2014-06-24 23:46:47 (UTC)

Washed Walls

"Last Hope" by Paramore

[I heard this song for the first time in concert, it was amazing and beautiful]

Wednesday June 25, 2014 12:50 AM

Tomorrow (or later today?...), I'll document the magic I felt at the Montemour concert a couple hours ago but for now, I need to remember something.

At the concert, I saw someone I knew a long time ago. I met her in AIOP (the outpatient program after I left the hospital).

She was memorable for three reasons:

1. She had alopecia, the only person I've met in real life with that (it's where you can't grow hair)

2. She was confident and funny and amazing. That doesn't seem so original, but she was unique in a way I can't describe.

3. She once told me that she loved my taste in books (I had been reading J.D. Salinger and Kurt Vonnegut at that time).

I didn't say hello. I had three chances, but I was cowardly. I didn't think she'd recognize me since I don't wear glasses anymore unless I'm forced to. I made eye contact with her. No flicker of recognition. Nothing. Anyhow, in the back of mind, I started thinking about those terrible times.

I climbed into my loft bed a few minutes ago and saw a message written in chalk on the wall. I have chalk in my room because I like drawing and writing things on the walls.

It said something like, "I'm here for you whenever you need it -Sam."

That reminded me of this fit I had a few months ago.

I looked around my room and read all the things I wrote as soon as I left the hospital. Inspirational quotes, stay strong, the hospital's logo. I had a Catcher In The Rye quote written, names of bands I loved, lyrics I loved, and a quote from "The Help" that Caroline wrote after my second hospitalization.

I don't know exactly what I had been feeling. I think I felt dirty, maybe ashamed. I felt crammed full of stuff I didn't use anymore.

I just remember that all of the sudden, I hated it all.

All those stupid, useless (useless to ME, not to everyone) quotes and things were only reminders of the bad things I did for selfish reasons.

At some point, it felt less like I had depression and more like depression had me (sorry if that sounds cliche in a way).

I was so obsessed with staying depressed. I couldn't tell how I felt, I couldn't understand what was going on and I thought if I was just always depressed, my life would improve. I'd stop having fickle feelings and moods. My friends would love me again.

Depression didn't solve that but I couldn't shake it off once it was there.

Anyway, I lost what made me who I was to make room for all that sadness. I lost it all.

The writing on the wall (reminds me of Pink Floyd)(and by the way, this isn't an idiom. I don't mean writing on the wall as in pre-determined future, I mean literal writing on the wall) held all my shame and all my secrets.

I cleaned my room that day and angrily wiped away all the chalk with a wet washcloth. I remember how empty the room looked without words crowding every corner. There's only one place I didn't erase, the piece of wall behind a collage I made with the names of every person I met in the psych hospital.

I think about that now and then because I know that I'm gonna have to do that again. Wash the walls. Maybe not these walls that I currently have, but the walls in my mind. If I can't break them down yet, why not temporarily wash away all the reasons they even stand?

This depression is different from the "big dog" that attacked me a couple years back. It feels temporary. It's there but it hasn't penetrated me deeply enough to make a lasting impact, unless you count my seventeen fresh scars.

Sorry to be depressing and kind of blegh, I gotta go, I'm tired. GOODNIGHT, I LOVE YOU ALL WITH A FIERY PASSION, YOUR DETAILS MAKE YOU ENDLESSLY FASCINATING.

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