To Whom It May Concern
To Whom It May Concern:I’m going to stop thinking about starting this new writing project, and actually do it. I was having trouble thinking of who to write the first letter to, so I decided to write it to whoever there was out there to read it.
This is it. Letters. Because I have a lot to say to a lot of different people. And it’s easiest to say things to people, when you aren’t saying things to people. That almost followed the human sort of logic.
I’ve recently noticed that I’m so sure that if I just go away, I’ll be happier than I am when I’m here. Wherever here happens to be at the time that I am there. Here, right now, is sitting in my room. I’m so certain that I’d be much happier doing something else in some other place. Not even a named place, just the vague, mass amount of other places that there are in the world.
I’m always so certain that if I become a different person, I’ll be happier.
Always so sure that if I become normal, I’ll be happier.
Always so eager to become something else to improve my mood.
Maybe I should start dealing with the person that I happen to be.
Maybe I should investigate just who that person is.
I know the basics. I better know the basics, I live them. I’m nineteen years old, but I’m really way older. I don’t live in a world governed by time, my mind has outgrown the concept of it. Either that or my mind is too crazy for it. But someone today told me that living outside the normal realm of time is a mark of true genius, and right now I’m more ready to believe that than to believe anything else. Time is a human invention after all.
More basics. I’m Bipolar. I try and deal with it. But it’s hard. I don’t take the right meds for it. I try and reign in the madness. I feel generally unaccepted and misunderstood by every single person around me. But that may simply be the only genuine trait of a teenager that I possess. Right now, Bipolar feels like everything that I am. It feels like it’s my identity and I’m trying to get away from it, and cling to it at the same time. It’s hard. I don’t know who I want to be. I don’t know who I am.
I just know the basics. That I’m sick and tired of the way that things are. Sick and tired. I’m trying to change things and I can’t change a thing. I feel powerless. I feel a million different things. I think. I think and think and think and I can’t stop thinking. It never stops. An endless loop of motion through the synapses of my brain. Thought. Thought. Thinks. Thinking.
I love music. I love words. Art. Talking. I like talking a lot lately. I like trying to get people to listen to me. I revel in their reactions to the way that I am. I want to know what they think of me, so maybe I can know what to think of me. I say whatever happens to be spilling over the dikes in my mind because if I say it, maybe I’ll know why I thought it. I don’t know when to shut up most of the time.
I’m sick and tired. Of everything. Of everything that my life has been. Because it all seems so profoundly stupid. I’m sick and tired of people walking all over me, telling me what to do, telling me all that I can’t do, and telling me what I should do and think and how I should dress. I’m sick and tired of my oblivious mother, my dependent sister, and the unappreciative man that I’m in love with.
I get very angry. At everything. At life. Because it all seems so profoundly stupid. I get angry because I never used to let myself get angry, and I don’t know why that is. Because I feel so much more alive when I let myself experience the emotions I try and deny that I was low enough to have. Anger is not a weakness like I thought it was. It can be a very powerful tool.
I’m trying to not let the depression I feel at periodic times get the best of me. I try and make myself do things, because if I stop doing things, it’s only harder to start doing them again.
And I think that’s enough of the basics. Enough for now. Because soon you’ll see the bigger picture. The Monet that I am. You’ll see.
-Wawick
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