Word!s Of A 15 Year Old Insomniac: Fight or Flight?
by Joestin Benjamin
©2007-2008 *Arctic-Stock
With a deadline looming and a mind full of ideas, I can say that my self-diagnosed insomnia is a blessing. Looking back on the past eight months, I realized that my life, as messed up it is in its current state, has loads of stories to tell, lessons to teach, lessons to learn, and questions to ask. The “When’s” don’t matter, but the “Why’s” and “What’s” certainly do, and so, enjoy my neutral perspectives on what makes us ‘us’ and why we do what we do. My words to say and thoughts to spread are nothing new in the literary world, so in advance, I apologize for its supposedly unoriginal content.
Designed to be, to put it crudely, a pain in the ass, Life has a very good friend called “Reality”. No matter what drugs we inhale, smoke, or ingest, escaping Reality is inescapable. Able to bite us in seemingly unmunchable moments, Reality has a way of crawling to us and biting us in the ass. The question isn’t “Will it bite?”. Rather, the question is “When will it bite?” Because to limit Reality and its capabilities , to place it on a leash and box it up, is again a fantasy, wishful thinking. Reality can give us a bite whenever it wants to. It doesn’t matter if were at the top of our game, the peak of our career, nor in the steamiest throngs of passion; that nibble will come, so expect the unexpected.
Freshman year, first day; you could taste the sense of infinity in the air. We were no longer children, and definitely not eighth graders pretending to be freshmen. We were the real thing. With four years ahead of teenage spirit and pre-adult excitement, we felt invincible. Some were confident and easy-going; this is another year, with the same troubles as the last. Most were happy to be on the path to becoming adults and living the life of a typical American teenager. Obviously I wasn’t part of those two groups. Going eight months back from the date of this article’s creation, I had fresh crimson slashes and visible scars on my body, red eyes from sleepless and troubled nights, razor thin patience, and a tarry, cynical, negative outlook on anything and everything.
The last time I counted, I had 56 (and possibly more along the way) individual scars from my shoulders to my wrists, 28 scars on the flesh exposed on my left thumb when I give the thumbs-up sign, and an array of solitary cuts all over my anatomy. I was hooked on cutting. My life was an emotional roller coaster with the majority spent in a downward spiral. In all cases of self-destructive behavior, the “Why?” always prevails as the dominant question.
And my “Why?”?
Well, as I said, freshman year was a new beginning; a chance to bury the past and start digging a new hole to bury future skeletons. It was my new beginning, my new ‘me’. I never thought the ‘me’ would turn out to be what I am now. I would never have thought in a million years that I, a supposedly confident, intellectual, 15 year old male from a good family, would become me, a 15 year old, unconfident, bisexual, intellectual male in the process of gluing his dashed dreams and broken heart. In a nutshell, my problems began when I started using my feelings instead of my brain. Currently, I still think that that entire episode was my own fault, and not the circumstances I was in. I still think that if I’d kept my feet in the ground and blown these ideas of happiness with ’someone as empty as me’ away, I’d still be what I was.
I can safely say that I fell in love with someone of the same sex, and I can safely say that I was wrong in my judgments about him. Even though I believe I’m an excellent judge of character, everyone slips once in a while.
You learn to ride a bike by having your trust betrayed. I learned to ride my bike myself when my dad let me go, after promising he wouldn’t. My bike-situation and my ‘other’ situation are extremely similar. With one gross miscalculation, however; back then, I was able to pick myself up since I had spunk and since I knew someone was there to help me get up. Eight months ago, I was so mentally exhausted from all my shit that I didn’t bother to think if I could pick myself up. I just let myself fall and hoped someone would be there to catch me.
When Reality bites, what do we do? Do we deny? Or do we deal? Let’s face it: the former is much more seductive than the latter. Denying is much easier than dealing with our problems. The Lie, as they say, is much more beautiful than the Truth. We deny because it’s more acceptable to us since we get to cover the cracks in our supposedly flawless diamond exteriors. We deny because the troubles we face mark us off as damaged to the world at large. We deny because we are lost. With the dome to our supposedly perfect Life crashing down on us, we can only stare at the impending doom and force ourselves into thinking that the problem will pack its bags and go away. But the problem stays; hiding it under our beds, it oozes toxic fumes and pungent scents and explodes in a grand display of shit, pardon my French. Problems never go away, they get resolved.
And for those who deal? Those who try to resolve matters, who try to pick up the pieces with their own scarred hands? Well…. They’re made of stronger stuff. It takes quite a lot of said ’stuff’ to make an individual look at Reality in the face, glance at the worst in its hands and say, “Go ahead!”
So…. the question. Fight or flight? Do or deny? It’s a choice that is your own. But the fact of the matter is, it won’t matter if we deny or deal at first, because sooner or later, we all have to come out and face our troubles and goad Reality into working hard to give us a hard time. Whether we lock ourselves up in a shell or try to resolve our problems head-on, we all eventually have to just suck it up and face the truth. That we are flawed, and scarred, and very imperfect. That we made mistakes. That it doesn’t really matter, that it will be okay, because hell, scars heal—and nobody’s f’ing perfect.
August 13 2008 03:54 pm | Uncategorized
August 16th, 2008 at 9:46 pm
I think this article speaks for many, many people. It’s amazingly written, props to you man. Couldn’t have written this any better.
August 18th, 2008 at 7:45 pm
This piece is amazing. I had gone through quite a lot of shit too, and all I can say is that you are amazing for writing this up. i know a lot of people wouldn’t. Great piece, amazingly written. *applause*
September 17th, 2008 at 10:53 am
I really think I made a very personal connection with this. It reaches deep down and it takes a lot of guts to write about this stuff. Greatly written as well, captivating.
September 18th, 2008 at 10:23 am
awesome.
September 26th, 2008 at 2:37 am
Screw unoriginal! THis is PERFECT! this piece is has one thing most peaces trumpeting the same idea don’t: that is voice and experience.
to sum it all up, this piece is amazing.
YOU are amazing.
September 26th, 2008 at 12:11 pm
Hi everyone,
Thanks to all for your lovely comments. It means a lot.
I take comfort in the fact that people actually read my very hard-written junk ^^
hehehe thanks Sophie (whom I have NEVER met before).
~J