“Drugs don't really fix anything, except for everything."
Story by Anonymous.
I feel like I have been a mess since forever and I always thought I was strong enough or maybe oblivious enough to deal with it. I have these moments when I am strong and I can do whatever I want and own the world and I do!! I am proud in those moments. But it has been such a supernova of emotions over the years, so much so, I think i’ve blurred a lot of it out. And that has really skewed my life.
Arriving into the world post high school, made the anxiety and realisation of being gay much more genuine. These went hand in hand to produce a dangerous spiral of drug and alcohol abuse. The booze and weed made life bearable. It was time to face facts and that scared me to death. The only escape was when I was out of my mind. Our university culture basically celebrated this behaviour anyway, so it was easy to play along and pretend nothing was wrong. This continued in a vicious cycle of not accepting who I really was for a number of years.
After University, I moved to Australia which was pretty tough at the start, but when my good friend arrived it was a lifeline for me. We connected so much and we tackled our problems together. That was a lifesaver for both of us. Fast forward a few years and the same shit I thought I had escaped came back to the surface.
My best friend and boyfriend had bipolar and the reality of our day to day life was so up and down. Most of the time our life was amazing and we had such a good time together, but it was built on lies. He promised me everything but knew he never could give me these things. He was in such a fragile state of mind that it prevented him from being true to me. Eventually, I found out his many lies and ended it.
After I tried to end our relationship, I drove away from his house and about ten minutes later I had this gut feeling, unlike anything I had felt before. It was a horrific, stomach churning feeling that set in while driving full speed down the Freeway. I had never experienced such a sickening feeling before and I knew something was wrong. I took the next exit and sped back to his house. There was music blasting, so I kicked the door to his room down and ran in to find him cutting his wrists.
I HATE blood.
I instantly froze, but at the same time I had to act. I took the knife and threw it down the hall, I grabbed his wrists, his blood completely covering me and I found the closest thing, which was a his t-shirt and wrapped his wrists tightly in this. The next few minutes were a blur. The blood was still everywhere, but not in a life threatening way it seemed.
With his t-shirt tied tightly around his wrists, we embraced in a human pile on his bed for what seemed like forever, but was probably only ten minutes in reality. What I felt at that time seemed unbearable - what the fuck do I do!? This man I love, is in this state and I am here, I am the only one here, how do I help him? I knew I needed to be strong for him, but I felt like a whimpering mess. I almost blacked out at the sight of all his blood. How could I be so selfish? I was not in pain, he was, yet his pain was hurting me. I needed to get it together and help him! I called 000. He pleaded with me not to, saying that the cuts were only superficial. Feeling so strung out and confused, I agreed and hung up the phone. We instead proceeded to embrace for the next few hours.
That night, at the time was the worst night of my life. I had no one to talk to and had to hide his secret. In the days following I couldn’t trust him alone, so I insisted he come and sit at my work all day, whilst I worked. A week later he had built up my trust, and after several doctors appointments (where his meds were upped again), I believed he would be okay. A total of two and half weeks after the initial incident, I had found out he was cheating on me. I messaged him and told him it was over. At the same time I messaged his mom and told her I had broken up with him, and also gave her a brief summary of the last few weeks. I asked her to please make sure he was ok and so she went to his house to check on him. She found him in bed, unconscious with a pile of empty pill bottles next to him. He had overdosed. She rushed him to hospital to find out he was mere minutes away from death, but thankfully the doctors were able to save him.
It happened again because of me. I know I shouldn’t think that but it is hard not to. I rallied around him again for the next couple weeks, until it started taking a real toll on my emotional and physical wellbeing. I wasn’t eating or sleeping and was almost fired because I wasn’t showing up for work. Eventually my mum insisted I stay with her and after some time away from him, I knew I had to move on. He eventually got the treatment he needed and is currently living a reasonable life.
And I thought I was too, but whilst his scars healed, mine I feel never will.
After being cheated on and experiencing that awful feeling, you would think it would stop you from doing it to someone else. Not me. After three weeks of dating a new, amazing guy, I cheated on him with a colleague and then repeatedly with a friend of a friend. It wasn’t until after I told him the truth, that I realised what I was doing. I was pushing him away. Our relationship wasn’t built on trust and it had the added pressure of me not feeling settled in Perth (my home at the time). After a short holiday away, we moved in together and within two months, I had decided to leave the country.
It is so easy to run away from your problems and I am the king of that. There is a biological response that happens when we are under intense stress or fear - fight or flight. Well for me, when things get tough, I have the tendency to choose flight. Every single time. When Perth got too much, I simply packed up and moved to Canada.
Escaping the past two years of my life was actually rather easy. I proceeded to get super fucked up almost daily whilst living in the most idyllic part of the world. To bender is easy! Especially with cheap drugs and booze.