my thoughts switch from getting out of the hospital, to my mom and step-dad. What have they told my friends about me?
I think back to the night I tried to kill myself. I remember very vaguely the fire trucks with their flashing sirens, and the ambulances, and the swarm of people who descended upon the house, intent on saving me from myself.
I live in a small town, on a small street, and news tends to travel fast in places like that. I know that everyone who knows me, knows my family, and hell, even those who didn’t know
any
of us, will have heard hints, rumours, and allegations.
I feel suddenly bad. What kind of hell is Mom going through? No wonder she’s embarrassed by me. She has tried so hard after the divorce to appear normal to everyone, and here I am, a daughter who refuses to conform, who is depressed all the time, and finally tried to kill herself.
Is everyone looking at them like they are bad parents? Have they gone back to work? I suddenly see Mom, hopelessly crying on the couch, unable to go back to her job out of sorrow and sheer embarrassment.
What about my step-dad, a man who married a woman with two kids, so poor they could barely feed themselves? He has never complained about inheriting kids with some severe emotional issues. He has really tried hard to be understanding, even though he can never grasp what we’ve been through. And this is how I am repaying him.
Another thought hits me. I am worried that the insurance won’t pay for this, and somehow my parents will have to come up with thousands of dollars to cover my selfish stint in this hospital.
I can’t blame everything on my parents. I am old enough to reason, to drive a car, to make choices for myself. I
chose
to try to end my life, because I chose
not
to confront my problems and get beyond them. I’m not sure how exactly I was supposed to deal with my problems. Nobody in my family had wanted to admit that there ever
was
a problem.
I am starting to get very nervous about leaving this place. Do my parents still loveme? What kind of restrictions are going to be placed on me when I get out of here?
I sigh to myself when I realise that my panicked, worried parents are going to put me under a very close watch. I can pretty much rule out any sort of social life whatsoever, for God only knows how long. And then there is my father…
Will he want to be an active part of my life, now that I have threatened to take it? Is he guilt-stricken the way Mom most likely is? Does the thought even cross his mind that he had anything to do with this? Does he ever actually feel anything at all?
Ever
?
Now I feel irritated with myself; instead of focusing on
my
feelings, and how the events of the past were poisoning
me
, I am more concerned with how everyone else is.
Slowly but surely I am starting to see past the years of brainwashing that goes on when you grow up in an abusive home. And one of the biggest games that had beenplayed with my mind was to have me grow up thinking that everything was my fault.
I was told, over and over, that if I was only smarter, faster, prettier, better behaved, less selfish, that my mom wouldn’t get hit. And that I wouldn’t
deserve
to be hit.
I can see so clearly right now; no child ever deserves to go through all that. Something has clicked inside me, and I can feel a sense of righteous anger building up in me.
OK, fine. I am going to get out of here, because this place is a goddamned joke. I am already at the point where I know what is going to be said in this group therapy session or that one, and in the counselling sessions. I have nothing more to learn from these people.
I’m not bitter. Everyone here means well. This place has been like a safety net for me. It has allowed me time to explore my inner feelings, and Dr X has encouraged me – you could say he’s forced me – to deal with thepast. And these are all great things, really, so I’m grateful in a way.
But the biggest issue for me to confront is
I think back to the night I tried to kill myself. I remember very vaguely the fire trucks with their flashing sirens, and the ambulances, and the swarm of people who descended upon the house, intent on saving me from myself.
I live in a small town, on a small street, and news tends to travel fast in places like that. I know that everyone who knows me, knows my family, and hell, even those who didn’t know
any
of us, will have heard hints, rumours, and allegations.
I feel suddenly bad. What kind of hell is Mom going through? No wonder she’s embarrassed by me. She has tried so hard after the divorce to appear normal to everyone, and here I am, a daughter who refuses to conform, who is depressed all the time, and finally tried to kill herself.
Is everyone looking at them like they are bad parents? Have they gone back to work? I suddenly see Mom, hopelessly crying on the couch, unable to go back to her job out of sorrow and sheer embarrassment.
What about my step-dad, a man who married a woman with two kids, so poor they could barely feed themselves? He has never complained about inheriting kids with some severe emotional issues. He has really tried hard to be understanding, even though he can never grasp what we’ve been through. And this is how I am repaying him.
Another thought hits me. I am worried that the insurance won’t pay for this, and somehow my parents will have to come up with thousands of dollars to cover my selfish stint in this hospital.
I can’t blame everything on my parents. I am old enough to reason, to drive a car, to make choices for myself. I
chose
to try to end my life, because I chose
not
to confront my problems and get beyond them. I’m not sure how exactly I was supposed to deal with my problems. Nobody in my family had wanted to admit that there ever
was
a problem.
I am starting to get very nervous about leaving this place. Do my parents still loveme? What kind of restrictions are going to be placed on me when I get out of here?
I sigh to myself when I realise that my panicked, worried parents are going to put me under a very close watch. I can pretty much rule out any sort of social life whatsoever, for God only knows how long. And then there is my father…
Will he want to be an active part of my life, now that I have threatened to take it? Is he guilt-stricken the way Mom most likely is? Does the thought even cross his mind that he had anything to do with this? Does he ever actually feel anything at all?
Ever
?
Now I feel irritated with myself; instead of focusing on
my
feelings, and how the events of the past were poisoning
me
, I am more concerned with how everyone else is.
Slowly but surely I am starting to see past the years of brainwashing that goes on when you grow up in an abusive home. And one of the biggest games that had beenplayed with my mind was to have me grow up thinking that everything was my fault.
I was told, over and over, that if I was only smarter, faster, prettier, better behaved, less selfish, that my mom wouldn’t get hit. And that I wouldn’t
deserve
to be hit.
I can see so clearly right now; no child ever deserves to go through all that. Something has clicked inside me, and I can feel a sense of righteous anger building up in me.
OK, fine. I am going to get out of here, because this place is a goddamned joke. I am already at the point where I know what is going to be said in this group therapy session or that one, and in the counselling sessions. I have nothing more to learn from these people.
I’m not bitter. Everyone here means well. This place has been like a safety net for me. It has allowed me time to explore my inner feelings, and Dr X has encouraged me – you could say he’s forced me – to deal with thepast. And these are all great things, really, so I’m grateful in a way.
But the biggest issue for me to confront is
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