. It’s not okay that you died. It’s not okay that people didn’t stop. None of this okay, none of it is acceptable. We need to stop building giant shopping malls, and invest in mental health, in better schools, in affordable homes, in people’s lives. My only hope is that you are now feee of pain. God has you in his arms now, along with all the other human souls that died because of greedy drug dealers, and shitty people. Society, you disgust me.
My reason for starting this blog was to have a place to write everything down and know that it’d still be there in the rare occurrence that things may turn out for the better, but this blog just causes me stress. Knowing that anyone – especially people who try so desperately to squeeze into mine and my families’ personal lives – can read all the things that I’ve always kept so deep inside. How am I suppose to comfortably write, blog, share when I’m so concern with who or what is reading my thoughts? I use to find comfort in that thought, the fact that people around the world would read my blog posts and in their own ways connect with me, or perhaps find comfort in knowing that their pain wasn’t abnormal. Now, every time I begin to write my anxiety spikes. My mind shuts down and I am unable to write anything.
But really, what more can I say? What else can I blog about that I haven’t said before? My life is just so repetitive, so boring; its comparable to writing the same sentence over and over again, and yet I do nothing to make it better, nothing to make my life more exciting and more worthy of being called a “life”. I just exist, that is all. I do not live life, or embrace the unpredictable, yet beautiful chaos that life brings. I idle, neither going forward nor backwards, in a place of unhappiness and entrapments. I often feel as though I am living in a glass box, able to see the glorious life that lays just feet away from me and yet I am unable to break, or escape from my enclosure and so I run in circles. I continue to run in circles, day in and day out, to incompetent to see that my glass house has no roof, to” comfortable” in my routine to see what is literally just above me, just feet in the air. I fear that if I do not begin to climb, jump, or reach for a way out I will be in this place forever. Stuck in a life that I am not happy in, stuck re-living the same day repeatedly and calling it a life.
I’ve always had so many excuses, whether it be my dad or my nephews, it was an excuse. I barely visited my dad, and my nephews didn’t need me as much as I made it seem, but saying I couldn’t leave because of my dad or nephews was easier than accepting the fact that I was just too scared. But fear is normal. Being scared means your stepping out of your comfort zone and making progress in your life. What isn’t normal is how unhappy of a person I am, how I haven’t had a relationship sense tenth grade, that I haven’t been in love sense Brandon, and that I haven’t moved on from things that happened so many years ago.
Why haven’t I moved on?
Why can’t I find the strength to learn from my mistakes and move forward, why haven’t I been living like a typical 20 something? I can’t continue to blame other people and past mistakes for why my present is such a mess.
How easy is it for me to say what I know needs to be done yet I am here still, still in the same place I was a year ago; the same place I was in 3 years ago.
I need to stop caring so much for the wellbeing of other people, because lord knows no one cares about me as deeply as I care about them, and begin to focus on me, on what will make me feel better. No matter how hard its going to be. I’m tired of being the person who is always there for everyone else, and yet I am constantly lonely. I am tired of crying in the shower or late at night because I am lonely.
I’m so lonely.
I’ve been so lonely sense the death of my best friend. No one understands, and I don’t know how to explain to people, why her death has messed me up so much. I don’t know how to tell people that she was my comfort. I don’t know how I’m suppose to tell people that she was the only thing on the planet that could calm me down when my anxiety was beating me down, how she was the only reason my depression didn’t consume me – she always knew when I was depressed and she’d curl up in my arms and gently lick away the tears from my face. She was the one thing in this world that I couldn’t imagine losing; and then I lost her. It was so sudden, it was so painful, I didn’t even get to sit with her, tell her I loved her one last time, and comfort her while they ended her suffering. I’m still so angry that I didn’t get the chance to make the decision whether I saw her pass away or not, and I resent my mom because of it. I love my mom, so much, but I hate what she did. I hate that I had to be in the dark about my best friend, and that I was at work while my bug took her last breath. I wish my mom would have allowed me to make the decision, I wish she knew how angry I am at her for taking that away from me. Jayda was more mine to me than just a dog, and I thought my mom knew that; it hurts so much that she doesn’t get it. I wanted to be there, that’s why I stayed up for 3 days making sure she didn’t die alone – yet she still did. She died in a place that was unfamiliar, with nothing and no one. That breaks my heart more than anything, knowing she was so alone, and I hate myself everyday for it.
I just wish I knew why I lost her… She was my baby…
That’s another thing…
I’m almost 27 and I’m no closer to having a baby than I was 5 years ago, actually I was closer 5 years ago, and yet it appears everyone around me are having babies – my sister included.
I love my sister, but she never wanted to be a mom and here she is a mom of almost 3 and I have nothing. I use to dream of being a mom, I use to play house – imagining that I was a house wife and my husband was working – and care for my dolls as though they were real. I took care of my parents friends son when I was 13, and dreamed of the day when I had one of my own – all the while my sister locked herself in her room and would stay far away from children. So why is she the one who gets to have babies, and I’m the one who has Polycystic Ovarian Syndrome? Life’s not fair I suppose…
Ugh, I guess I’ll end this here since I’m rambling..
Canada, Land of the free.
I have a bone to pick with you.
You seem to be rolling in money, money that’s used to treat Heroin addiction, to give assistance to drug addicts, to reverse overdoses from opioids. And yet you are unable to keep housing, groceries and gas prices down.
This is my issue:
If I pick up a needle and inject myself with poison I would be sent to the psych ward in the nearest hospital for observation and be prescribed a tranquilizer to stabilize my mood. Because I attempted suicide I’d be classified as high-risk and be forced to attend weekly counselling sessions but you would not hand me my medication over for free, and you would not provide funding because working would “help me”. If I couldn’t find affordable housing and ended up living in a motel your government wouldn’t help, or if my income, which may be only 2 dollars above the “low income” cut off, wasn’t enough to feed my family and pay for my gas I’d be told to get another job.
However. If I injected heroin and sold my body to pay for a drug that is no different then poison, and ended up overdosing on the street, the tax payers money would provide funding for the medication I need to reverse my overdose. And if I told you I needed shelter cause I got knocked up and I’m addicted to drugs I have 100’s of options of housing, none of which requires any damage deposits, references or endless searching. If my welfare cheque was used to buy a new phone, or get my nails done and I needed money for food, I’d be handed gift cards or a cheque plus be able to visit the food bank.
So, we reward those people who are on the streets killing themselves, but make those who are killing themselves at work nickled and dimed for every cent they have.
Why are we enabling an entire population of drug addicts?
Maybe I’m heartless, and maybe I’m just being judgmental but I think we should let those people, the people who are injecting drugs into their veins, who are smoking drugs that make their reality different and who are taking licit and illicit non prescribed pills for “fun”, die. They shouldn’t get 100 chances to change, they should not be handed free money. We should not implement programs to offer free heroin to addicts, or methadone replacement therapy. We should let the people who are killing themselves die and save the money for the men and women who are sick with diseases they have NO control over. Or the people who need the assistance for real reasons.
We need to invest in mental health programs not addiction programs, we need to heal our society, not make drugs easier to get.
Lets work on the mental health of young people. Invest in safe places people can go to, free services for everyone, promote cultural healing. We have so many options, why would we use our resources on enabling addicts. If we heal the person we could heal so much of whats wrong with society. Without drug addicts there’d be no gangs, no drive by shootings, no senseless murders; without drug addicts drug dealers would have no choice but to stop selling and making drugs. Our streets would still be safe, kids could still be kids, life would go back to the way it was before substances broke our entire world.
Lets embrace life again, lets live in a way that makes the creator proud. Lets heal our minds, our childrens minds, our mother earth.