The invulnerability in vulnerability

As I was writing the post “The Power in Vulnerability,” I started to question why we perceive certain things as making ourselves vulnerable. I recall writing this, Sometimes I question myself as to why I find it difficult to be vulnerable, to show a little emotion, to tell people I’m not doing okay and I’ve concluded it’s because of this terrible thing named pride. And by pride I mean our ego. We’re so afraid of rejection and of getting hurt (which is really just our ego anyway), that we deny ourselves opportunities to make connections with others, or perhaps we’ve made a connection but now we’re preventing the connection from strengthening out of fear of getting “too close”. Why do we have to perceive being vulnerable as a risk? If someone doesn’t respond to what we’ve said, we perceive it as rejection. But what if being vulnerable was the norm; if we merely wore our externalized emotions with no attachment to the outcome?

So I ask again, why do we feel obligated to associate vulnerability with risk, pain, and suffering? Why do we need to guard our heart? I have always struggled with this quote from Proverbs 4:23, “Above all else, guard you heart, for everything you do flows from it.” Again, what is there to guard? Why do we perceive our life story, our history, our experiences, our feelings as something so private that sharing them might end up hurting us? How can those things actually hurt us? And the answer, they can’t. It’s not our story or our experiences or our feelings that hurt us. Nor is it the sharing that hurts us. It’s our expectations of the response that hurts us. Often when we open up to someone, we consider it to be a significant event – we are choosing to share some of the most intimately painful events of our lives with this potential stranger. But why do we have to consider that a risk? Since when was being honest about things that are facts a risk? This thing happened in your past. This thing hurt you. Okay. Can you change it? Can you rewrite history? No. It is what it is. The key here is that it is in the past. It happened. It is not still happening. Reluctance to discuss what happened though, allows that pain to keep happening. It makes the past present.

These thoughts were inspired by the following quote from The Power of Now, “Only through the letting go of resistance, through becoming “vulnerable,” can you discover your true and essential invulnerability.” Resistance means a reluctance to accept what is. All situations are what they are. Does that mean you can’t change them? No. Does that mean you need to be passive in your life? Not at all. You can still be proactive and instigate change, but it’s about accepting the situation for what it is and letting go of your expectations of what you thought it might be or what you wanted it to be.

I have often been told that I make myself too vulnerable. But I’ve frequently questioned how? I live with my heart on my sleeve, yes. And I also frequently communicate how I feel. But how does that make me susceptible to getting hurt? If I get hurt, doesn’t that have more to do with my expectations of the response than it does with my actual actions? Take my post, “A love letter of sorts,” I made myself extremely “vulnerable” in that post. I openly communicated how much this individual means to me. Now I didn’t really get a response from this individual, which is more than okay, but others would perceive that as rejection. Here I am presenting my feelings and they weren’t necessarily validated. But why did they need to be? Isn’t it validation enough that I merely felt what I was feeling? Why do I need external validation? And the truth is, I don’t. You don’t, either. The only reason I might perceive this as rejection is if I took the lack of response personally. If I was attached to a certain response. If I wanted a certain response. All of that though, is the ego. That’s the ego needing validation. Without the validation, the ego is hurt. Bruised. The ego takes it personally. The ego suffers. When in reality, the ego thrives off of pain and suffering because that’s what strengthens it. But the ego is not you. The ego is unconscious. You, though, are conscious.

I had a conversation the other day with someone whom I have hurt in the past when I cut off ties in attempt to move on and heal. I was asking questions about how she was doing, about her family, if she was okay, and she reciprocated by asking me the same. I recall openly discussing the struggles I was presently facing with staying in America, returning to soccer, and of missing an individual. When I asked her the same questions though, I was answered with a somewhat superficial response. To which I responded, do you feel as though you can’t talk to me about this because I have burnt the bridge of open communication? And her answer was yes. Because I had hurt this individual, she no longer entrusted me with her feelings. We were no longer close and so I was seemingly not deserving of open responses. To which I entirely understand and accept. This individual has evident fear of getting hurt again, fear of opening up and having me leave again, and the thought of that pain is unbearable. And to overcome that fear would be a risk. A risk she was not willing to take. A risk that was self-perpetuating. But I started to question, what is it about one’s life, one’s feelings, one’s experiences that holds so much power? The answer? The power we unconsciously give them. They don’t actually hold any power. I have struggled to understand how being open about my past and my experiences could potentially hurt me, how honesty is considered vulnerable and how being vulnerable means that you could get hurt. The only thing that could potentially hurt me is, as I’ve said, my expectations. One of the primary teachings in Buddhism is that, “Expectations are the root of all suffering.” Perhaps because I am entirely open with everyone in my life, I do not fear one individual leaving, because I have confidence in knowing I will just open up to the next person who enters my life. But I acknowledge many people don’t operate like this. Many people have trust issues. Who doesn’t have trust issues though? Who hasn’t been hurt by someone they cared about? We all have. That’s a fact. Are you going to continue living your life in fear that you might be hurt again? That fear is merely your ego. It feeds off of it. Your ego can’t survive without fear. Your ego also can’t survive without pain. Once you realise that your past really doesn’t hold any power over you and that the only power it holds is because of your self-created ego, you will be free of that pain. Once you accept the past for what it was and reflect in a conscious, aware manner, the past will not cause you to suffer in the present.

I made myself “vulnerable” to two other people recently. These were two individuals who have been exceptional role models in my life. Mentors. People I highly respected. But for reasons I cannot quite understand, and have accepted that I won’t understand, communication ceased. I reached out to them. I wrote one of them a letter communicating my struggle to understand what happened, my acceptance of not being able to understand, and communicated how much this individual has shaped the way in which I live my life. I communicated that I missed her and I missed our interactions and that I would love to reconnect. I also communicated that my feelings towards her were independent of her response to this letter. A response that I never received. A response I also received from the other individual I reached out to. Now, many would perceive this as a clear rejection. I made myself “vulnerable” by communicating how I felt, how much this individual means to me, and by asking to catch up, and none of this was acknowledged nor validated. I could take this personally and internalise and question whether it’s a reflection of my worth. But it’s not. Their response is completely independent of me as a person. I am not hurt nor am I disappointed – I spoke openly about how I was feeling and was not attached or expecting any kind of response. I didn’t need validation. I don’t need validation. I received it within myself because I was feeling it. If I died tomorrow, I would be at peace knowing I communicated all that was on my heart. I communicated without fear. Without expectation. And in a way that made me feel invulnerable. My feelings are what they are. My past is what it is. I accept them wholeheartedly. The only power they hold is the power I give them. And that power comes from unconsciousness. From my ego. But I don’t want to suffer. I don’t want to be distrusting of others. I don’t want to confine my life to the narrow boundaries of “comfort”. I want to pledge fully into the world of “vulnerability.” Into a world where I can and will speak openly about my past and my present. A world where I am entirely my authentic self without fear of self-perceived rejection. A world where vulnerability is merely true invulnerability.

So I challenge you to speak openly. To discuss your past. To communicate your feelings. To do so in a way that makes you feel invulnerable. To realise that these are all just things, facts almost, and the only power they have is the power you give them. Communicate in a way that is independent of external responses, void of attachment from external validation. Validate yourself. And let go of the resistance to what is. I hope you find the invulnerability that exists just below the surface of vulnerability, below the surface of the ego, and within the realms of consciousness.

Confronting fears

I’m sitting here currently crying. Earlier today I found out that the women’s premier soccer league (WPSL) in America will be back in action this year. Try outs are approaching rapidly, May 6th and May 7th for the Atlanta Silverbacks. This is the team that my former assistant coach and role model played for and captained for numerous years. I’m ecstatic. Especially given that I read earlier in the year that there wouldn’t be a W-league because there wasn’t enough funding for it. A little perspective, since I was about 13 or 14, I have dreamed of playing W-league. In Australia or in America, I didn’t really care. I also had dreams to play for my country, and I had a glimpse of that when I was 16 and 17, but after some strokes of misfortune and doing both my knees as well as moving to America, I made my goals a little more realistic by aiming to simply play W-league.

So why am I crying? Perhaps it is partially due to me about to start my period, but I think it’s more than that. I’m reliving fears that I have ignorantly put aside because I haven’t needed to confront them. But with the prospect of playing WPSL and my first individual session after doing my second knee in the morning, I now need to confront them. It’s not so much the fear of re-tearing my anterior cruciate ligament (ACL) that debilitates me, but the fear of what I lost and what I went through as a result of doing my second ACL that debilitates me. Frightens me. Paralyses me. Tearing an ACL is traumatic. Particularly if you lose something that was a central part of who you are. And soccer was for me. It still is, but I’ve had to learn to put that part of me aside in order to salvage my emotional sanity.

I remember when I was institutionalised and the psychiatrist I saw diagnosed me as suffering from “grief” – the loss of soccer. Granted to me, that was a very basic and misunderstood interpretation of what I was experiencing because it was more than just grief of a sport that I loved. It was a grief of myself. It was a grief of all my hopes, dreams, and expectations. All of that was shattered the moment I heard that dreaded pop. Every athlete’s worst nightmare. Especially if it makes you feel like you’re experiencing déjà vu.

I lost everything that day. September 7th 2014, at 1:19p.m. to be exact. I was coming back from a mild right ankle sprain in which I was cleared and felt okay to play. I had played about 20 minutes during the Friday night game and felt great. That morning though, I started my period. I intend to talk about this experience in more depth in a future post, but for now, I’ll just state that emotionally, I was not there. Something had happened a week prior that pushed me over the edge emotionally. I was not in a good head space. And given that I started my period that morning, I was at a higher risk of tearing my ACL. As I was getting my ankle taped for the game, I recall my trainer stating, “Now please, no more injuries today.” For whatever reason, my mind immediately thought: ACL. Was it a self-fulfilling prophecy? Was it because of my emotional instability? Was it because of my period? Was it simply just a matter of time before I did my second one? My doctor apparently says yes to that last question. The truth is, none of those questions matter. Because it happened. I tore it. All of my hopes, dreams, and expectations for my senior year vanished in a split second. And not just my hopes, dreams, and expectations either, everyone else’s hopes, dreams, and expectations for me vanished in that moment too. Imagine investing your entire life; emotional, physical, and psychological wellbeing into a team and sport only to have it stripped away from you because of one mere motion with your body. A motion you have performed thousands of times before with no repercussion, yet on this day, your ACL decided to tear completely in two. On this day, your heart broke. Actually, I feel like that’s an understatement. It shattered. Into tiny, unrecognisable fragments. And then it froze. Became numb. And that’s what you called living for the next six months until you considered taking your own life. Until you had to physically inflict harm on yourself just to feel again. Yeah, that’s what it was like to tear my ACL for the second time.

So where does that leave me now? For the past 19.5 months since tearing my ACL, I have lived a naive, ignorant dream. For a period, I believed that I would never play soccer again. And, given what I just shared, could you blame me? I was 21 years old and I had now done both of my knees. Would I even be able to play again? Would I ever recover from this physically? Mentally? Emotionally? I didn’t know. I still don’t know. But I’m starting to challenge those fears because I’m having to. To complicate things a little more, my recovery wasn’t smooth. Still isn’t smooth. You see, I had a quad graft on both of my knees. On my first one, I suffered excruciating tendinitis for about 7 months, but it was isolated to the two inches of my scar. I pushed through the pain and eventually made my comeback game 11 months post-surgery. For my second one however, I am suffering from tendonopathy (apparently that’s an interchangeable word for tendinitis) except this time, it’s not isolated to just my scar. It’s my entire quad. And it’s persisted for the past year. I gave up running last August because it was too painful. Any time I try to demonstrate something to my kids that I coach, I clench at my quad in agony. It feels like an acute burn. It’s as though my leg is being ripped open. The pain eventually subsides, and then I’m just left with a feeling of a bruised quad for the next day or so. No big deal, right? Pain is temporary, right? Albeit true, this pain has prohibited me from participating in activities I enjoy; running, lifting, tennis, soccer, and coaching. I again, for numerous months, questioned whether or not I would ever be able to run again without pain. And according to my physical therapist over here in the US, she suspected not. Not a very comforting thought, especially given the nature and degree of the pain.

Fortunately, there is a silver lining. And I found that a few weeks ago at my coaching course. True to tendons, once my quad tendon is warmed up, the pain subsides. It’s the warming up, however, that is excruciating. At this coaching course, I had the first real glimpse of playing soccer again. I was playing with some very talented individuals and one who used to play for Kennesaw State University’s in-state rival, Mercer. We got talking and she is part of a rec team that was looking for a few extra players. I was dancing internally. YES! Please! Sign me up! I have been yearning to play the sport I so desperately love ever since doing my knee, but I have lacked the motivation to truly recover and pursue it. And I also wasn’t aware of any leagues here in America and that was a strong motivating force behind me considering moving back to Adelaide. Now, with the prospect of WPSL, that changes things a little bit.

So I have a goal. And I have the motivation. What is stopping me? Why am I so upset? Because I’m scared. I’m not scared of not being good enough. I realise and accept that there’s a big abyss between where I finished playing and where I’m at now. I can’t trick physiology. I can’t make up for the 17.5 months I’ve lost since surgery. I learnt that the hard way after receiving a stress fracture (that completely separated after playing on it) after my first ACL. So my performance and ability doesn’t scare me, okay, great. So what is it then that I am so afraid of? Ultimately, yeah, I am afraid of doing my knees again. Okay, that's an understatement. I'm fucking petrified. I not only have to worry about one knee now, but two. I haven’t just lost one year of my soccer playing career, but almost three due to just two injuries. I lost more than just time though. I lost a part of me. I lost a part of my game that will take years to rebuild. A part of my game that made me, me. A part of my game that you can’t teach. A part of my game that got me my starting 11 position. And that part of me was fearlessness. Because when I return, I will be afraid. I will be scared. And I will have fear. I can convince myself consciously that I’m not afraid. But I’m lying. Subconsciously or consciously, I’m scared that I’m going to do my knees again. I think what contributes to this fear is also the lack of organised preparation to return to activity. I haven’t done a lot of plyometrics in controlled conditions. I haven’t done the cutting or practices in a controlled environment, either. And that lack of preparation plays on me unconsciously. My egoic mind convinces me that enough time has surpassed and I have done significant strength training and rehab with my physical therapist, but again, my mind cannot trick physiology or preparation and my subconscious knows that. This can be fixed though, and I can work on plyometrics, cutting, and practices in a controlled environment and I have every intention to do so. But my fear still persists. Why?

We’re often told to not be governed by fear and that fear inhibits us from taking risks and that is true. I am not denying that. But I also know this fear is warranted. Much like you can’t trick physiology, you also can’t trick learning and behaviour, particularly classical conditioning. I have been conditioned to fear tearing my ACL. Particularly because the event was so traumatic. And not just the event, but the aftermath too. Naturally then, the fear response is intense. The only way to eradicate this fear? Through the process of extinction. Through confronting them. Through training. Through practicing. Through playing again. Through successfully making my first tackle and surviving. Through landing on my left leg with my body still intact. Through time. And through patience. I have to be gentle with myself in this process, and I am aware of that. I also know that it is okay to have fear. And to have doubt. All of that is a necessary component of recovery. Without them, I’d probably be a sociopath. This post doesn’t have a resolution, nor was it intended to. This is just me communicating in real-time, what I am experiencing. So with my first individual session in the morning, I ask that you wish me good luck. In the meantime, I vouch to be gentle with myself and accept my fears to be a necessary component of my recovery. As necessary as surgery itself.

The precursor to "The Beauty in Pain"

This topic has been on my heart a lot since initiating this blog. I have frequently found myself wanting to write about my experiences, but have seemingly lacked the gentle intimacy needed to convey them. As I have just signed up to participate in the Out of Darkness Overnight Walk in San Francisco in May, I thought it timely to write about what happened leading up to my near suicidal experience on February 15th. Before I continue, this walk is a fundraiser to raise money for suicide awareness. All individuals are welcome – whether you are a survivor yourself or you’ve lost a family member or a friend to suicide, or you just simply support the cause, all members are welcome to participate. Here is the link to my donor page. ​ http://theovernight.donordrive.com/index.cfm?fuseaction=donorDrive.participant&participantID=19973

So it was Thursday the 12th of February when it all sort of began. Actually, I lied. This began a long time ago, probably when I tore my second ACL. A lot happened in between that moment and the 12th of February, like me spending New Years in Ridgeview (a mental institution), tried and failed medication, and many, many conflicts. Rachel and I were in a rocky, unstable place. We were in a vicious, destructive, and toxic cycle – we would make up during the week, but then we were fighting by the weekend. And it wasn’t the kind of yelling or physical fights, it was passive-aggressive fights. Emotionally abusive. Probably me more than her if I’m being entirely honest. Anyhow. This Thursday morning I had asked Rachel if she could please pick me up from the autoshop before class because I wanted to get my clutch checked out. She agreed and we decided that I would need to leave the house by 7:30 so that she could be leaving for class by 8. 7:32 rolls around and I haven’t left mine yet. But the reason, I think, is a justified one. Before leaving the house, all I did was get changed and make Rachel breakfast in bed, coffee, and make her lunch for the day. So, I was running a little late, yes, but only because I was trying to be a thoughtful and loving girlfriend. Apparently that backfired. “Why haven’t you left yet?” … Shocked and pretty hurt, particularly by the accusatory tone, I responded, “I’m sorry, I was making you breakfast, coffee, and lunch for the day…I’m leaving now.” I left mine shortly after and was pretty disappointed. I was really trying to be considerate given that I knew she wouldn’t have time during the day to go buy herself lunch. I got to the autoshop and the guy who usually checks clutches wasn’t working that day, so I immediately called Rachel and informed her that she didn’t need to pick me up…except she didn’t answer her phone. Ugh. Okay. So I texted her. No response. As I’m driving home, I saw her car driving in the opposite direction. I did a quick U-turn and walked up to her window. I’m frustrated. I snap. “If you just answered your phone you would know that you didn’t have to pick me up.” I had so much spite, hurt, and frustration in my voice and naturally, Rachel didn’t take to that very well.

Throughout the rest of the day, communication was tense between us. Something that wasn’t very compatible between Rachel and I is that Rachel is a distancer and I’m a pursuer. When things were tense, I wanted to fix them. But for Rachel, she wanted to avoid them. Not a very constructive combination when attempting to resolve issues is it? Given this personality trait, Rachel decided that she was probably going to stay at her friend’s place that night because she really didn’t like the way I spoke to her. And, rightfully so. But for me, staying out and avoiding the issue isn’t really resolving anything. I tried to respect what she had said and decided to take 45 minutes to myself in Panera after coaching that night. I even left my phone in the car and read a book (people can do that these days?!). When I got back to my car, I felt relaxed, calm, and very level-headed. Until I checked my phone. I had numerous missed calls and voicemails. Some from my roommate and then some from an unknown number. I checked the voicemails. They were from ADT security. My alarm had gone off and the police had been called. Whatever “zen” I had garnered during my time at Panera had vanished almost spontaneously. I was freaking out. Has someone broken into my house? Is someone still there? Do they have a gun? I texted Rachel and told her that the police are at my house because my alarm went off and no one was home. I pulled up to my place and there weren’t any police cars. Have the police come and gone already? Is it safe to enter my house? How do I know there’s no one in there? My heart was racing. What do I do? I was scared. I didn’t want to enter my house given the unknown circumstances I could potentially be walking in to. Nothing from Rachel. I call ADT and I ask them if it’s safe to proceed. I grab an umbrella out of my trunk and remain on the phone with them as I entered my house and checked my surroundings. Everything seems okay except for the hallway light that is on. I’m scared to walk up the stairs, but I garner the courage given that I was still on the phone to ADT. All clear. Phew. I can breathe. Rachel texts me: “Are the police still there?” I respond and say “No they came and left because I think it was a false alarm.” I check the back door though and it looked like someone had tried to jam it open. Maybe it wasn’t a false alarm after all. Rachel: “Okay. Glad you’re safe.” And that was it. No offer to come home (which is where she had lived for 10 months). No offer to support me. No offer to make sure I was okay. I was hurt. Was I being unreasonable to expect my girlfriend to come home when she found out that my house had potentially been broken into? If roles were reversed, I would not have hesitated to forget whatever fight we were in to offer my support during this potentially scary time. But Rachel wasn’t me. And Rachel didn’t respond to situations the same way I did. I was once again, extremely hurt by her actions, or more so, inactions. And I conveyed that in my texts. Rachel was staying at her friend’s so in complete and utter spite I text her stating, “i hope you know i’m not sleeping alone tonight either.” I threatened infidelity. That’s what that text was. Did I intend to do that? Yes, I did. Did I have intentions to act on it? No, not at all. If anything, I was just referring to sleeping with Simba, my cat. But the truth is, I intended to hurt her with that message. And I did. To no surprise, Rachel retreated. She didn’t fight back. I didn’t get the reaction I was seeking, I got nothing.

An entire day went by and I hadn’t heard anything from her. I caught up with a friend that Friday night and we went out to Mazzy’s to play pool. I left my phone in the car because of the anxiety it gave me. I was hoping that Rachel would text me and every time I checked my phone and there wasn’t a message, I was a little more crushed. Disappointed. Shattered. I smoked a cigarette or two because why not? Fuck it. Fuck my situation. I was hurt and I was doing whatever I could to try and get a reaction. To try and get someone to notice how much I was hurting. My friend and I played until it was after midnight. Valentine’s Day. I joked with my friend that I’m sure Rachel hasn’t even text me despite me leaving my phone for four hours. I wasn’t really joking. I was hurting. I was hoping. And I, was right. Rachel didn’t text me. So I text her. “i know things aren’t very good between us right now, but i want you to know i still love you. happy valentine’s day.” No reply. Rachel didn’t reply until Saturday night around 6pm-ish. The entire Saturday I was hurting. Distraught. I realised that it’s more painful to be with someone on Valentine ’s Day who doesn’t want to be with you than it is to just be alone. At least when you’re single you’re not holding on to hope that someone will contact you or spend the day with you. So Rachel and I exchanged a few texts. I apologised profusely for my actions and for what I said. I felt terrible. I wanted physical comfort. I needed physical comfort. That was my sanctuary: physical presence. I started drinking that night. I drank to the point of throwing up. I was in agony. My heart was breaking. I felt rejected. Depleted. Crushed. I begged Rachel to please come home and see me. I was making myself entirely vulnerable because I needed her. I wasn’t doing okay and I wanted my girlfriend there to comfort me. She said that she was too tired and that she would see me tomorrow. To which I responded: “if i make it til then”. Her response: “please, just wait until you see me one more time.” Wait until I see you one more time, and then what? And then I can kill myself? I didn’t reply. And intentionally so. I was desperately crying out for help. My text alluded to suicide. And I wanted her to know that’s what I was thinking about. I wanted her to care enough to come home, to show me that I meant something. That she was scared I might actually go through with it. But she didn’t. She stayed out. I wrote this that night:

a valentine’s day poem

my heart breaks at the thought

of you leaving me forever

for when you entered my life

you became my purpose.

my oxygen.

my existence.

you stole my heart, you stole my love

now, you might steal my life.

Sunday rolled around and I had coaching all day again. Before I left that day, I left a journal entry on my bed from when I was in Ridgeview and a note accompanied with it. The journal entry, written one and a half months prior, was me talking about how much I love this girl. How I’m going to marry her one day. How beautiful she is. The note, however, stated this: “I’m too hurt by your absence, I’m too far gone.” I was hoping, because Rachel hadn’t heard from me, that she would be worried and would come by the house to check on me. So I left both of those there. Coaching came and went and I hadn’t heard anything from her. I drove home hoping to find her black Mazda in my driveway, but there was nothing. She hadn’t been by to check on me. My heart broke a little more. Constant disappointment, that’s what I felt. I couldn’t trust myself to be in the house without self-harming in some way. So I took my laptop, paper, and some pens and went to McDonalds just up the road. I sat there and watched a couple of episodes of Gossip Girl, still not having heard anything from Rachel. I guess she didn’t take my suicide threat seriously. Then I had a light bulb moment. I was going to write her a letter. So I did. And this is what I wrote.

Let’s go back to the beginning when our feelings were pure, uncomplicated, and uncontrollably real. I had such a fascination with you; you were a fantasy. Someone I could only dream of being with. Someone I did dream of being with. That feeling has never faded. I’m still in awe that you’re by my side. I still have dreams of being with you when we’re apart. It’s my subconscious telling me that I was always supposed to be with you. From the moment I met you, I was connected to you. Not in a superficial way either, but deeply. A soul-like connection. Our time was not then to pursue a relationship. And you might be thinking our time is not now, either, but that couldn’t be further from the truth. Just imagine the people we will be, imagine the couple we will be, when we get through this. I say when and not if because I have every confidence that we are going to get through this. It’s going to be hard. It’s going to be exceptionally hard. And we’re going to want to quit. And we’re going to have to fight for it, every day. But I want that because I want you. I want you by my side, then, now, and in the future. You’ve become my purpose for living. You’ve become my oxygen. You have always been everything to me, but right now I am dependent on you. Albeit as unhealthy as that is, it is only temporary. I lost a big part of me; I lost the only other thing I was dependent on and it’s going to take me a little bit to regain my independence – I need to find something else; I need to find myself.

Separation, you say, is the solution for me in order to find myself and save yourself. But I fear that we will grow apart. Fear that we’ll find ourselves again, but it won’t be with each other. Apart from losing you, that is my biggest fear. And the biggest reason I don’t want to be away from you.

I need work. I’ve been saying that for a while now and I have meant it for a while. A few dead ends with therapists and medication and I didn’t make much progress. My support system is larger now. I don’t just have you, I have others too, but none of them are you. None of them can fill me like you fill me. They’re like my nitrogen; although the dominant element in air and although I am permanently surrounded by them, I can’t use them to breathe.Things have to change, I know that. It would be ignorant to think we can keep living like this because we aren’t living. I’m destroying you which in turn is destroying me. The guilt, the shame, the self-loathing; it’s all consuming me from the inside out. I’m doing things I was adamant I would never do just to numb the pain. Although your absence is undesirable, it’s not what is destroying me and leading to my destruction – that’s on me and that’s because your absence is caused by me. I’m not only destroying you, I’m destroying a part of me because that’s what you are. That’s what you’ve become. You’ve become my greatest memories, you’ve become my life ambitions, you’ve become neurons in my brain, you’ve become a part of my amygdala and my hypthothalamus (I know you like it when I talk dirty). I live and breathe to inhale you, your scent, your unconditional love, and your beautiful soul. I want all of you, now, forever, and always.

I can’t promise my wellbeing or predict my behavior, and that scares you. Shit, it scares me too. I hate being unpredictable. Although there’s a certain sense of excitement from unpredictability, there’s a sense of danger too. I need to find a healthier coping mechanism, one that doesn’t destroy you and cause you to wall up and to destroy your vulnerability or desire to be with me. I want you to feel safe with me; I need you to feel safe with me. I want you to have a home with me like I have with you.

I’m working on me, that I can promise. And I promise to never stop trying to be a better me. My belief in a better us is the only thing still keeping me alive. I will never forgive myself if I ever did anything to completely destroy you or us. Never. I’ve forgiven myself for last week and my heartbreaking words, but I haven’t forgotten. My phone is toxic and I need to rid myself of it. I need to better myself without technology. I need to better myself without expectations. I need to better myself without dependence.

In the words of Stephanie, I hope you can see this, see what we are going through as a season. A season that is going to make a beautiful story out of you, out of me, out of us. A season that is temporary. Just imagine reflecting on our survival and triumph through this season. I can see it. Only because I’ve never lost sight of the future and the plans I have with you. I refuse to give up and I refuse to stop fighting for that future. Better is possible and better will be obtained. Wounds will scar and scars will fade. But scars will always tell the story of resilience, of strength, of love, and of perseverance.

This season will end, but we will not. A promise I will keep, with only your approval.

I poured everything I had left of me into that letter. I made myself vulnerably raw. This was it. This would either make me, or break me. I needed to give this to Rachel right now. So I texted her at 9:15p.m. Sunday night: “where are you?” No reply. I called her. No answer. “please rachel i need to give you something”. No reply. I called her again. No answer. “please rachel tell me where you are.” No reply. I called her once more. No answer. I texted her best friend. “hey is rachel with you?” No reply. I called her friend. No answer. “please rachel i need to see you. my life depends on it.” No reply. I checked Facebook and I saw that her friend was online. Something inside me snapped. I broke. She sees that I’ve been texting her and she’s ignoring my calls. She doesn’t care. I can’t do this anymore. Panic. Rage. Hurt. I added one more line to the note I left on my bed: “But you ended me.” I left the note, I left my phone, I left my house. Tears poured down my face. I couldn’t spend one more minute inside that house without seriously harming myself. I couldn’t trust myself. I couldn’t trust life. I had been hurt too much. I was in too much pain. I just wanted to end it all. I needed to end it all. This suffering, it was too much. The only way I could survive and escape this pain was to take my own life. And that’s what my brain told me to do. End it. End the suffering. Escape it all. Please help me. I can’t do this anymore. Please. Somehow I made it to Stephanie’s house. Seemingly in once piece, but completely broken. I was a mess. Uncontrollably crying. Uncontrollably shaking. Uncontrollably anxious. End it for me. Please. Take this pain away. Somehow I composed myself enough to drive back to Ida’s apartment on campus. But she wasn’t there. I climbed through the window and left a note on her desk because I didn’t have my phone. “I’m not okay but I’m going to my doctor’s house.” So I drove to my doctor’s house. I showed up at midnight. At first, I had my hoodie on and then realised that probably wasn’t a smart thing to do, ring someone’s doorbell at midnight with your face covered up. My doctor answered the door, “Oh thank God. We were all so worried about you.” We? I was back to reality. For the past two hours, I had thought of nothing else other than surviving. I didn’t consider anyone else. I didn’t think anyone else was worried or was looking for me. I didn’t think there was a world outside of my desire to survive. But I did. And I made it through the night. Little did I know the damage I left in my wake. The irreversible damage.

Looking back, I learnt so much from this experience. Rachel left me not long after this night and for justifiable reasons. I blamed suicide on her. And that’s pretty fucked up. I loathed myself for months because of what I did, because of what I wrote. But then, I forgave myself. In my defence, I was driven to that point. I constantly made myself vulnerable only to be greeted with rejection and disappointment. Each occurrence destroying me a little more. I’m not justifying my behaviour by any means, but I can understand why and how I got to that point. I was extremely emotionally manipulative. And that undoubtedly took a toll on Rachel. Particularly because her mother was that way for 22 years of her life. I came to find out that the reason Rachel didn’t come home that Thursday when my alarm went off is because she thought I made the entire thing up. From my perspective, that hurts. She thought that I would try to manipulate her into coming home by falsifying events. For those of you that know me, know that I’m not that creative. Nor that manipulative. But in Rachel’s defence, that’s what her Mom did to her numerous times. And I had evidently displayed many signs that reminded Rachel of her Mom so it wasn’t all that farfetched to believe I would make something up like that.

What I’ve learnt from this experience is the importance of communicating exactly what you need rather than insinuating it through passive aggressive texts. People aren’t mind readers. And you can’t get angry at a partner or friend for failing to read your mind – that falls on you and your inability to effectively communicate what it is you need. I also learnt that I need physical presence to comfort me. And that probably stems from quality time and physical touch being my two top love languages. In Rachel’s perspective, sometimes she intentionally wouldn’t come home because she didn’t want to reinforce these manipulative behaviours of mine. But from my perspective, I was crying out for help. And each time she didn’t come home, it was a rejection to me. A disappointment. And it continued to weigh heavier through each occurrence. Although this is a series of isolated events, our relationship had been building up to this climax for months. As I mentioned, we were in a vicious cycle. We were destroying each other. I firmly believe something as significant as this needed to happen to force change. And that change was Rachel leaving. Without significant change, individuals lack the motivation to change themselves. Without this climatic, near-suicide experience, Rachel might have lacked the outlet she needed to leave. And who knows where I would be.

Just last November I wrote a letter to Rachel thanking her for the decision she made to leave me. Because it was the right one. I cannot imagine how difficult it might have been for Rachel to leave her significant other in the place that I was in; dark, helpless, broken. But again, it was the right decision. I apologised sincerely for the pain and damage that I had caused, my one hope that it did not leave any lasting negative effect.

So why did I share this piece? Perhaps it was because of the timing of me signing up for the Out of Darkness Overnight Walk, but I think a large part of it is because I want to speak openly about my experiences. Suicide isn’t always a consciously made decision by individuals. And it certainly isn’t selfish. Through what I have written, I hope that I have conveyed the degree of pain and suffering that I was in in order to consider even taking my life. It’s an oxymoron. Your brain tells you the only way to survive is to take your own life. I was asked by my cousin a few months ago whether I am thankful that I didn’t go through with my decision to take my life, and I was taken aback by that question. Because to me, I never actually made that decision. I was never conscious when I had intent to end things. I was driven to that point, entirely unconsciously. Death scares the shit out of me. And I would never, in my conscious state, want to take my own life. But that’s just it, I wasn’t conscious in this state. I was ruled by pain. Agony. Heartbreak.

For those of you who have made it this far in this post, I would be beyond grateful if you could please support me for the Out of Darkness Overnight Walk that I will be participating in next month. My goal is to raise a minimum of $1000 and I have exactly one month to do so. The link to my page is at the top of this post.

If you have any questions or would like to share your own personal struggle with suicide or that of a close family member or friend, feel free to email me on my Contact Me page or leave a comment believe. Thank you all for reading.

Please note: Some names have been altered to protect the privacy of those mentioned.