I started this essay and didnt finish it... i'm posting it now though... it was written 6/15-6/20/2011.... I'm posting this in July 2012...
Write about what you know. That’s the advice that I assumed when choosing a topic for my term paper my junior year of high school, I wrote about teen suicide. This was all in a time before it was talked about as it is today and I got a B-/C+ which I wasn’t all that happy about. It was a dual course paper getting two grades. Not that any of this is important now but I wrote it because I’d attempted suicide and it was what I knew.
Why am I writing this? Its 6:58AM on a Wednesday morning after having been awakened earlier with a text from my mother of Good Morning, my mind didn’t shut off and go back to sleep. So this idea has come to me to start writing in an organized fashion instead of my blog/journal which is more of a current events type vent forum. I’m not Jason Mulgrew with a anecdotally childhood that you can muse about in a memoir, I’m me and I guess that’s what it is, for now anyway. I’m not sure anyone will ever read this but I’m writing now.
Disjointed as this may be its what it is, maybe later I’ll re-organize, maybe I’ll seek publication but that’s unlikely.
Who is this woman who presumes to write whatever this shall turn into? Well at the moment I’m 32, employed, depressed and obese, that pretty much sums me up. I have great clarity when my mind goes a wandering in my beliefs, thoughts and advice; however usually I am at a great loss of articulation when it comes to conveying these to others, including any shrinks’ I’m seeing. Its been 9 minutes since I started typing and my snooze just notified me of my laziness. I guess you’ll meet me along the way should you keep reading, though should this remain on my computer you is a wholly fictitious concept.
Outline:
Intro – done mostly
Brief words on HS & attempt?
Post/College – ER/PP community, college, todays loss of online anonymity
Back to my original statement of writing what you know, I’ve actually done that 3 times previously. First is the Poe assignment I got in English, either Sophomore or Junior year, I cant remember which because I had the same teacher both years. Regardless, the Poe assignement was to write a short story in a style similar to or in homage to Edgar Allen Poe. This story used to be an item I had in my possession long after high school, but its since been lost somewhere in between New Jersey and Pittsburgh it was lost, but that’s not what I wanted to say. The story was about a girl who killed herself and was narrating a family vacation she was observing as a ghost. I sincerely wish I still had my original words because it’s a story I’d like to re-read but I remember it. The girl was sad maybe regretful of her choice but it didn’t matter at the point the story began because she was already dead. I remember how she died, she overdosed on MAOIs and was listening to or recording herself reciting the prayer, Now I Lay Me Down to Sleep. I remembered this tidbit today after finishing the book 13 Reasons Why, if you’ve read the book you may know why it jogged my memory of writing this story. I wrote this story in either 1995 or 1996, got an A but I don’t think anyone knew the reason I wrote it or why it still holds a place in my heart. I wrote it because it was one of the scenarios I’d thought up of how I’d kill myself, overdose and the prayer. Now it seems somehow idealistic of me though its still a memory I think about and a scenario that I don’t dismiss when it comes back into view.
Staying on topic now, the last time I wrote about what I knew I was in college; sophomore year Creative Writing, mandatory class. My professor gave us the assignment for the entire semester, write a series of related essays on a personal topic. These essays I still have in my possession because I digitally preserved them at my Geocities website and have since retrieved copies from the internet archive along with my journal from that time period. I know what was in those essays and without going to consult them, rather resisting the urge to do so they were about a 3rd grade teacher who killed herself over Christmas break I believe the year I was in 2nd grade, she was a popular 3rd grade teacher and it was sad. Another of the essays was about an encounter with my step-father where after I threw a tantrum I suppose you can call it, and knocked over a bicycle in our garage for him not including me he turned and charged after me. He chased me up to my bedroom which was on the top floor of our split level with loft, caught me on the loft, I planted myself on the stairs and he kneed/kicked me in the back to try to get me moving. I don’t remember exactly what happened immediately thereafter but I called my dad and he had my uncle pick me up and he had me make a formal police report of the incident. I lived with him for 3 months after that, before returning to my moms; that was in 8th grade. The only essay containing a good memory is of when I was little maybe 3 I stepped on a safety pin and cut the sole of my foot, I remember my mom held me and rocked me to sleep after that happened. Today though I cannot recall that memory in great clarity since I wrote it down, or the previous memory either for that matter. I used to have physical memory tied to that, like a visceral reminder and feeling attached to both of them, which I no longer have. I believe there were 5 or 6 essays; these three I’m positive I wrote, the other 2 or 3 I’m afraid I’ll have to refresh my memory on their exact nature but one is about the suicide attempt I made on 10/25/1994, is it weird that I know the exact date some 17 years later? I’ll look them up and return to this little endeavor of a word document and summarize them correctly later. These items however are the ones known to my mother, my cousin and I believe my sister because they all read them after I had put them up on my website.
I don’t share anymore with anyone really, there are two people who I sort of do but, I cannot be wholly honest with either, I don’t know what would happen. I’m isolated, I know it, its by my own design and some days I hate it, some days its good but most days its lonely.
There is one incident that has come to mind recently, its because the person involved recently got married to another friend, though I’m not sure if that’s the right word for either, from high school. They were not high school sweethearts but started dating after graduation sometime. The reason I’ve thought of this is he’s turned into a good guy, I mean from outward appearances and what I know and of course, facebook. He’s a prosecuter in NYC so he works against the ills of society and uses the justice system as his forum for doing so. I’m really genuinely proud of his life and choice of career. There is a specific memory though that I doubt he remembers but I do, and it was such a split second type moment but it was well I don’t know the word at the moment but I remember. What happened? I was walking in the hall at school and he kicked me right in the ass, not hard but it was enough that I dropped all the books I was carrying. I was livid, it was the last straw for me on that day, I don’t remember what else happened but it was it, I was done I was off to take the suicide train again. This happened after my original attempt, later sophomore year I believe. I had a little black notebook and wrote about how it was it I was done, again, I shared with my best friend and she in turn told her mother who told my mother and when I got home from school my mother had a counselor or psychologist on the phone making me contract for safety until my next appointment. So I was livid, and I think that was the beginning of the end of the friendship that I had. Actually the beginning of the end to that friendship and a few others was my attempt, this was just a contributing factor.
I was thinking earlier driving home from an appointment about Facebook. More specifically how strange it is when you think about it that I’m friends with maybe 60-70% of the people I graduated high school with. I had a small graduating class, maybe 120 students, so everyone pretty much knew everyone else. By the time I graduated though, I wasn’t really friends with anyone anymore, like good lasting friends; I thought I had those at one point but was wrong. Anyway the book I read says a lot about perception of others, I know how I thought of and perceived just about everyone in my class but I really have no idea how they thought of me. I have an idea, but I mean I just don’t know. This is illustrated by one request I got on facebook from a member of my class, I replied to her request basically who are you I only accept people I know as friends, though I thought I was sure who she was, I wanted confirmation though I cannot recall the reason why. Anyway she replied and told me and said that she admired me in high school, remembered me as a person who was strong, did what she wanted and didn’t really care what everyone said. Partially true but missing the boat. I did what I wanted, cared about what other people thought about me and I was insecure as all hell, still am actually; but this was all a function or a manifestation of the fact that I was depressed, and had been depressed for a long time.
A girl I knew, I cant call her a friend really, she died the summer after 6th grade of EEE (eastern equine encephalitis). I remember being all sorts of upset about it, not because she died perse but because I whole heartedly with all my being wanted it to have been me. I recall the thinking that went on in my head about how she had never even like chosen what sneakers to wear or some stupid thing and I had and I was tired of my life and she was so cheery and good and it should have been me. I also did not go to her funeral, a friend of mine called and asked if I was going and said no and I believe to this day that she was upset with me for not attending. I don’t like funerals, because I don’t cry, at least not in public and not infront of anyone if I can help it. I was accused of being an ice queen at my grandmothers funeral by my sister because I did not cry or seem upset, I was what you could describe as stoic throughout. I did cry though, before she died, before I left to go visit her in the hospital I cried and I miss her terribly. Okay stopping that no crying while I’m writing.
Why am I writing this? I think its because I want someone to know me and because selfish as it is I think I have something to say. I recently re-discovered reading. I’ve been reading about a book a week for the past year and a half and its wonderful. I read when I was younger, elementary and middle school, less so in junior high and had stopped all together by the time high school rolled around. I read things like Sweet Valley High and Christopher Pike. Christopher Pike when I found him was by far my favorite author of those years, two books I recall reading but I think I may have smooshed together in my memory are “Remember Me” and “Witch”, I think I should re-read those but I’m not sure I want to mess with my memory of them. I read sparingly in the intervening years, though I did read Jurassic Park for summer reading one year, finished it in a day great book, another summer reading discovery was Acceptable Risk by Robin Cook. Cook and Crichton were the only two authors who I read anything from until I started reading again last year, and by reading again I mean for personal enjoyment. Reading is something that is kind of special, you’re being told a story in the most intricate way because only in a book do you have the privilege of knowing the characters thoughts. There is a subtlety in novels that gets lost when they are translated into movies, at least for the good ones. Back to the beginning though, reading has inspired me to start writing this, didn’t want you all to get lost in this anecdote without having a purpose for it.
Group got cancelled tonight, well its officially on hiatus... we shall see if it re-emerges. I gave good advice tonight in my opinion, I always and will forever give better advice than I can ever hope to take. This falls into the I will do things my way at all costs good or bad, that’s my mother’s description of my personality and its true, just don’t tell her I admit she’s right. I had gone and was going to ask if this wasn’t going to be a stable group than I would just assume not come, and the only reason for 3 of the last 4 sessions that happened in the past 2 months were because I joined otherwise it would have died sooner, maybe I prolonged the inevitable but not for too long.
I’m re-reading 13 reasons, I’m not 100% sure why, because I never re-read books, like ever, but its provided such a catharsis today I think it deserves or I need to read it again.
I had a birthday party I think in 3rd or 4th grade at Magic Mountain Mini Golf. This is the only birthday party I recall where people came and I had fun plus girls I invited came, even though I thought it may be a long shot. I got what are probably the only 2 birthday gifts I remember receiving from friends when I was “little”. I got a pair of earrings danglyish with black and white alternating beads, I pierced my ears that year for my birthday. I also got what was my favorite gift, April Fools the Sweet Valley High book; why was it my favorite gift? Two reasons, first it came from someone I wasn’t sure would come and two it was a great gift I mean how did she know I read the Sweet Valley books, they were popular at the time I know but I don’t know I like to believe she noticed and got it because of that.
Being dismissive of people can be just as bad and sometimes worse than being mean directly to them.
SO many thoughts at the moment, but I’ll start somewhere. Re-reading 13 Reasons, the vehicle for the story is cassette tapes, I got a cassette tape when I was little, I mighty grey/black rectangle with a handle no less! I used to record myself on blank tapes, singing, hit the big black play button and the little orange record inset in it and off I went. I thought about recording tapes a lot, recording my thoughts for some unnamed unseen therapist or something to listen to and we could have an audio recording exchange, I hated talking to the therapists I had, still do, but somehow I never got around to it, its like when I thought I wanted to try the words escaped me, or saying them out loud or starting to diminished them somehow to the point where I didn’t think anyone would understand what I was saying. I never did it, never did anything close to it until college and started an online journal. Being able to express myself in words, words that not necessarily anyone would read but words thoughts, emotions somewhere in case someone would understand or nobody whichever really. I still do this today, especially when I’m really depressed as a means to get it out somewhere, somehow. I want to share them but I can’t, I’m too afraid that someone won’t understand or will misinterpret or think I’m just a whiny girl who should just suck it up and get over it. I’ve gotten over it, gotten over the emotions tied to things but the events themselves they continue to live with me and effect my judgments and parts of my personality. The girl in the book she states that she decided to float through school and not connect with anyone and just basically muddle through, that’s exactly what I did, and what I still do today for the most part. It hasn’t gained me much, I have hardly any friends but I’m still entrenched in the fear of someone knowing me or not knowing me, or incorrectly knowing me. Is this what would have happened to the girl in the book had she not successfully killed herself? Because I didn’t and this was the path I took and I can’t pull myself off it, or I don’t want to its very familiar and I like familiar.
