I struggled at an early age with the thought/feelings of being forgotten. It was the one constant that followed me around. Yes, being forgotten as if I never existed is the one thing I feared most. Was I the only one??
At a young age, two kids I knew died in a car crash on the way to school. They were brothers. Not long after that, another kid I knew was killed in a car wreck. The memory of seeing dead kids expressionless in a coffin had a cruel effect on me. A deep internal battle began, lost in misty misguided misery, marooned by addiction.
I can pin point were this unwanted fear came from. Shortly after their deaths, life for everyone returned to “normal”, but not for me. I remember being extremely angry with life and death. My outlook became daunting. People forgot them, they were no longer present. I did a whole lot of vandalizing.
I set out knowingly trying to fill a void with anything that felt good. I continuously pondered if I died, how long it would take for you to forget me. I hated not having something to do, I had to be around others for fear of being forgotten. It was taxing. Soon I just didn’t give a **** about anything other than sex/sex/sex/sex/sex/ being extremely reckless, and getting wasted.
This behavior became a fast moving river spilling into an ocean where I spent years drowning in codependency. Being a teenager was rough. I woke up one day upside down, shattered glass in my mouth, car smashed to bits, massive pain “help! get me out!” I was a passenger, they left me there??
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