Upon reading this, one must know up front, this is not an easy story. It is a little foul, and maybe not what one wants to read, but it is the truth and must be written. If you are going to read after this paragraph, you must continue without stopping. Have no worries and take no action before finishing this document.
Wednesday May 19th after work, I have a very pleasant evening. I enjoy fast food, watch some unhealthy television, shower, and retire to bed. Although I am in bed at a decent hour I can not sleep. My mind wanders through it’s vast journey. My mind first goes on a reflection of the day, a decent day, no better and no worse than any other day, nor one to be remembered for any specialties.
But my mind starts to nitpick everything:
I could have made more cash if I were a better server. Offered refills quicker, repeated orders, made friendly conversations, the extra special thing every server should do, but I didn’t with every table. I could have left work earlier if I would have done my side work correctly the first time, quicker, and stayed out of everyone’s way. I can’t balance four plates yet–this is a must at my restaurant. What a horrible day I’ve had, and it was no one’s fault but my own. I ruined it, like I seem to ruin everything.
Will I wake tomorrow, on time I mean? I can’t ever, and now I have ruined my G.P.A. I had a 3.6! And now a 3.2, which will drop. Why? Because I can’t stop failing. Not in the classes, but with myself. I fail as a person, so the one thing I’m good at, I am now failing. Oh my god. I might not graduate. I have to pray to pass the finals to get D averages. What a student I’ve become. Way to let everyone down.
I use to be people’s pride and joy. Top of the class, best papers, highest understanding, the perfect student. Awarded all the time for my extracurricular activities and high grades, since grade 1. I’m only in service learning and student council now. Was V.P. of science club and my class as well as Secretary of National Honors Society. Man have I failed everyone. No wonder my parents can’t bear to be around me. I’m a failure.
Finally I sleep.
But this negative mind journey has taken me into 3am on Thursday, May 20th. I have horrible night terrors, and continuously wake and go back to sleep until 2pm. This is where I realize I have missed band, and there is a concert tonight. I walk toward school, thumb out at every car that passes. People give me the bird until a man finally lets me into his truck. He’s wary he could get in trouble and drops me off down the road. I thank him many times for his generosity as he quickly drives off. I run into the school. It’s now 2:40pm. I talk to the band teacher. I can still make a skit and perform, no consequences. Splendid. Time to walk home.
As I walk, my mind can not cease going down that same negative passageway. I missed another full day. I’m hanging onto graduation by a thread. How am I going to do it? Will I? 20th in my class, for now. Not like the colleges will still want me anyway. I’m screwed. I’ve already messed so much up, what’s the point in going after the concert? I hate that I’m so messed up. Depressive bi-polar at 18, really? My medication is for seizures, I’m so messed up. How am I going to manage in the real world if I can’t now? I’m almost home. I can’t stand being this messed in the head. I don’t belong anywhere. No wonder everyone abandons me. I practically have no place to live. I need to sleep and not wake. If only I could be that blessed. I’ll just nap, set my alarm for 5. The concert will be grand; I love band.
I wake up, thinking how happy I am that it’s before the alarm went off. I look at the clock. It’s 9pm. I missed it. My last band concert. I missed my last band concert. I fail band. I fail. I fail. I fail. I was so right last night. What’s the point. I’m never going anywhere. I go get a Capri Sun, come back to my room drinking all of it, with all of my kolodopin and flexural. I sleep until late Friday. Woman-I-live-with believes I should go to the hospital. She doesn’t know what, but something’s wrong. I promise I’m fine, even though I just can’t wait until I go back to sleep.
I just need to make it permanent. Where are my other medications? Paxil is un-find-able. Tylenol should do it. Glass of Mountain Dew and a bottle of Ibuprofen in fine. Take the entire bottle, fall back asleep. I wake up to my phone ringing an hour later. It’s a long-time friend wanting to go for a walk. I tell him I can’t possibly, I’m a waste of time and miserable. He says no, of course; he‘d be a bad person if he didn‘t. We get off the phone and he says he wants to go sneak in a pool.
Wow, that sounds so fun. That’d be awesome. I wanna go. I want to live. I need to live. I want to live a life. I love life. I won’t, I know I took enough to do the trick. “How do you make yourself throw up” I search on google. Finger down the throat is the only way I find, and I can’t do it. Fuck I’m screwed. I’m screwed. I’m dead. I finally am doing something right. Wait, I have the school’s “Dante’s Inferno”. I place it with other school items, so it will be taken back after I’m done for. I lay back down and accept the fact that I’m finally getting what I want, only it’s not what I want now.
For once my mind is blank. I just lay there and exist. It’s simple. It’s splendid. I look over and I see the book I had placed to be taken care of. “Dante’s Inferno”. Although raised Apostolic by my mother and Jewish by my father, I have no real religious beliefs. But what if? What if Dante is right?
I contemplate which level of Hell I would be in. Could be in Limbo for not believing. So I have no where to really go. If only I were that good of a human. I’ve been lustful, but not more than any other 18 year old girl, so I don’t think level two is for me. I’ve never been greedy; the Jewish stereotype is wrong. I’m not aggressive or a theif. I’m a nice girl, really. Yea, I have sinned, but nothing to put a title upon me. I guess it’d come down to the final sin for me. Suicide. It’s level 6 or 7 I think. That’s the level with the hot sand and scary trees. The rotten fruit, like forbidden fruit. I’m going to hang for eternity. I hate things around my throat. I hate it. That’d be the worst way to die. For eternity? What if Dante’s right?
I go to the bathroom, stick my toothbrush back to that punching bag thing. No success. I cry and cry and cry. I want to live. I don’t want to hang forever. I want to be dumb and trespass. I want to live. I watch YouTube videos, and it works. I don’t throw up a whole lot, but I do throw up. I cry of happiness. Because I’m alive.
I don’t go trespass. I tell someone I have suicidal thoughts and need help. I don’t tell anyone I’ve attempted but wussed out. I just say my panic attacks are really bad. So I’m taken to a hospital. To sit there for nine hours before anyone sees me. Good thing I made my self regurgitate; so much for emergency help. Finally I see someone, and I have to stay the night (supposed to be month) at a house for crazy people. Not to call names, but not only do they have suicidal tendencies and are bipolar like me, but they are acting like cats at age 40-something. I’m in a crazy house.
I only stay a night because I explain I need to graduate, and it is the last real week of school. That’s when they tell me I can leave any time I want since this isn’t a court-ordered situation. I am so happy, so mad that this wasn’t told to me beforehand, but so happy to go home. I eat a bad pizza, enjoying the taste like nothing has ever been better. I watch a comedy, “Old Dogs,” and it’s the funniest thing I’ve ever seen. I don’t sleep until 6am, even though I’ve been up for almost a complete day. I’m just so happy to be alive. I don’t want to sleep.
I end the day being completely grateful for two people. The first is a man that lived long ago and wrote a book I did not want to read. The second is a woman who I honestly didn’t think I’d like as a teacher, but found to be a real neat lady. They helped save my life without knowing it was at risk. One never knew of my existence to come, and one hardly ever saw me.
I need to thank these two people. Dante, thank you for my journey through your book. I took a wrong turn and went through hell so I could live, just as you did in your story. Ms. Andrews, thank you for taking the time to try and talk to me about passing that day, or I never would have finished that book.
This is the end of this journey. No worries: medicines are distributed to me and I have intense therapy. I may not be able to graduate, but I am able to live, and will work through the hard times of no high school diploma. I’m still hurt about this, because I worked really hard to earn it. I just fell too deep. I’m happy to be able to work to keep going, though. Even through the hard times. This summer, I need to trespass.
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