The Saints Of Mibba
Time.
I think the only problem I ever faced in my life is having too much time.
Too much time to question.
Too much time to analyze.
Too much time to think.
The thing that some people try to cling to so desperately, try to slow down until it barely exists at all, trying to cram things that should take hours into seconds because no matter what they do they never feel like there’s enough. Not enough time to see, hear, smell, touch, taste. Not enough time to live.
But I never felt like that.
Everything always seems to move slowly to me. The hours I spent alone as a child stretching out into what felt like days, filled up with scattered thought that at the time was nothing but characters of my imagination, people I thought about so much they became almost real to me.
As a teenager, my thoughts began to take on a different angle. I was no longer happy with everything around me, no longer happy believing every word that left my parents mouth, lies or otherwise.
I began to question everything, more specifically, people. I began to analyze the things they said, the way they acted, even the way they looked at me. I was always searching for the ulterior motive, because I became convinced their had to be one.
The hours I spent alone thinking brought me to the conclusion that people were terrible things. They lied, cheated, hurt and maimed, doing anything they could to achieve whatever they wanted, their motives always something selfish.
My parents had broken up a few years earlier, and my brother had left not long after that, not through his own will, but because my mother could no longer stand his presence. It was for the best, now I think about it, but at the time, it only escalated my distrust of people, especially my mother.
Fast forward a few years.
My social life became none existent. My friends eventually got tired of my overused excuses, being turned away time and time again until eventually they just stopped coming. For that I was glad.
I rarely went school, the very idea of spending 6 hours trapped in a building with so many other people making me nothing short of terrified. I began to suffer from panic attacks, some escalating to the point where I panicked myself into unconsciousness. Eventually, I stopped going altogether.
Soon, the only reason I was leaving the house was to go to the hospital, listen to the same doctors say the same things as they tried to find the reason for an illness that still stays with me today, and probably will for the rest of my life. I’ve come to accept that, it doesn’t bother me that much.
That was a six months ago.
Now? Now things are finally beginning to change. It wasn’t long after I stopped going to school that I started to actually come on Mibba, and since then things have been improving little by little. I’m still not going to school full time, I’m still not hanging out with my friends like I used to, I’m still not talking to my parents much, but things are looking up.
Mibba has helped me find the one thing I desperately needed; an outlet.
Somewhere to spill my jumbled thoughts where no one can judge me for them, because everyone is in the same boat. We’re the ones that understand each other when society refuses to, the ones who accept each and every person for who they truly are.
No one is perfect; no one pretends to be perfect. And really, that’s the beauty of it.
In 12 months time I will have finished school. I will be going to college and getting a job, learning to drive and doing all the things I’ve ever wanted to do.
And now I think about it, there really isn’t enough time, there never has been.
Too much time to question.
Too much time to analyze.
Too much time to think.
The thing that some people try to cling to so desperately, try to slow down until it barely exists at all, trying to cram things that should take hours into seconds because no matter what they do they never feel like there’s enough. Not enough time to see, hear, smell, touch, taste. Not enough time to live.
But I never felt like that.
Everything always seems to move slowly to me. The hours I spent alone as a child stretching out into what felt like days, filled up with scattered thought that at the time was nothing but characters of my imagination, people I thought about so much they became almost real to me.
As a teenager, my thoughts began to take on a different angle. I was no longer happy with everything around me, no longer happy believing every word that left my parents mouth, lies or otherwise.
I began to question everything, more specifically, people. I began to analyze the things they said, the way they acted, even the way they looked at me. I was always searching for the ulterior motive, because I became convinced their had to be one.
The hours I spent alone thinking brought me to the conclusion that people were terrible things. They lied, cheated, hurt and maimed, doing anything they could to achieve whatever they wanted, their motives always something selfish.
My parents had broken up a few years earlier, and my brother had left not long after that, not through his own will, but because my mother could no longer stand his presence. It was for the best, now I think about it, but at the time, it only escalated my distrust of people, especially my mother.
Fast forward a few years.
My social life became none existent. My friends eventually got tired of my overused excuses, being turned away time and time again until eventually they just stopped coming. For that I was glad.
I rarely went school, the very idea of spending 6 hours trapped in a building with so many other people making me nothing short of terrified. I began to suffer from panic attacks, some escalating to the point where I panicked myself into unconsciousness. Eventually, I stopped going altogether.
Soon, the only reason I was leaving the house was to go to the hospital, listen to the same doctors say the same things as they tried to find the reason for an illness that still stays with me today, and probably will for the rest of my life. I’ve come to accept that, it doesn’t bother me that much.
That was a six months ago.
Now? Now things are finally beginning to change. It wasn’t long after I stopped going to school that I started to actually come on Mibba, and since then things have been improving little by little. I’m still not going to school full time, I’m still not hanging out with my friends like I used to, I’m still not talking to my parents much, but things are looking up.
Mibba has helped me find the one thing I desperately needed; an outlet.
Somewhere to spill my jumbled thoughts where no one can judge me for them, because everyone is in the same boat. We’re the ones that understand each other when society refuses to, the ones who accept each and every person for who they truly are.
No one is perfect; no one pretends to be perfect. And really, that’s the beauty of it.
In 12 months time I will have finished school. I will be going to college and getting a job, learning to drive and doing all the things I’ve ever wanted to do.
And now I think about it, there really isn’t enough time, there never has been.
♠ ♠ ♠
by skank.