It’s my 19th birthday today. I’m having visions of my own death. If I was going to kill myself I’d jump off the Golden Gate Bridge so there’s no chance of survival with me just ending up in the psych ward for the millionth time. I just sent an angry text to my best friend in the whole world, Jack (same name as me, isn’t that poignant and sweet) who I grew up with and love very much basically because I was lashing out at him because of heart break over my second best friend (Isabel) blocking me. I’m also going to cut out my therapist and doctor because they don’t truly understand what it’s like to have schizophrenia. I have discovered that I am truly incapable of having successful relationships or friendships. Believe it or not I lived as a Catholic monk for a little while at a small co-ed monastery in SF. I was so at peace and truly happy. Stable. But I guess I enjoy the chaos, so I left. I wanted to get married and be a father. An actual father, not just a priest. But recently my best friend told me I am probably unfit to be a husband and a father. That really hurt.
Once upon a time me and Jackson kissed each other, and I fell in love with him. He is bisexual, and he just kissed me because he was feeling shitty about his breakup. We later did MDMA together (spare me the lecture about drug use and schizophrenia, it literally cured my PTSD with no negative mental health effects, and I already know most drugs are dangerous to use when you have schizophrenia), and I wrote him a love letter while I was in San Francisco General. When we did MDMA, I read it to him. He cried. Said it was the most beautiful thing anyone ever said about him. He said my poetry was otherworldly, and I was a beautiful person. He told me he loved me so much. But said it couldn’t work out. I later found out he had gotten back together with his on again off again girlfriend, who is manipulative, codependent, and borderline abusive. People say MDMA is a love drug, but I actually felt like doing it with him solidified our platonic friendship, and I was able to accept that it wouldn’t work out.
Then I fell in love again with Isabel, who had dated Jackson for a while. We wrote poetry to each other. We wrote letters to each other and she would always put a “love” stamp on her letters. She said “I am an intensely selfish person, and I stick around with you because I want to.” She said in one of her poems: “As far as we are one person, we are someone you walk to the edge of the village to meet.” We talked for thirty minutes every day. But she said there was not even a small chance that she would ever love me. She is selfish I guess. Whenever I have crisis (which has happened twice in the course of our friendship, in February, and now), I ask her to call me, but she blocks me because she doesn’t want to deal with it. And that’s not her fault. But it hurts.
Today, we talked by text a little bit, she wished me happy birthday, I sent her a poem, and then I said I was going a little crazy and wanted to talk to her about angels, and she said: “If we fall out of touch, it’s my fault. It doesn’t have to be ‘about’ something.” And then she blocked me. I think this time it’s for good. So I’m going to cut them all out. The only two people who I can truly call my friend are this girl Isabel, and Jackson. The rest of my friends are literally assholes. Not even joking. They’re more acquaintances I hang out with because I don’t have anything better to do.
So I’ve realized I am not WORTHY to be loved, and in fact, I myself am incapable of love. I don’t know if I should go back to being a monk, but I know I’m probably going to kill myself. I am a broken person. I was broken by the abuse I endured as a child. I was broken by schizophrenia. And I want it to end. Don’t worry, I’m not going to kill myself any time soon, but because my two suicide attempts have been completely impulsive decisions, I know it’s going to come.
