The End?

Briefing

The following is a briefing before our story begins, It is needed to fully understand this story.

• Age 7 or 8 Mark developed severe mental depression
• Mark was born of wedlock and an accident, like most.
• His father’s first words regarding him were “That’s not mine”
• Mark did not meet his dad (for real) until around age 6, his mother advised him against it.
• He really should have listened.
• Mark Possesses a number of ‘disabilities:
i. Severe Acid Reflux
ii. Migraines
iii. ADHD
iv. Severe Social and Situational Anxiety
v. Lack of fine motor control
vi. Less than average Hand Eye Coordination
vii. Possibly Introversion

Now, dear reader… I wish to take you through a day, a very specific day… onwards to our story.

I remember that night quite well… It was an off day, August 30th, 2013.

         That night was the night before I would have gone to high-school orientation; I didn't. You may find yourself asking why… maybe you’re not, perhaps you do not care? Trust me; you would not be the first.
There is a simple answer however… maybe only to me; that night, I went against my own motto, my creed, that day. I tore the posters of ponies, and Indiana Jones from my wooden style walls, piled my prized collectibles in a corner ‘to rot’ and I exploded in such raw emotion, one would be afraid of even me.

         However, I’m getting ahead of myself; we need to go back a bit. I won’t bore you with every detail; just trust me when I say things had been building to this point for years. Truthfully speaking, it was the last two in particular. Everything from heartache, heartbreak, betrayal by those I thought of as friends to fear for my identity and self-doubt in general. It all happened so fast I barely recall the good times… but thankfully barely is just enough.

         So yes, truly that night was the culmination of all those feelings, boiling up, and ready to explode. I would be lying if I said I had any real plans or even courage to commit the self-crime I've mentioned above, to go against everything and just give up… to die on my own terms and have nobody to stop me. But, at the time it felt that way, as tears rolled down my face, as I wrote notes for certain people, and as I ripped apart everything that was me. But was it The End?

         Since you’re reading this right now the answer may seem obvious, Of course not! I went to my psychiatrist, changed my meds, and showed up the first day seemingly fine. Seemingly. Because though I may have soldiered on, I do not do so in happiness, in self-worth, or even in pride… because those tears are still there. Maybe you have seen it in my eyes. Even if you have not, as I write this I wish for all to know, that I am not here only for those I love. Nor for the fiction and truths I hold dear. I am here because I refuse to give up… I refuse to let them win, and most of all, I refuse to let this ever be:

The End.