Back,
I’m back to this forum, to use this outlet, to improve
myself, my ideas. To have a place to vent, a public place, but a place
nonetheless. Don’t misunderstand me, I also journal, but this spot helped and
was a wonderful repository for the things I was thankful for, the things that
made me smile and the things that inspired me. I need that now, more than ever
probably. This was a place where I could vent about being Sydney C. and
all the frustrations that life brought her, while feeding and nurturing Sydney
Hell, the woman I wanted to be. The alter-ego that was a little more outspoken;
a lot more creative, and much more at peace. Sydney Hell was never, fully alive
in any form, not strong enough to stand on her own 2 feet, and Sydney C.
had so much on her plate, so much…survival to concern herself with that my
concentration needed to be there. Then, one dark and cold September morning in
2011, Sydney C. was killed, bullet straight through the heart. An angry,
confused, lost, resentful, catty, self-destructive bitch left in her place. She
had all this stuff she left behind, and all these responsibilities to take care
of, all these people that needed her, this fancy new corporate job that destruct-o
bitch was gonna have to maintain if she wanted to eat…so, destruct-o bitch has
had to pick Sydney C. up and Meat-Puppet her around for over a year,
making her smile, forcing focus, pretending to care. A year…the longest,
shortest, strangest, most painful year of my entire life so far; I do hope it
gets better from here on out, but I hold little hope, hope for anything at all
died with Sydney C. A year, and a month actually, almost 13 moths to the day
today that my entire world turned on its head, a year that has left me, tired,
sad, and, uninspired.
I know I have done end of year reviews in the past, and have
highlighted the things that were good, the things that changed me, the things I
learned, tried to take the lesson away, tried to see the best. Every year is a
mixed bag, and the start of 2011 was amazing for me, things were starting to
work. I was creative, productive, inspired. I had 2 showings of my photography,
was working constantly (freelance, no insurance, but was delusional enough to
think it was gonna last.), I got an interview and then a job at one of the
largest studios in the world, and then had the insurance and stability I so desperately
needed. I had purpose, on many levels, for the first time.
Then, my dad killed himself, and it all went down the drain.
I lost myself in the pain and confusion. Even though there had been good
earlier that year, it didn’t matter, even though there is always possibility
for good in the future, that didn’t matter either. There was (is, has been,
always will be) pain. Nothing but pain. Do you remember the 1990’s movie Death
Becomes Her? And at some point Goldie Hawn’s character is shot through the
middle and since she is basically undead it leaves a hole?
Yeah, that’s what I feel like every day. I hear, from other “survivors
of suicide” that this is the way they all feel, always, it doesn’t go away, you
simply learn to live with it. Like, a person with chronic back problems, or
someone that lost a leg in battle, you learn work arounds to live with the
pain. Lovely.
I’ve jammed the hole with all kinds of stuff, trying to fill
it up. It’s left me tired, upset and…well, still blown half apart. The point I
started to realize this wasn’t going to help, was after purchasing a case of
Two-buck-chuck at Trader Joe’s, and then about a week and a half later, my
partner, trying to make room in the pantry, lined up the bottles left on the
counter. There were 4. 4 bottles of wine left. We drink together, and I’ve seen
him drink this whole week, and didn’t see him drink much of this wine. When
doing the math and consulting him I realized I had had about 1 bottle of wine a
night, all by myself. Shit. At about this same point it came to my attention
that I did not fit into any of my clothes any longer, and my skin was a mess. I
cried(and this was before stressing my back out of whack and somehow
compounding 2 ribs into my left lung. Surprised the hell out of the chiropractor).
I cried and he held me and listened to me vent about how much food and drink and crap I had tried to jam in the hole. How the hole was just as
large as ever and I was starting to look and feel worse. That was May of this
year. Now, I know I’m not a full blown alcoholic, or drug addict, I’m not here
telling you how I’m homeless and have been fucking people to get to my next hit
of heroin or my next bag of speed. I know
there are a lot of people that have it a LOT worse than I do.
I know many of them. We are still living in a god damned depression in this
country and I personally know many people that have gone home to live with
their parents, or are sleeping in their
cars, or in parking lots and have no jobs. But, this is enough for me, like I
said, I’ve lowered my standards, my expectations, on everything.
So, I’m back to use this as an outlet again as a means to a
more fulfilling life. I didn’t need to explain my journey to anyone reading
this either, so if you rolled your eyes and said I’ve never seen pain then go
fuck off home. This is my space and I’ll use it as I like. I did this to vent and…give
insight to the lurkers out there, cause I’m a lurker to a lot of strangers that
I follow, and I do actually care even if I have said little to them ever. So,
for those of you that like me: Stick around, I’ll post some pretty shit with inspiring
quotes under it and crap.
~Sydney
