Lost Inside This Broken Mind -

Was originally going to post this on the 28th, but since I'd already posted it on my writing Tumblr, I figured it'd be okay to share it now. My first piece in quite a long time.

Thoughts and comments are always welcome.

-Cali

Lost Inside This Broken Mind: My life after December 28th, 2009

She’s sitting on the floor, phone in hand. She doesn’t know when she hung up or who hung up first. All she knows is the pain, the anger, the hurt flooding through her.

He’s really gone. He’s dead. It’s not a lie, he’s dead and you’ll never get the chance to see him again.

Her mind babbles incessantly, carrying on without another thought to interrupt it. The haze drifts in like an unclearable fog. The numbness takes over her body, leaves it tingling without a single nerve left to feel the nails she’s digging into her palms.

The tears are hot and endless. She doesn’t know how they got there. Doesn’t know how to make them stop.

He’s fucking dead. Dead.Dead.Dead.Dead.Dead.DEAD.DEAD.DEAD.

She throws the phone across the room, flings it into a picture and smashes the glass. She grabs both sides of her head, crouching on the floor and screaming in pure fucking agony like she’s being burned alive.

OH GOD NO! PLEASE GOD, PLEASE! NOT JIMMY! PLEASE NOT FUCKING JIMMY! GIVE HIM BACK! YOU MOTHERFUCKER, GIVE HIM BACK!

She’s hardly aware of her surroundings. She’s too lost in the void of disbelief and anger. Her throat burns and cracks and threatens to fade out with every hard, heart wrenching scream.

The tears are like acid now, falling down her face and leaving little marks in their paths. The eyeliner burns like hell, but she can’t bring herself to reach up and rub her eyes. She can hardly move from her spot on the floor where she lies broken and bleeding from the inside.

JIMMY! JIMMY! JIMMY! JIMMY! GIVE HIM BACK! JUST TAKE ME AND GIVE HIM BACK! PLEASEPLEASEPLEASEPLEASE I’M BEGGING YOU!!!!!!! I NEED HIM! WE FUCKING NEED HIM!

She knows God isn’t listening. Even if he was, would he be able to grant her wish? Would he take her life and spare the one he’s already claimed? Even if it’s impossible, she can’t stop screaming and begging and pleading, bartering her own life for his.

Her fists ache and she wonders when she started punching the floor. Her knuckles are swollen and red and there’s a faint hint of blood bubbling to the surface. She stares at it, amazed she can’t even feel it.

Numb.

Numb from head to toe without a hint of sensation anywhere, save this horrible pain in her heart.

Numb.

Her rapidly unraveling mind brings back just enough of her sanity to remind her of what it is she does when she can’t feel. It tempts her. The loss, the pain, the dreaded fucking ache tempts her into doing it.

She pushes up from the floor. Her feet carry her into the kitchen for the knife she never intended to use in this manner. She takes it from the drawer and pads back to her spot, lying back down and staring at the blade.

Shiny. Silver. Sharp. Salvation.

She dwells on the thought of how it will feel to do this. She tries to ignore the voice in her head that tells her how wrong this is and that he wouldn’t want her to do this to herself. Not for him. Not for anyone.

She ignores it.

It takes a long time before she can summon the strength to press the blade to her wrist and when she starts to drag it over the skin, the numbness fades into a dull pain that zips through her.

She doesn’t acknowledge it. Instead, she sits there, marking her arms until a puddle forms beneath the wounded arm.

Her breathing is ragged, but she’s calm. She’s quiet. Her body shakes as the endorphins rush through her and fill her with that sweet euphoria she’s become addicted to over the years.

She closes her eyes.

He’s standing there. Those blue eyes of his are soft and sad. He silently questions how she can do this to herself, how she can want to destroy herself like this when there are so many reasons for her to live and carry on.

He steps close enough for her to touch him, but she’s too frightened to try. It’s an illusion. A simple hallucination. A product of her grief and pain.

But he looks so fucking real.

His eyes stray to the marks and she wants to cover them in shame. She can hear herself apologizing under her breath, babbling on like one who has lost her mind.

She thinks she feels his touch on her hand, but refuses to open her eyes and see. There’s a warmth in her palm spreading through her body and she can hear him whisper so faintly…

It’s going to be all right. You’re going to be all right.

She wants to argue, but the rational part of her reminds her how pointless it is to argue with a hallucination.

She just nods.

She isn’t sure when he fades out, but she can still feel him there. A presence that will never truly leave. One that will stay by her side until the end.

She wakes in a cold sweat to find the blood is dried and her tears are gone, but that ache is still there. She reckons it will always be there. She gets up and cleans herself off, looking in the mirror.

She hardly recognizes herself. She seems to have withered into nothing in a matter of a few hours.

She drifts along like she’s lost in a dream, her mind hazed by the slight insanity the loss has brought about. She stays in this state for weeks, forgetting everything she knows except the pain.

It takes a tattoo needle to snap her out of it and make her realize what she’s done to herself. She studies the new scars on her arm as the tattooist fills in the letters with ink as blue as Jimmy’s eyes.

The moment the gun is switched off, she makes a silent promise to him that she won’t do this again. She won’t harm herself ever again.

She keeps that promise for three months.

Until something shatters her world again.

++++++++

Note: This is a recollection of what I went through after Jimmy’s death. I’ll be completely honest in saying that I don’t remember much more than this. I walked around like a zombie and sometimes didn’t leave the bed at all. I closed myself off from so many people, including myself. I didn’t want to believe it and I still don’t, but I somehow knew that I had to wake up and face it at some point.
The day I got my memorial tattoo is the day I opened my eyes and realized how much I have to live for. I want to make Jimmy proud, not sadden him with my unholy actions against myself.

I’m still fighting this battle between what has become instinct when I get depressed, but I’m slowly working my way out of it.

This is my story, the way I remember it. This is completely Non-Fiction. This is the story about how I lost my mind.

I’m still waiting for it to come back.

A letter to myself

Dear Me,

What has happened to you over the last week? You've turned into someone I don't even recognize anymore. The thoughts and feelings that you let control you when you were a teenager are back in full effect and I fear that we may be losing the strength we've built up from the pieces you were shattered into.

I know things aren't the best right now, and I understand that you're hurting, but honestly, the thoughts of slicing yourself open to feel better are just that. Thoughts. We've been over this a million times and I know you know that this isn't healthy. The pain can only numb so much before it becomes pain again and causes you to restart the process all over again.

You're letting your mind wander into a place it shouldn't be and I'm trying like hell to hold you back. I feel like I'm losing. This battle has been long and hard and we've both emerged with scars, physical, emotional and mental.

Things will perk up. I promise they will. You just need to find that place inside of you that knows you will make it. You have to reach for it and grasp it with a firm hand and hold on for dear life because I fear that if I let you continue to behave this way and think this way, you will bury yourself deeper in this pit of pain and despair.

Put the past behind you, dear, take these thoughts and feelings and turn them into something good. I know you can do it because I AM you and I know you better than you know yourself.

Something was lost. Many something's were lost. But with something that is lost, comes something that is gained. Think of the things you have now and be thankful for them. Hold on to them. If they choose to fade away, keep reaching for new things and people and places.

You are better than this. I love you. Please, do not turn on yourself. Do not turn on me. I'm counting on you because I need you.

Love you with everything in this heart we share,

You<3

Spirit Day

It’s been decided. On October 20th, 2010, we will wear purple in honor of the 6 gay boys who committed suicide in recent weeks/months due to homophobic abuse in their homes at at their schools. Purple represents Spirit on the LGBTQ flag and that’s exactly what we’d like all of you to have with you: spirit. Please know that times will get better and that you will meet people who will love you and respect you for who you are, no matter your sexuality. Please wear purple on October 20th. Tell your friends, family, co-workers, neighbors and schools.

RIP Tyler Clementi, Seth Walsh (top)
RIP Justin Aaberg, Raymond Chase (middle)
RIP Asher Brown and Billy Lucas. (bottom)

Copy and paste in your Tumblr, LiveJournal or other blog to spread a message of love, unity and peace.

The thing about Death...

This is a blog post that I came across while sifting through one of my thousands of LiveJournal accounts. I don't know why I felt like sharing, here it is. This is my first (and only) experience with a funeral.

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July 27, 2007

Well, this was my first ever funeral that I've actually gone to and what can I say except... wow.

It was the most disturbing, scary, mind numbing thing I have ever witnessed.

I knew the moment we stepped into the Funeral Home this morning, I was going to have a hard time.
It started when my mom (who was in front of me) asked: "Why is it Open Casket?"

Of course, like someone who has just been told there is a grizzly accident coming up on his way home from work, I looked and damn near threw up.

There she was.
Dead.
Lying in the coffin like she was just sleeping.

Hell, I half expected her to wink at everyone in the room like a child playing a game.

No.
No, she just laid there, dead. Not moving. Nothing.

I couldn't handle it.
I took two steps into the room designated for family and made sure to find a seat where I would not have ANY sort of view of the coffin.

I sat there and started having a mild panic attack and actually left the chapel thing with my aunt, who managed to talk me into going back in, even though I knew very well I wouldn't be able to handle it.

But I kept my eyes on my feet and sat back down and just stared at the wall.

I don't remember a lot of what was said about her, I just remember staring blankly at the wall, thinking about a fan fic I want to start writing.

Well, some time passed and I noticed my mom was getting up.
I thought she was heading outside for a cigarette and followed her.

No.

No, she went straight for the damn casket and like an idiot, I followed her.

The moment I took my momma's hand, I damn near broke it.

Just looking at Grandma Jean made my heart race and my chest hurt.
I made it a point to bury my face in Mom's shoulder so she would get the hint and let her take me outside.

I tell you, I have never cried so hard in my life.

It's all so surreal.
I mean, I keep thinking that it's a dream and I'll wake up eventually, but I also know better than that and you can't wake up when you weren't sleeping in the first place.

So yeah, I'm completely numb from head to toe and I have been since we left.

What I wouldn't give to be able to feel something.

But I have nothing to use and I would get in trouble with several ppl and I'm in no mood to be bitched at.

Anyway, there's my traumatic tale.
Hope it doesn't freak you guys out.
Just be happy you weren't there....

♥

Cali
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FoREVer yours,

Cali B. Diamond-Plague

Darkness has kept the light concealed

This is now your life.

What’s it feel like?

Die, buried alive.

The line from Buried Alive seems to stick with me, amongst others. I don’t know what it feels like. It feels like loneliness. It’s a cold, painful feeling I can’t seem to shake, no matter how hard I try.

As the release date for Avenged Sevenfold’s Nightmare gets closer and closer, the feeling seems to be multiplying into something I can no longer control. My own nightmares are getting worse and a thousand times more confusing than they were. I think that reality is attempting to slap me in the face and tell me that this is real, Jimmy’s really gone and I still don’t want to believe it.

I’d rather live in my safe, fictional world where he’s still alive and well and I’m just as happy as ever. God knows there will be something or someone that ruins this for me. I don’t want that. I’d prefer to stay locked in this delusion that keeps me comforted and sane. Though I’m far from sane anymore.

If you could see the thoughts inside this head of mine, you’d wonder how it is I manage to function in the real world. Truth is, I don’t even know. I know that I’m still dazed, even seven months later, and I’m still screaming for God to give him back. Not just to me, but to the guys and the fans and everyone else who loves Jimmy. I know that I’m not healthy, physically and mentally.

And as my 23^rd birthday approaches, I seem to be regressing back to that sixteen year old me with enough mental problems to fill an entire book. I only hope that it stops and I am able to keep pushing forward day by day until I can support myself and finally leave this hellish place I’m living in.

These are my thoughts, my everyday wonderings. I question my sanity and my will to live every single day and go to bed thinking that maybe, just maybe, I will wake up and the answers will be there.

So far, this is not the case.

Yours foREVer,

Cali B. Diamond-Plague