P.E.R.S.O.N.A.L – Chapter 5 Dangerous
This is part of my on-going autobiggraphy of my life. This is the latest and the darkest one to date. It deals with many issues and I hope I can get some useful replies…
The world and it’s people wander by and I stand planted to the ground stuck in the motion of time. That’s just one of my feelings at the moment during my depression. Since the start of 2005, a slow and painful attack had been made against my ice man statue. I’ve always been the stable man, the strong writer who had everything controlled and my feelings locked away from the years of pain. But now the walls are cracking and the pressure is too strong. The biggest foe in my life has always been myself and I’m afraid that he’s going to win.
I guess my depression started during the time back in Queensland when CJT Productions had fallen from the grace of success due to many members leaving and the Seasons Trilogy ending. The fact that the Seasons Trilogy failed was sad to myself and a blow to my leadership to make a book trilogy happen. Expect for a couple loyal friends I felt that many of the old Burnside friends had moved on and I had no one. I tried hard to find work but sadly twelve years of school work is seen as none achieved. I worked on the idea of becoming a TELSO teacher. TELSO teaching is where you teach overseas as a conversation teacher to Chinese students. I thought the idea was great. The chance to travel the world, grow as a person and a writer. I never had the money to do and was unsuccessful in doing so.
The depression started to tighten it’s gripe around my neck when I moved to Brisbane. I had moved into a boarding house when you only lived in a small room filled with cockroaches and rats that slept with you. I only about four hours a night and an eye open for any un wanting noise to occur. For CJT Productions, we had a great forum board which made over 600 000 hits in three months but I ended up destroying with my lack of knowledge of coding on owning forum boards. Nowadays with the new forum board Visionary, I kept a ten foot pole between me and the coding packages online. Budgeting has always been a problem with me. I tend to pay one complete bill and leave the others for later. Where I learnt in my mistakes you need to pay them off in equal parts and keep yourself floating.
The only bright light in Brisbane was the Chisoutsa Manga Series. It was something that came out of nowhere. It was the name of our forum board and soon grew into a short story project and the next book release for this year. I’ve never enjoyed so much from the character writing since my first short novel The Legend of Evermore. The Season Trilogy felt stressful only because of the large size of the project and looking back it was too big to make for a young writer.
The time in Brisbane was pulling me apart towards the end. The lack of food and the case of living with criminals, drug takers, and evil eyes in the boarding house was killing my writer’s pride. So I decided to escape and return back to Canberra, where most things were rosy and peachy, where CJT Productions had their best years. Returning there was strange because it felt like I didn’t leave there, possibly in my heart I never did but it felt like long ago since I had been there again. That is because of my experience in Brisbane. The worrying part was that the depression didn’t leave; I thought wishful thinking that it would disappear when I returned and signed up to CIT when I would become a student for a business course.
For many months I didn’t think I had depression. I didn’t think I could get it because I was always the stable guy, nothing got to me deep inside, I made sure of that when my mum died in 2000. However there was a moment when I knew I had it. I went rhough a number of web sites and took tests. I score too highly in them to dismiss the case that I had it. Even my writing and music wasn’t doing it’s work to bring me out of it when I feared about. Because if my writing couldn’t save me, who or what could?
During the last couple years, people had nicknamed me “The Eccentric Writer” because of some of strange writings and the lifestyle I had. I knew I was always different from the others of my age. It’s a blessing and curse wrapped in one. I love the idea of being myself and being a writer. The power to create emotion with my words and seeing people reading it is amazing. But my marriage to my writing had come at price. I had become growing apart from others my age or from anyone. My ability to talk to people had grown worse and my struggle to find love has been painful and sore. No one understand me anymore, that’s how I feel. I’ve become the Ghost Writer that wrote a year ago in Queensland. Unable to be loved by any human and doomed to roam the earth writing to ease his pain and sadness inside, sounds like a bad time doesn’t it? It seems in love you need more then being yourself and being honest to someone. You need something which I don’t know what that is. Possibly I’m not good looking enough or being a writer isn’t cool enough. Beauty is a advantage in love and that I don’t have. Possibly the reason why no one could ever love me is because I don’t love myself enough to think I’m worthwhile of life and its beautiful things.
By now I had thought the worse was over that the depression would soon start to leave. However it grew worse, it was now starting to choke me and the thoughts in my mind were dangerous. I had learnt news that my aunt had cancer and the chances of a future life in retirement with her husband was slimming by the week. I told myself not to let anyone close to your heart again but could you not let people like Noel and Pat inside. They were like the parent who I wished I had when I was young. While my mum wasn’t the best person for me, the one thing she did give was her undying love to the bitter end. She taught me to love and understand others. That is the greatest gift a parent can give, to be feel wanted, loved and belonged in this world.
My student course had been very hard on me while my depression and my aunt’s cancer had continued to worsen. I didn’t want my family about my problem because they had enough issues to deal with. The months passed and the dying leaves were showering at the back of my little flat which was a far cry from the mess of the boarding house. My aunt was dying and I visited her for the final time before she died. I reacted the same way when I saw my aunt lying in bed when I first saw my mum dead when she was in her room. It was too much to handle at once. The ice man had melted. People thought I must have been a heartless bitch when I didn’t cry when mum died. I did most of crying alone and when I first saw her. I told my aunt I would look after my uncle and told her to say hi to mum when she went to that higher place, beyond the distance star. Sadly I now know the sorrow and pain of my older brothers to have lost two mothers in a short period between each other.
Sometimes the smallest thing that happens in your day can be dangerous for your mind. Depression which I have learnt can take the smallest problem and blow up open to such a large degree, it’s unbearable to handle. I have spent too much time by myself, writing many poems and stories and sadly my friends in Canberra has disconnected from me, running for the hills. As if my depression had scared them away. If we can paint a picture as a writer tends to do to describe the moment, the brave and champion depression is walking around proud with it’s red robe on at the stadium. A fearful figure in the distance, I having no idea how to defeat this killer of many lives and serves no mercy who those who live. There are good days and there are bad days. You can tell when you wake up in bed or tell when you walk out the door but soon enough you find out what’s like in the end.
It’s indeed a dangerous time for me. The feeling of being unloved from others my age, the power of writing flickers in the wind, and the future is always been a cruel bitch to handle. But the question I ask myself now. Will I fight or give in where seems so easy to do. Seeing the past fall down it’s given me the choice. I want to keep going because I still hope of better days to come. I still have a lot of work to do. But now with a new course coming up and working through with a new book, I’m sure I can get life happy again and get things happening again. Who knows, life may treat me well again.
What does the future hold for me? In some cases it’s just the point of living. You’re doing it because some other family members might get upset if you went away for good. Then there’s the price of digging a grave for you or you can burn yourself into ash which is cheaper. Apart from my marriage to writing, there might be times when the other sex would be pissed off at the amount of time I spend with the other ‘girl’. But the writing chick gives me the most amazing feeling when I’m writing and there’s the other one who wants me to be hot looking or force myself to change my personality to be liked. Sadly I’m not hot looking nor is my personality the nicest one. Yes I’m nice and honest, caring and the other bits and pieces you need for a long and happy relationship. But it’s the other person who seems never to see me as a Romeo. Relationships and love is a like that stupid rollercoaster ride that you know you’re to get sick afterwards but you go on because the feeling and moment is unbelievable and we’re stupid enough to o again and again. The feeling of being unloved is the worst thing you can feel.
Then why do I keep on with life? Yes it’s to do with that writing marriage chick that I know of. Yes again, I’m writing too late into the night and beginning to make no sense at all. I still dream of meeting people overseas and writing books and creating a successful forum board. Let this writer dream because without a dream there is no life to live. My dream is to connect people and to see them, my life as a writer is a whole. Writing is everything that I have and some others may understand me. Some people live with only one talent or dream in life, the fuel that feeds our passion.
My writing is everything. I don’t go home to a family, nor a loving girlfriend. It’s a empty flat with no photos of a family, computer in the corner and a couple bottles of coke in the fridge for happy times at night. There’s a missing light bulb and the place is dusty at time which I might clean up more often if I had company or the chance to show off to someone. My bedroom has a stack of unwashed clothes and a neat line up of clothes in my closet. When people my age would be at nightclubs or with their girlfriends, I take the time to color-code my clothing and neatly line up my plates and cups. I edit my writings each day and try as hard to pick the mistakes. When I watch television I wonder what my uncle is doing at the moment then it moves to my Nana. I continue to write my Chisoutsa Manga series and show a new love for my character Hayco a robot boy who was fake but at least his love was real.
All of my characters are like my children. Some of them have my frozen heart. Some of them hold dreams and live through them. There are others who are eccentric and weird but are at least understood by their closer peers unlike me. At darkest time of night I would turn off the television and use my ipod to try to sleep. I wonder what food I would eat tomorrow and what bills I have to deal with. I’ve been listening to the theme of “Schindler’s List” where I see visions of my character Hayco in his moment in the manga series. His gift to the main character Chisoutsa is to open her soul and see the goodness of her heart, the knowledge to love instead of hate. Half of the time when I listen to it, I cry often. The sadness of the song and the meaning behind is plain to see. Crying and feeling emotion when writing isn’t a bad thing, if you can feel your character’s happiness or pain then others will.
I watch the leaves fall down from my tree outside my flat and the coldness crept into me. I view my imperfection face in the mirror and decided it’s time to shave. I soon know it’s time to leave for study and I disappear from my flat. I’m just a boy with a dream and nothing more. I wonder where this life of mine will lead me. There is sometimes a unhappiness about my life because of my depression that even a ocean of tears could not ease the pain. So why the pain in this life, why just cut it short as others have. The dream still burns bright inside and a small smile appears on my face still when I complete a story or poem. We do this because no one will do it for us. There are family men whose job is to care for their children, none of which I own. There are career women who seek the highest place in their business and I only seek to be a social worker, yes I laugh to myself to know more people and to help them. Something I’ve always had in me. And there finally are the dreamers who were born to follow and to search. Without a beautiful dream to follow, there is no meaning in my life. There are still good things in life, others who are inspired by my works to create things themselves. People who want to know my stories and learn of my characters. The power of the dream is still there, just there, but you know what? I might just get there one day and see the rainbow at the end of the storm. It will one day fly with the stars again. I will still wait for that day…