I’m sailing in the dark and I know it will get worse.

You guys probably don’t know me very well and that’s okay. I’ve been here for a while, lurked a lot, and silently been witnessing the good, the bad, and the ugly. I love that you all candidly share your breakdowns and breakthroughs only to receive genuine, and much-needed advice, and praise.

I would have posted this in Journals, but I didn’t want it to clog the Journal page. I hope it’s alright here. I contemplated making a postsecret post but that’s not my style. Either way, I hope you guys can impart some wisdom onto me, as I clearly don’t find it when I seek it in other places, and if it is there, then I am too blind to see it (I suspect it is the latter.).

I’ll try to keep it brief. Growing up, I’ve been told, and from whatever little I can remember, I was always a happy child. I was always somewhat of an achiever: I was never a prodigy of any sort, but I did fine at school, was fairly well-adjusted, and very well-liked by my peers. I had a strong sense of duty; I was diligent in my tasks, and I enjoyed being responsible. I got good grades, and was a “good kid” not because I wanted to please my parents, but because I wanted it.

Looking back, however, I do see a faint darkness that permeated my too-good-to-be-true existence. Signs that maybe I had never really been “happy”, just less sad. I was on the heavier side (nothing crazy) as a kid, and upon entering 10 years, I was very overweight (but not obese). My parents, perhaps out of love, argued and bickered all the time about my health (more like my dad yelled at my mum for feeding me to death. He used to be like that: he blamed everyone else for everything that happened but himself). They were worried, and rightly so: cholesterol on my father’s side and diabetes on my mum’s (diabetes is what claimed my grandmum; I never got to meet her). I was forced to take tennis lessons which I dreaded at the time (though I am glad I had them, now. It’s nice to be able to say that I can play a sport). Despite this, I was grossly overweight well into my 14th year. I was still fairly fat, but I started growing taller. All throughout, I had always retained confidence and fearlessness in myself despite my weight.

I also am gay; of course I had never known it for what is was, but I was born this way. Looking back, the things I thought as a 7 year old, the things that I told no one all make sense.

After year 9, we relocated to Canada for a better life. I did not expect to be so, and it certainly didn’t occur to me then, but I was in for a huge culture shock. By that point, I was used to moving schools, so I expected that it wouldn’t be any different: it would be a fun experience, and whatever setbacks I’d face, I’d bounce back ASAP. I mean, previously, in all my schools, the new kid has always been a source of curiosity, bemusement, fun and new friendships. Little did I know that that wasn’t how things operated in North America.

I hear high school is a source of trauma for many native North Americans. It was definitely no easier on someone coming from a different continent. Still, I was optimistic at first: I made acquaintances very fast, although the cliques threw me off completely. I’d always been bright, charming, and sociable – and these were the cards to hanging out with the popular kids. Unfortunately, not so in NA. I didn’t look the part, and I definitely did not act the part.

Things began to change: months passed, and I started growing lonely (I recognize this in hindsight). I spent a lot of time on the internet, and it was around then that I discovered Wotmania (!). Winter came, and I had no real friends. It was odd. It was as if all I knew about life was failing me. Regardless, I plodded on. Upon the advice of my parents, I enrolled myself in an advanced placement type program at school. My grades were fine, although as the year progressed, they began to slide slowly (AP Physics, although in my defense, the teacher was horrid. And he was an AP Biology teacher too!).

In the coming summer, I discovered the wonderful, exciting world of message boards. I met people who were like me, and I met people who stimulated me – all virtually of course. I hung out with these people into the wee hours of the morning, the clacking of the keyboard piercing the night. My parents found this very odd (I can understand why). A few weeks before high school resumed, they placed an internet block which regulated the hours I spent, and the content I could access (I had bad exploits with porn in the past).

This infuriated me. I had never known such restrictions mainly because I had never before given my parents reasons to impose any restrictions. This punishment was alien and inhumane. Year 11 was pretty bad. I’d squander my time on the net (since that time was restricted after 10:00 pm), and get very little or no homework done. True, it was high school, but these were AP classes, so we actually had tasks almost every night. I became truant (had the net during the day!), defiant, and tardy. I might have well been doing drugs like the “bad boys” for the way I behaved. My grades sank deeper.

I also decided to get a job in retail upon turning 16. I got the job. Things should have improved, but they didn’t. Juggling school and work was a challenge. I was caught in a weird stalemate: On time for work, and a good employee but late for class, and a horrid student.

In early 2007, we all (myself included as I saw I was going no where) decided upon an intervention. I visited a counselor/therapist and she was greatly beneficial for me. She suggested that I should not label myself (depressed or anything of the sort) before being sure of it. She encouraged me to reclaim routine, to eat well (I had noticed a lack of appetite and perpetual tiredness) and to get enough sleep. It worked. Slowly, but it did. Things began to look up, and I mean really up: I enrolled in summer school (enjoyed it!), got my grades up, and hired a personal trainer. I regained my confidence, my control, and lost quite a few inches. Year 12 was fast-approaching and it did look promising. I began socializing a lot more, and made many new “friends”. I now look upon those relationships as superficial, and eventually one-sided; at the time, however, they ere tremendous fun.

Grade 12 went by smoothly – my AP classes were great, and while I did not do as well as I’d have liked, I did well enough. One of my bugbears had always been that I never knew what I wanted to do in life. As August (the one after grade 12) drew nearer, so did my worries. My hesitancy at choosing a career hadn’t allowed me to send applications out to prestigious universities in the country outside our city. Bummed (as I really wanted to leave), I was resigned to going to the university in our city. My father suggested going into Business given my gross indecision, and reluctantly, I agreed. His advice was sound given that I had no alternatives.

I half-looked forward to university, half-dreaded it. I was happy because I’d heard incredible things from people about their college days. Upset because of my indecision (“Is this really where I want to go?!”) and the university itself. I was nervous and excited most of all to meet new people. My self-confidence had whittled down to the size of a toothpick. I still didn’t look the way I wanted to (presumably for others, anyway). I was anxious to meet guys too. I feared it as well. I feared rejection (and I suppose I still do). Anyway, my worries were in vain because no one asked me out or anything (they still haven’t but I gave up a while ago. I’m too afraid and skeptical to make the initiative. I don’t think anyone would want to see me seriously, or casually, and I don’t look forward to hearing, “No, sorry”).

Uni was a complete bust. No one had warned me about how hard it was going to be. No one. Sure, I never thought it was going to be a trip to Candyland, but I thought that I had faced some tough shit – my AP courses were rigourous, and I had been subject to numerous very intense academic settings before). People told me it was going to be a lot of work. But they failed to mention how lonely a class can feel, how irrelevant subject material can seem, and how the courses, the people, the very walls seem to smother you.

Regardless, it is my fault. I should have stuck it out. I didn’t.

I spiraled out of control, skipping classes and becoming a recluse. Even at my very worst, prior to this, I had never completely given up. I spent my time online, losing myself in video games, and the like. Utterly irresponsible. I hid it all from my parents. I had always been an honest child, forthcoming about my grades, and such. This changed. My parents suspected something. I doubt they could imagine what was brewing but they knew I was supremely unhappy.

Christmas came, and went, and I finally decided it was time to face the world (because my parents soon would. Indeed, a few days before I visited my academic counselor, my father had called to set up a meeting with her). Five Fs sure stunned my parents. I can’t imagine what they felt like, and I’m ashamed I put them through that. I decided to retake my failed courses… however, after few weeks, I decided it was not for me. I needed a break. University wasn’t allowing me to spiral further out of control. My worried folks could only watch in horror as all I did was ate, slept, and played video games. If they felt bad, I felt horrible. My failures clouded my past, and bleakness loomed ahead. We began seeing my mother’s therapist as a family.

It was this lady through whom my parents asked the million dollar question: was I a homosexual? Having been out for 2 years to my immediate circle of friends (and certainly to those who asked me point blank), with no hesitancy I replied yes. My parents had strong hunches because of many things I’d said and done over the years. I’m sure they were devastated though. (True to his bookish self, my father got an issue of Time that explored love and sexuality a few days later. I rolled my eyes.) They don’t really talk about it. Which I suppose is fine.

Things started to move again. The lady suggested I could see her alone, and she’d help me out. She was fabulous. I saw her a couple of times, and she encouraged little steps. She recommended limiting my playtime, she advised that I shouldn’t beat myself up over the past, and to look ahead. Things began to change. They just didn’t change fast enough for my parents. A week later, a mobile mental health team arrived at our house. (While I almost understand why they did it, I still think it was wrong of my parents to ambush me like that.) I was upset (and I hope you understand why); as a result of that meeting, my parents decided to remove our computer. I could not (physically) leave my bed for about a week.

This is pathetic, but I felt hollow. It was as if I’d lost a dear friend. In a way, it was my only friend. 4 miserable years together.

A week passed and I began eating again. The mental health people coaxed me to visit a psychologist. I don’t like being forced, and I certainly didn’t wish to see him. I kept details of what had happened to me over the last 6 months a secret. I have never admitted this to anyone. This is the first time I have written it down. Perhaps I deceived him. He diagnosed me as not depressed,

I had an appointment with my therapist coming up. I was eager to see her. I felt vindicated, and at peace when she said that what my parents did was wrong. It was as if a great weight had left me. She also encouraged me to let it go, and look ahead. So I did. I began working out again. It was hard at first. At 5’9, I weighed 125 lbs. I began looking for a job. Anything to fill the void in me. Things did improve. I looked forward to my next session, only to find that my therapist had left. Quit, laid off, died. I don’t know. She was a great counselor. She was the first one who suggested that what I seek is a kindred spirit. I missed her sorely at times, especially when visiting other counselors.

Months progressed, and I did get better. I think. I decided to strike a deal with my parents. I bargained for the computer in exchange for all my hard work in the last few months. They agreed. November – December were great months. I was happiest then I think, although the thought of registering for January 2010 back at school churned my stomach.

I went back to school in January. Enjoyed it, but mostly hated it. My grades were abysmal by my golden standards. Cs, a D here and there. I did do well in French (love languages), so much so that over the summer I got a letter from the department head suggesting I do either a minor or major in French.

In spite of good news such as this, I was up for dismissal once term ended. Since I had five Fs, my GPA was dreadfully low. I appealed it. Fought hard, ran back and forth and spent all my summer getting the dismissal revoked. Even in the face of this “victory” I felt really hollow. September was here before I knew it.

And the cycle began anew…

I’ll be honest, I’m doing alright. Okay, I’m doing horrendously, but much better than before. I don’t cut class unless I have to. I have an A- (soon to be an A+ hopefully) in Macroeconomics; a B- in French (we only have had one test so this mark will go up!); and a B- in Business Enterprises. Not sure about Stats, but I might be on the road to flunktown. Calculus is just horrid. I dropped the course today after spectacularly failing the midterm today. My study habits are atrocious, that’s apparent but how do I fix it with an avalanche of work piling up? (I want to be proud of my work, not “make do” and scrape a 70!)

I guess you’re wondering what the point of this long post is. Simply put (Haha), I don’t know what to do. I’m terrified that history is repeating itself, and that I will be dismissed anyway. Everything seems so familiar… the despair, the tiredness. I was rearranging my schedule for next semester today, and as I looked at the course – Statistics, Computer Science, and the like – I wonder if I am just wasting more time and money. Initially, I didn’t want to take more whimsical courses but I think I have made a grave error. Don’t misunderstand me: I find Macroeconomics and Business Enterprises really engaging! I just have no idea what I want for myself. Actually that’s not true. I want to be happy (don’t think I ever was). I want to be self-efficacious. I just want to be.

I am just… so lost. In everything I do and have done. Every time, there’s a light that shines, it’s seemingly swallowed by darkness. And I fear and hate that the darkness might be *my* doing. I’m also terribly ashamed of what I’ve done to my family. There was a time, not too long ago, that I’d said of my parents, “If I weren’t related to them, I wouldn’t want to know them”. I take that back, of such a thing is possible. They’ve helped and hindered, but they have been with me in this from start to finish. My father works out of town and I miss him dearly. I really do. I feel enormously guilty – can’t even express it and I don’t think I have before – the money that’s been spent, the time that’s gone, the opportunities wasted… I feel the weight of it all, as I rightly should. I brought this upon myself. I don’t deserve the kindness I’ve been shown.

I just want to make it right. I want out. I don’t want to disappoint the folks, they don’t deserve that. I have done it way too many times now: I don’t want to let me down again.

Most of all, I just wish I had someone who’d like me for me. My HS friends are little more than acquaintances now. All they do is party. Not that there’s anything wrong with that but it’s not something I’m ready for yet. I feel very alone in all of this; a lot of this stuff I’ve said here, I haven’t mentioned to my parents. I get the feeling they don’t take me seriously enough. They just want me to get better, to get back on track. Which is fair. I’d just like someone I could trust, and let my guard down: Someone who’d send me messages and phone calls, not just mass texts for wings and beer. I’m also not one to keep count, but I’m tired of initiating everything. There’s a familiar face in the hallway? I’ll be the first to wish them. I smile. I’m friendly. I’m articulate. And I’m sincere. I’m also close to resigning. It doesn’t matter anymore.

If you’re still here with me, thank you. I’ve never really shared my “story” in such detail (every word true), even on another website. RAFO seems right. So thanks muchly. I’m glad I could share it with you.

It is probably lost in that incoherent ramble, but I want to man up. I know I have to grab the bull by its horns, but why is it so hard for me? Is it hard for you too? Why, every time I seem to get a grip, I lose it?

I’m simply fed up of being nothing. I’m not good at anything and it annoys me. (Not fishing for compliments or looking to elicit sympathy – I really am not. I am not the first in academics, never have been. I am alright at languages, but there are dozens better than me. I am not fit really, just super skinny. I read, but I’m not half as smart as you folks. I play video games, but I’m really rubbish. I’m no forum star: my posts don’t generate thousands of views. I can draw but barely. I’m not even good looking, and certainly not average looking to be passable. I just look weird. I can’t make funny faces or wiggle my ears. And so on…) I would just like to do something right, and good for a change that I can be proud of, and have others be proud of me.

Again, thanks for hearing me out.