What I Am

My elbows were balanced on the sharp edge of the computer desk, and I didn’t care that it was digging into me, leaving angry red welts. My hands gripped my hair, which was rat-tailed due to not being washed for several weeks, and tangled from not being brushed for much longer. What was the point, anyway? It’s not like anyone saw me, as I sat hunched over this computer for eighteen hours a day, only feeling better about myself by trolling and generally causing mayhem.

I reached in front of me and picked up the half-empty glass, taking a large gulp. The bitter taste of the whiskey mixed in with the Coke made me wince, but I liked the warm, fuzzy feeling that took over my brain when I was drunk. It made me feel like everything would be all right. It made me feel as though I could take on the world, and it distorted my perception of things. I could believe that I wasn’t depressed. I could believe that I hadn’t been up for three days straight, entirely on the internet. I could believe my mother was sleeping upstairs, not living in a completely different town after leaving my father. I could believe that my grades were as high as they used to be, and that I had a great social life, and that I wasn’t at school because it was the summer, not because I was too mentally unstable to attend.

I could believe all of that when I was drunk. I could believe that I was OK. I didn’t have to hate myself, although of course, deep down, I still did. I hated the way I was sitting here, at my computer, at half past four in the morning, getting drunk and crying over what a pathetic failure I was. I hated myself for ruining my father’s life – if I wasn’t such a depressed little loser, my mother would never have left. It sounds insane, but of course, I believed it.

To be honest, looking back, I don’t understand how I could have allowed myself to get into such a state. For a long time, I have struggled with the fact that I let myself become a total hermit, someone who lurked in their house, not talking to anyone, not even washing. It was embarrassing, you know? But I guess there comes a time where a person has to face what has happened to them.

Of course, I won’t bore you with the details. What happened was I began to suffer from depression which got steadily worse, my parents separated, my mother came down with the same mental illness, and everything that I had felt secure in – my family, my school, my own mind – was tainted, ruined, destroyed.

For a long time I have been struggling with this, and for a long time I haven’t wanted to think about the last two years. It happened so gradually, that I didn’t even realize. Before I knew it, my life was gone. I was still alive, I was still breathing and my heart was still beating, but I was totally dead inside. I didn’t want to be breathing. I wanted to be dead on the outside, too, because I was such a failure and a pathetic excuse for a human being.

But now ... now things are different, and this is why I am writing this. As I said before, there comes a certain point in everyone’s life where they have to face their demons, and that is what I have decided to do. So I turn, and I face my past, and I acknowledge absolutely everything that happened. I accept that I was sick. I accept that my mother was sick. I accept the fact she left. I accept the fact that, for a brief time, I was a blatant alcoholic. I accept the fact I hated myself. I accept the fact that caused myself pain – giving myself friction burns, depriving myself of food and sleep, drinking too much alcohol, smoking like a chimney. I accept the fact that it was a subconscious punishment for the way I felt. I accept the fact that one day, I went upstairs and I wrote out my suicide note. I accept the fact I wanted to die, and most importantly, I accept the fact that I didn’t care about who I left behind.

At this precise moment in time, I accept the fact that I sound like a total, unbelievable bitch. But here’s the thing that I have only just accepted: I am not. This was not my fault. I am only human. I was sick, and now I am better. I have forgiven my family for things they have done and said and I know and understand that they have forgiven me.

I guess what I’m trying to say is that the messy, drunk girl sitting at her computer crying over YouTube songs was not me. She was me in body, but in mind and soul, she was someone totally different. This is me now – I’m a writer, a sister, a daughter, a friend, a musician, a recovered alcoholic, and I like to think that I am no longer classified as “insane”.

But hey, even if I am, I can’t say I’m bothered. The biggest thing I’ve accepted is that I’m me. For all my faults and for all my problems, I’m still me, and all I can do is learn. I’m only human, after all.