|Current mood:|| morose|
|Current music:||Grofe, "Grand Canyon Suite"|
On and on...
In my high school, as in many high schools across America, we had a political program called Close Up. In this program, first year student could participate in a trip to Washington DC, and the second and third year students could participate in a Hawaii Trip, the culmination of a year of work. I was in this program for a short time, but not for learning reasons. Mike Teager, the boy who had my complete and total attention was in Close Up. So, naturally, when I was sophomore, I joined the club just to sit next to him. We were best friends and we were inseparable. Soon, however, Close Up was requiring too much work just to hand out with a friend, so I dropped out. Mike, however, did not. Since it was his second year, he was privileged enough to go to Hawaii. During that week long trip, I soon realized that I had more than just feelings of friendship for Mike. I vividly remember standing in the shower crying because he was gone and I missed him so much. As soon as he returned, I began to devote my entire self to being with him on a more romantic level. My progress was thwarted, however, because while he was in Hawaii, he met a girl named Laurie. And it was love at first sight. Desperate, I tried to bring out the bad things that I had heard about her and emphasize the good in me. It was useless, however; he was completely captivated. Finally one day I had reached the end of my rope. I flat out asked him out. He looked at me and literally screamed, "NO, NO, and NO! The answer was no the first time you asked me, the second time you asked me, and it hasn't changed." He was referring to earlier times when I had hinted at a possibility and he had shot me down.
I was devastated. All he did was ignore me and talk about Laurie. I didn't want to go to school because I knew that I would see him ther">e and that he didn't want to be with me, he couldn't find it in himself to love me. (Does any high schooler know how to love another person, though?) The day was a cloudy one when I sat home alone at my dinner table with a freshly sharpened paring knife. I was crying, I remember that. I whispered his name, and a tear dropped to the table. The lights were off in the house, the only light was coming from the dark outside. The street lights had begun to flicker on as I picked up the knife. I had nothing to go on for, nothing to live for.
I picked up the knife with my right hand and placed it on my left wrist. I closed my eyes tide, pushing out tears, and I applied pressure and it was sharp, but it didn't matter. I pushed harder and drew back the knife, piercing my skin. As the blood began to flow, the pain soared to a whole new level and my eyes were jarred open. Through blurred vision, the first thing that I saw was a picture of my mother, hanging on the wall. A whole new wealth of thoughts entered my mind: how much I loved her and how much I would miss her and how much she would miss me if I continued with what I was doing.
Since then, I have entertained suicidal thoughts three more times, each since I've gotten to Olivet. Entertained, but not down enough to actually go through with them. Too much has always been at stake, I would always have been leaving too much behind. I promised my friend Penny that whenever I got depressed enough to start thinking like that, that I was to call her immediatly. I have kept my promise. She, and other people, have talked to me about what I should do to make me happy... pray, don't think about it, make new friends, etc. Nothing has really helped. I have been upset for some time now.
That day, as I sat at the table, I pulled the knife out of the inch long incision that I had made on my wrist and set it back on the table. I sat there for a long time, deciding how I should proceed. I decided to just take it one day at a time, and save the extreme measures for extreme days.
I have this pit in my stomach that says that extreme days are just around the corner... not today, not tomorrow, but close. The only difference here is that I don't have a picture of my mother.