sometimes it would be nice not to remember
05/11/2003 05:29 p.m.
[disclaimer: i am no longer suicidal. this happened a long time ago. yes, i get depressed sometimes. i deal with it. the following content might be considered adult by some people, altho it is NOT sexual in nature and there is no foul language involved. capitalization also varies. read on at own risk.]















there are some things, once broken, that never mend.

it has been almost a decade and half, but i remember. too well.

ninth grade, flunking algebra. i never told them, of course. just a little more time and i'd catch back up, i lied to myself. meantime falling farther and farther behind but not really caring. thoughts of suicide keeping constant company with worthlessness and fear. truthfully, i would rather have died than show them that report card but i kept procrastinating because i was too cowardly to take the final step.

the choice was taken out of my hands by my snooping little brother.

ironicly, i was sitting in twilight gray on the third basement step contemplating whether or not to show them that day and what the consequences would be when i heard him come running down the hall, yelling, "Mom! Mom! Look what I found!" i knew. his voice was filled with the glee siblings become infected with when they've found something incriminating and they know the guilty sib is in BIG trouble. the conversation i eavesdropped on through the paper thin walls confirmed my premonition.

oddly enough, my first reaction was one of light-headed relief. at least the hiding was over with. that feeling did not last very long, although it did give me the needed strength to answer their furious summoning. It gave out under the first barrage of questions.

Not that I recall any of them now. What I do remember is the stress and terror blurring my eyesight until the splotches on the carpeting ran together. Part of me detached from myself and studied the intriguing effect while a second part gibbered unintelligibly in back corner of my mind. The remainder focused on trying to field their questions in a manner that might lesson their rage, with little success.

Dad was a side issue. I already knew what he'd do. Talk and talk and talk without getting to the real problem and then beat me. I expected that. I deserved it. Having compounded laziness with lying, there was no expectation of escaping just punishment.

Mom was the one who broke me.

Part of it was the cold. If she had lost her temper and attacked me, I would have born it better. That was not frequent, but nothing new. But her anger was cold and sharp, full of needles and angles. I was standing as far away as possible without being in another room. She commanded me closer to where she was stretched out on the couch. I stepped a few steps closer, but that wasn't enough for what she had in mind.

My survival instincts were fairly well-developed, I would rather have run than go any closer than I was when her face was all tight lines, but i knew it would make things worse. So I went.

She made me kneel down next to her and take my glasses off. Then she punched me in the face. I knelt there while she looked at me like I was some disgusting piece of trash the wind had blown in, red dripping all over my hands as I tried to stop the blood. Several long moments later, she dismissed me to clean up.

Of course I had to go back, endure the lecturing, then the beating. That was nothing. I was already broken, numb, in shock.

What made that incident so different? It's not like she had never been in a cold rage before. Nor was it that uncommon for me and/or my brothers to be physically damaged in the name of punishment. I had been hit, slapped, beaten, kicked, picked up and slammed against the wall by my throat all before this, by either her or dad. While the worst of it was not particularly common, it had happened. It was not new.

I think it was the slow deliberation she showed. She was in full control of her actions, it was not just rage. Nor was it just punishment, I could see/feel her need to hurt me with her own hands. It was also the first and only time I had been intentionally punched in the face, which no doubt had its own shock value. Mostly I believe it was the unintended confirmation of her feelings toward me.

The good child, the smart one...that was my place. I had failed in both, I had disgraced the family name. There was nothing to recommend me now as a member of the family. There were always money problems, we were often reminded of how expensive six kids were to raise. The more depressed I became, the more I pondered on how my non-existance would benefit my siblings in the long run. I was tired of being afraid all the time anyways.

I knew parents were supposed to love their children. I knew children were supposed to love their parents. I had doubts about whether they loved me before that day, I couldn't even tell if I loved them. I knew I feared them. Whether she meant them to or not, Mom's actions that night served to confirm to me that my doubts were correct and justified.

The next morning, before school, I tried to kill myself. Slitting wrists was out, blood doesn't bother me but i have issues with inside wrists. Besides, I wasn't about to take the chance I might be found alive enough to be saved. There was nothing in the closet stronger than tylenol and I didn't know if a person could o.d. on tylenol. I was supposed to face the school officials that day, was getting desperate. And if I missed the bus I'd've had to deal with Mom which I didn't want at all. Mixed household chemicals and drank.

Obviously, I picked the wrong ones. Aside from an upset stomach which could have been attributed to nerves, I survived the day. And the week. And the month. Never told anyone until six or seven years later I had even tried. Was too ashamed of failing. Just as well I did fail though.

epilogue:
some might read this and think it was nothing and/or it was less than i deserved. some may read it and be horrified. it doesn't matter. i write this not for pity or sympathy, i write it because it is part of what had made me who i am...and because i must unlearn some of what it taught me.
I am currently Calm
I am listening to return to innocence-enigma