The Void; Draft Four

I suppose that my life can be summed up these simple words written by The Used; “I’ll be just fine / Pretending I’m not / I’m far from lonely / and it’s all that I’ve got.” There are some days when I feel that even though I am surrounded by people, I am utterly alone. I can’t seem to imagine a life where I am happy because I have been depressed and lonely for so long. There are days when time just flies by, but I have no recollection of how I got where I was, or what I did that day. It takes real conscious effort to stay focused on the task at hand and not wander off into some dark corner of my mind to play with my imaginary friend who died years ago. 1

Depression is never easy to deal with, but having someone there who always knows when you are feeling upset, and always knows just what to say to help you come out of the black hole, is just the cure. Yet when that person is also dealing with the same crushing emptiness, it becomes very hard to hold on to ones sanity and remain among the living. When the one person that can make you feel loved is distant and cold, it is so easy to regress and let the void take you.2

My best friend and I seem to share everything, right down to the manic depressive thoughts that rule our days. We each have our own ways of dealing with what comes our way, but his is just a little more self-destructive than mine. He cuts. There’s no easier way to say it. There are days when I feel that slicing every bad thing in the world into my skin will make it all go away, but it doesn’t mean that I do. I bleed enough as it is, thank-you-very-much. 3

One day, after school, my friend came over to my house. We did the usual routine of dropping our stuff by the front door and immediately going to my computer to get onto our websites at www.allpoetry.com. After about half an hour, we started talking about stuff in general; it’s not important. But then about halfway into our conversation my friend (Seth) sighed and said, 4

“I might as well tell you, because you’re gonna find out anyway.”5

I gave him a quizzical look and cocked my head to one side, because I was confused. He rolled his eyes, and then pulled his left shirtsleeve up over his shoulder to bear the ugly hash marks that his knife made in his shoulder the night before. It was my turn to sigh. 6

“What happened this time?” I said, resigning myself to some sad story that could have been avoided completely, were it not for Seth’s lack of ability to communicate. 7

He proceeded to tell me that at the last youth group meeting for his church that he had held at his house, his more-than-a-friend Jared showed up. They talked for a while, mostly about nothing, but then Seth brought up what had happened the last time they were together. They talked, and talked, but didn’t really say anything. Then later, when Seth was sitting on the floor, Jared came to stand behind him and Seth leaned against his legs for support. They stayed like that for a while and then Jared said that he and his friend had to leave. 8

Apparently, Jared wouldn’t talk to Seth anymore after this, which happens on a regular basis between the two of them when one or the other goes as far as to talk about their feelings for each other. 9

“But this time was different.” Seth said. 10

This time it hurt more, this time nothing could make the pain go away, so out came the knife. He told me that everything just went away; he felt nothing. Seeing the multiple shallow wounds on his shoulder produced a bone deep chill that only deepened as he told me that one of them almost needed stitches. I wanted to slap him and scream at him and tell him that this would do him no good. But the look on his face, and the anguish in his eyes told me that now was not the time for drastic measures. 11

I took his face in my hands and made him look me in the eye; I told him that even though the pain went away when he was cutting, it wasn’t truly gone. It would never truly be gone until he could accept it and find that he could move past it. I told him that even though it went away at the time, it would just come back again. It always comes back again, and each time it does, it’s worse than the time before. 12

Every time he tells me things like this, I fear that he will never come back. I feel that he is slipping away from me and it’s all I can do to call softly to him that he is safe and will always have a place in my heart. I don’t know what I can do to help him. Every time I try he just tells me that I wouldn’t understand, that I haven’t gone through anything like this. But he doesn’t know about the times I cried myself to sleep at night because I had spent the last hour staring at a knife that he had given me to keep away from himself. 13

One such night, I was sitting on my bed, watching TV and playing with the knife that Seth had given me; a butterfly knife. I was absentmindedly flipping it open and shut in the pattern that he had taught me; hold the knife with the spider design facing you for the right hand and facing away for the left; flip the uppermost handle away from yourself to open the knife; then flip the entire knife over, without turning the hand, and then flip that same handle up into your hand to leave the knife open, but facing the other direction; then flip the handle over again and turn the knife over again and flip the knife closed. A simple pattern, but one that really requires concentration; I wasn’t paying attention because I was watching the TV and ended up slicing my finger open. The wound was not deep, but it bled like hell. I hissed in pain, and watched the crimson well up under the skin, and then run down my palm. I stuck my finger in my mouth, and my saliva mixed with the tangy, salty, metallic taste of blood.14

Seth doesn’t know about the nights when I still cry myself to sleep because I don’t know that I will wake up in the morning and he will still be there; and he doesn’t know that I have also contemplated suicide, just to make it all go away. But he doesn’t know about the lists I made of all the good things in life versus all the bad things. He doesn’t know that the reason my room smells like burning paper is because when I am done writing these lists I burn them so no one can find them. And most of all he doesn’t know that I sit awake at night and wonder what it would feel like if I took that large four inch blade and sliced through my skin to the flesh underneath and watched the blood spill over my skin and drip to the floor. He doesn’t see my sketchbook with all of its bloody pictures and all of its dripping knives. But no one sees that. No one knows these things, and until now, I have never told anyone, not even Seth. 15

I don’t know what to do with Seth some days; some days I don’t even know what to do with myself. But all I can do to help Seth, and in turn help myself, is to offer a shoulder to cry out the pain on, to offer an ear to listen to his problems. I rage against a close-minded upbringing with him, and I try to open his eyes to see that life really isn’t that bad. I try to help him, give him options instead of cutting, even threaten dire punishment (like me sitting on him), anything to keep the insanity at bay long enough to let him come to his senses and decide that there is something worth living for. 16

I don’t know how to help myself, but I know how to help my best friend, my lifeline. So I’ll continue living for another day and I know that we’ll help each other through the emotional storms and the pain. 17

Depression is something that we must face for ourselves. No one can do it for us, and nothing and no one can help us move past it until the day comes when we are ready to let it all go, to let it all just fall away. We are the only ones that can help ourselves, and at this point in time, Seth and I are not ready to accept that fact. So we wallow here, at the bottom of this void, staring up at the light and cringing, wondering when and where we will find the courage to drag ourselves up and close those doors behind us forever.18

Life can sometimes be summed up by just one word. Today that word is “pain.” Tomorrow, I doubt it will change, but at the very least it will have taken on a new meaning.19