Justin Mark Campbell (![[personal profile]](https://www.dreamwidth.org/img/silk/identity/user.png)
likefatherlikeson) wrote in ![[community profile]](https://www.dreamwidth.org/img/silk/identity/community.png)
muserevival2014-10-02 12:12 pm
likefatherlikeson) wrote in muserevival2014-10-02 12:12 pm
076.2. Private Diary
"Never opened myself up this way."
Therapy, bitches. I’m supposed to try to write stuff down I’m thinking about. I’ve done that before, but when I did it, it looked like a whole lot of crazy on paper that I barely even remember writing it how it came out. But that’s a story for another day.
Some days I just wake up and realise how lucky I am to be alive. That’s not just a fleeting ‘Yay life’ feeling that people encourage you to live life to the fullest and all that bullshit. I mean, I am actually seriously lucky to be alive. I shouldn’t be. Three separate times, and a few near-misses beyond that, I shouldn’t be waking up today at all. But I am, and it’s because of people who love me. People care so much that they still want me here. Those are the things I wish I could remember when I’m really sick. Maybe I should plaster a whole collage on a wall in my room of all the reasons to want to stay alive. Although, I probably wouldn’t even notice it when I’m sick. My head does weird shit that I can’t stop sometimes. I wish it didn’t. But then, people wish they had a million dollars and that’s never going to happen, right?
I’ve never told anyone the things I have been telling people lately. It always felt like it was something I should hide and be embarrassed about. Or mortified, so be more exact. Ever since I can remember, I always felt like I wasn’t who everyone else thought I should be. Back then, there were three people in the world I told anything - Grandma, Grandpa, and my best friend, Kolbie - but even then, I hardly told them anything. It all stayed in my head, making me do things I hated but it shut the crazy in my head down so it seemed like the best way out.
I never felt like I was the right sort of son because it always felt like mom didn’t want me around. I thought that was my fault, that I wasn’t the son I was supposed to be because I was just a pain in the ass. I thought I sucked as a grandson because I worried Grandma and Grandpa, they were always doing that thing where they sighed, rubbed their heads and said to me, “Justin, boy, what are we going to do with you?” Like I had the answer. I never had the answer. I wished I did, but the more I tried to fix it, the more I fucked it all up.
I don’t know when it was that I started hurting myself. I just know I did it, and I did it because it stopped my brain feeling like it was going to explode on me. I did it, it hurt… a lot, and the hurt cut the brain crazy off for just a little bit. Just like when I had booze or drugs. That helped too. Or so I thought. What it was really doing was just making me lose my shit even more. The worst part is, when I’m sick, I don’t care what I’ve done or why I’ve done it. I don’t know why I’ve done it, I don’t seem to even realise how bad it is for me. But then when I’m better, I feel stupid and ashamed of having done it and having scared the people I love. Welcome to my brain. It’s not a real nice place to be sometimes.
I told Will I’ve been hurting myself for a long time. I only got the balls to do it because when Kolbie came to New York and confessed he had noticed it, I realised maybe the mess I had gotten myself into wasn’t as hidden as I thought. Or I just sucked at hiding it. Probably that. At the very least, I started to tell Will, and maybe the starting is the hardest part. I haven’t told him everything. There are still things I haven’t told anyone, not even my therapist, but I have time. I have time if I want to be better, and I DO. I really want to be better. I don’t like feeling how I do when I’m sick, and even though it probably seems like I’m just being an asshole, it’s not because I want to be an asshole. The world already has too many of them. I’ve been hurt by assholes, so why would I want to be one and be as bad as they are?
I’m trying my best. But sometimes, I wish I could be so much better than that. No one but the people I love matter, though, and for them, I’m trying to be the best I can be. They love me no matter what and they want to help me when I feel bad. But I can just keep trying, and a little more and a little more, I can get better.
And maybe eventually, I might even have a shot at being a little normal.
Justin Campbell
Original Character
Therapy, bitches. I’m supposed to try to write stuff down I’m thinking about. I’ve done that before, but when I did it, it looked like a whole lot of crazy on paper that I barely even remember writing it how it came out. But that’s a story for another day.
Some days I just wake up and realise how lucky I am to be alive. That’s not just a fleeting ‘Yay life’ feeling that people encourage you to live life to the fullest and all that bullshit. I mean, I am actually seriously lucky to be alive. I shouldn’t be. Three separate times, and a few near-misses beyond that, I shouldn’t be waking up today at all. But I am, and it’s because of people who love me. People care so much that they still want me here. Those are the things I wish I could remember when I’m really sick. Maybe I should plaster a whole collage on a wall in my room of all the reasons to want to stay alive. Although, I probably wouldn’t even notice it when I’m sick. My head does weird shit that I can’t stop sometimes. I wish it didn’t. But then, people wish they had a million dollars and that’s never going to happen, right?
I’ve never told anyone the things I have been telling people lately. It always felt like it was something I should hide and be embarrassed about. Or mortified, so be more exact. Ever since I can remember, I always felt like I wasn’t who everyone else thought I should be. Back then, there were three people in the world I told anything - Grandma, Grandpa, and my best friend, Kolbie - but even then, I hardly told them anything. It all stayed in my head, making me do things I hated but it shut the crazy in my head down so it seemed like the best way out.
I never felt like I was the right sort of son because it always felt like mom didn’t want me around. I thought that was my fault, that I wasn’t the son I was supposed to be because I was just a pain in the ass. I thought I sucked as a grandson because I worried Grandma and Grandpa, they were always doing that thing where they sighed, rubbed their heads and said to me, “Justin, boy, what are we going to do with you?” Like I had the answer. I never had the answer. I wished I did, but the more I tried to fix it, the more I fucked it all up.
I don’t know when it was that I started hurting myself. I just know I did it, and I did it because it stopped my brain feeling like it was going to explode on me. I did it, it hurt… a lot, and the hurt cut the brain crazy off for just a little bit. Just like when I had booze or drugs. That helped too. Or so I thought. What it was really doing was just making me lose my shit even more. The worst part is, when I’m sick, I don’t care what I’ve done or why I’ve done it. I don’t know why I’ve done it, I don’t seem to even realise how bad it is for me. But then when I’m better, I feel stupid and ashamed of having done it and having scared the people I love. Welcome to my brain. It’s not a real nice place to be sometimes.
I told Will I’ve been hurting myself for a long time. I only got the balls to do it because when Kolbie came to New York and confessed he had noticed it, I realised maybe the mess I had gotten myself into wasn’t as hidden as I thought. Or I just sucked at hiding it. Probably that. At the very least, I started to tell Will, and maybe the starting is the hardest part. I haven’t told him everything. There are still things I haven’t told anyone, not even my therapist, but I have time. I have time if I want to be better, and I DO. I really want to be better. I don’t like feeling how I do when I’m sick, and even though it probably seems like I’m just being an asshole, it’s not because I want to be an asshole. The world already has too many of them. I’ve been hurt by assholes, so why would I want to be one and be as bad as they are?
I’m trying my best. But sometimes, I wish I could be so much better than that. No one but the people I love matter, though, and for them, I’m trying to be the best I can be. They love me no matter what and they want to help me when I feel bad. But I can just keep trying, and a little more and a little more, I can get better.
And maybe eventually, I might even have a shot at being a little normal.
Original Character