"Let Me Try Your Wu-Tang Style." aka "Baba O'Riley" aka Setting Things Straight aka How I Am What I Am

I might not have given a great introduction of who I am when I first started this blog. Although I did say several vital things about my life: "I am a human male. I also enjoy hats." -Evan Ryan October 25, 2010, 12:40pm. I have heard form you, the people, that I have spoken to little of myself and my past. Well my good people settle down with a nice warm cup of tea and/or hot chocolate, and prepare to read and/or skim the blog post in which I attempt to introduce myself.

A warning to the readers of this post: Not all of what you are about to read is going to be fun and jovial (hopefully you think this has been somewhat fun and jovial so far).  In fact as it turns out the things that allow me to laugh the most are generally the things that hurt me the most at the time.  Explaining that might be another post altogether.

 I guess I should start this story with something that makes most people both laugh and cry: childbirth.  I never asked to be born. The responsibility of life was thrust upon me like sack of old dirty beans onto the back of an unsuspecting Frenchman.  This, when you think about it, strange ritual of birth happened on September 14th 1990 year of our lord.  My Father, a fan of the not yet released Pokemon, suggested that I be named Voltorb. My Mother, a fan of the still uninvented Digimon, suggested Zephrymon.  Thankfully, the doctor who delivered me, who thankfully was a fan of real life, suggested Evan.  My parents begrudgingly agreed only because they could not agree between Voltorb and Zephrymon.

Childhood was spent creating versions of Mozart's "Marriage of Figaro. My version usually included me wearing underwear on my head acting as Spiderman, singing the Batman theme. Most of artistic creations were not appreciated by the family. No they didn't tell me to stop, or put me down in any way, however  I don't think they grasped the subtleties of my work: the commentaries on the Clinton Era, the degradation of society due to the prevalence of postmodernism.  All they seemed to do was say task rhetorical questions like "Who's our big boy?" and "Who's the cutest Evan in the world?".  Even though I would always answer "Me." they seemed to keep asking similar questions. This caused me to eventually ask if I was giving them the right answer.

Eventually I reached an age where things started to make a little more sense (unlike my blog),  and I started to formulate a view of the world.  This was at the age where I started to go to Elementary school.  This world view usually consisted of me as the center of the world. Things haven't changed much. I could talk about the escapades I went on during this time in my life. However not only were they few and far between, but also I like to think it holds little relevance to what I am today. 

The relevant-to-now part of the story picks up my senior year of high school.  During this time I was about as average as one gets, I had a normal amount of friends, a normal amount of social awkwardness, and I had a normal value on the teenage self worth scale or Graduate Rating And Determining Experimental System G.R.A.D.E.S. I even was an average wrestler on the mat.

Now I have reached a point that a have a lot of trouble describing what happens.  One day I was driving back from school carpooling a fellow wrestler after a particularly hard post season practice. I told him I needed to stop at home before I dropped him off to grab some water, because I was beginning to get very dehydrated.  As I pulled in front of my house I immediately noticed the police cars with their hard lights rotating in the daylight, but their sirens were stone quiet.  My dad was outside talking to an officer and as soon as he saw me pull into the driveway he walked up to the car and told me to come talk with  him.

"Mom's gone"

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I was 18.  Legally I was an man. Supposedly I should be able to handle the suicide of a family member. 

I couldn't do it.  I used every coping method I had in my arsenal.  I cried. I cried more times in one week than I had in the past several years of my life. I tried to pretend everything was normal. The next day I went to an end of season party that was held at my friends house.  I joked.  Joking was a way I would deal with a lot of rough situations in my life. However, joking wasn't suited for dealing with the death of a loved one.  Finally I turn to the only thing I had left:  I went numb.

This seemed like the only thing I could do to deal with the guilt, the shame, the sorrow, the anger, and the regret, that came with thoughts of my mother.  Although it did work for a short period of time following my Mothers passing.  Not dealing with those feelings would eventually threaten my safety.

So I went to college.  The wonderful Colorado College if you were wondering.  I expanded my views, met new friend, and tried to end my life twice.

The first time I tried to kill myself in college was with the medicine I was currently taking, prozac.  Maybe some of you are thinking "I didn't know you could hurt yourself with anti depressants."  The answer is apparently no because I took a bottle and a half of the stuff and all I did was throw up several times. 

The second time I tried to end it with fire. 

I ended up in the hospital

I ended up in a mental hospital

I worked my way out out of the mental hospital and now I am 5 minutes from it and I'm going back to school in January of 2011.  Back to Colorado College. 

I needed to reboot my life.

So there you have it.  That's me.  I tried to be brief so I can flush it out later in later posts (also I accidentally posted this prematurely and had to edit it).  So the end of this post will be quite clumsy.

Evan