Dec 31/96.Last days of 1996 A lot of pain now. Physical as well as emotional. I feel like the world is slowly collapsing on top of me the same way my lungs seem to be. Been in a hospital bed for days,it seems more like years, longing to be outside on my own two feet, free and running. In here, just the smell of the old and sick and me, among them. How long has it been since I last ran? Over a week now. I miss it horribly. It's ironic how much I want to return to my routines, my life,when all I do when I am in the middle of my life, is try to end it and think of reasons why I hate it so much. My biggest question in life again, even now, I guess, is what am I here for?
I'd walk down Yonge St., pass by the homeless. I feel no pity for them. I'm suffering too. And unlike most people, I can say I know how it is not to have a place to live in. I was practically on the streets once. Six weeks. I've talked about the experience to a few close friends. They all say the same thing. That I was strong and brave to have survived it. They all think it was a positive experience. Well, I have news for you buddy, it wasn't. I came off the experience more bitter, even more cynical, angry, and less compassionate. I figure if I didn't find compassion in this great city when I was on the streets, no one else deserved it either. There is a certain pleasure and satisfaction in seeing another human being crawl and grovel through the same muck you yourself laid dying in once. That's why I would never have children. And it's not because I want to save them from the capacity of my cruelty. It's because I don't want to end up in jail.
I wish I was beautiful. I wish I had money. I wish I knew what to love. I wish I could love.
But I'm not. I don't. I don't. And I can't.
I have a lot of trouble sleeping at night. I've come to regard the nights as an enemy, creeping ever so slowly but surely all through the day and finally catches up with me when I try to put my aching, tired, and beaten soul to rest. I cry sometimes. That's not so bad. It's hard when I can't even cry. I just lie there, my soul exhausted, and begging to be released from this nightmare. And as my nighttime terrors fade away, I wake up to face creatures that lurk in the day. Sometimes I don't know if the safety is in sleeping or in keeping awake. So I either sleep too much or I don't at all.
A few months ago I discovered a bald patch on the top of my head. I seriously thought I was going bald. I looked up Cosmetic Surgeons in the Yellow Pages. I obssessively cut salt from my diet. I browsed the "Hair Care" aisle in the drug store. I read up on baldness. Then I discovered that the problem was probably temporary, considering my age and all. There was a long medical terminology for it. I can't remember it. It said the condition was caused by stress. It had been a particularly stressful couple of months. The following month my hair dresser discovered yet another bald patch. This time in the back of my head. Not as noticeable, but still there. According to the book I read, I could expect at least a few bald patches. They didn't simply come in ones. Lucky me.
Anyway, my point is, it seems like my body is slowly turning against me. Or more like, it seems like it's been letting me down a lot lately. Come to think of it, it's always been against me. Years ago, when I truly wanted to die, it wouldn't die. And now, when running is slowly becoming the only thing I care about these days, my body's not cooperating.
God? Are you there?
Jan 4/97. 18:34.
Free from the hospital today. Alone again. Was there ever fear that I could have died from this anytime over the last two weeks? While I was in there, it tore me apart. The doctors would come and tell me how serious it was and how important it was for me to stay. So I'd stay. Until yesterday. I was in so much turmoil, trying to figure out why I managed to get myself persuaded to stay day after day. I don't CARE about my life all that much. But I guess it was easy, being in there. I didn't have to worry about spending money on day to day expenses. My meals came three times a day.
Today, I realized...or rather, came back to my senses, and felt it didn't matter if I died from this. In fact now, I wish even more that I had. The thrill of being outside, free, on my own two feet has gone away within hours of being released(last night). Well, what do you know, I'm back to my own depressed self.
I still want to try. To live, I mean. To earn better money. To get a better apartment. But if you put me back to the weekend before Christmas, I'd do it all over again. Put myself at risk. Get sick. Get close to dying. It's like a bad habit. So many times, different doctors have said to me how close I've been to death. Yet, I feel as if death is the most elusive thing in the world. WHY? What is the purpose that I have been preserved this long? Can't I serve my duty(whatever it is), and just go? Can't I serve my duty NOW??
And with my lungs being in the condition they are in now, I can't even run anymore. At least not for a couple of weeks. What do I do then? I'm nothing now.
Looking back, it's as if while I was shut up in the hospital, I could create an illusion and deeply believe in it, that there are little everyday things that I cared about. Like being outside, breathing in the fresh air, feeling the snow flakes settle gently around me, walking around, going anywhere I want. And once outside, the illusion is quickly shattered because it's either too cold and miserable, or because there are other things, like the roach infested room I call my home, the leaky ceiling in my bathroom, or the worries of my bleak future, that overwhelm the minor joys of freedom.
Being alone. That's hard too. Being unable to understand love. That too. It makes me want to go away. Sometimes I don't know where. But sometimes, I think - death. How can death be any more different than the silence I live with everyday? In fact, it might be more peaceful. Physical existence alone doesn't mean much at all.
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