The low low – 2/100

My 10-year high school reunion happened last year in November. When I saw the Facebook invite several months earlier, I stopped a second.

A flood of emotions and thoughts ran through me.

Up until a couple years ago, high school was my least favorite time on Earth.

I bookmarked it as some of my lowest times.

My primary state of being was depression. Loneliness followed. And self-loathing. Lots of it.

I know, hearing from others, that I hid it pretty well. People said I was outgoing, sociable, active, and even sort of cool ha.

Me Universal Studios
At Universal Studios c. 2005 (sophomore year)

I get shocked every time I hear that because I felt like my life was gray, every way I looked at it, every way I thought and felt and existed back then.

I didn’t know how to live my life.

I didn’t know what I wanted.

I didn’t know where I would end up.

Or rather, I did, and it never looked good to me.

I was beyond confused. I was dejected.

I accepted the fact that I wasn’t meant to be one of those people, those who knew who they were, what they wanted. Those who made friends easily. Those who seemed free. Those who seemed to have it all.

I accepted the fact that I was just me and they… were them.

There was no getting around it. Nothing to really think about beyond that.

That was it. That was life. That was all I knew.

I would get angry at the littlest things, throw my temper around at my family when I couldn’t contain it any longer. And actually, I didn’t try to contain it much.

I felt like it was the one thing I could give back to the world, this world that hated me, didn’t have space for me.

I felt like at least my anger let me know I was alive.

It let me feel myself, after days, months, years of numbing myself to not feel.

I stopped wanting to feel when I felt like it hurt too much live.

I stopped trying to feel better when I felt there was no way.

Nothing worked. Nothing was enough. Nothing was it.

Nothing.

It was an interesting place to be.

Hating life. Hating myself.

But I never ended it.

Was there something holding me?

Or was it the inherent knowledge that there was more?

To be continued (maybe not next post, but sometime later).

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