Tuesday, October 20, 2015

Wake Me Up When September Ends


     In the days that followed my mind seemed more cluttered than it was on that Thursday afternoon.  Now, not only was I depressed, but extremely ashamed of my actions. I couldn’t believe I had taken something that at one point was no more than a thought and made it into an “almost.” I didn’t know whether I should tell anyone. If I did, who would I tell?  A lot of people seem to think I’m this brave and inspirational soul, which I never agreed with, but with that being said I never wanted anyone to know how weak and distraught I was either. I was worried what everyone would think of me, and that I would forever be labeled as “crazy.” It wouldn’t be long before I had my first “scare,”of being confronted with the question, “what happened to your wrist?” As my stomach pain came back into play.

     The following Sunday afternoon I found myself lying on the couch and in such extreme stomach pain that I called the on call GI, and I was mentally preparing myself for a trip to the ER.  Sprawled out on the couch waiting for the doctor to call (which never happened) my worries became less about my pain as I looked over at the scars on my wrist. I know the protocol for ER visits, and one of the first things they were going to do is take my blood, and there would be no hiding what I had done to my wrist.  Immediately my mind goes into overdrive trying to come up with answers to the inevitable.  First thought  that came to mind: I would just laugh it off, make the doctors/nurses feel silly for even assuming something so asinine, but I couldn’t go too overboard with my reaction as I didn’t want it come off rehearsed, maybe that wasn’t best idea.  My next thought was to remind them that I was left handed, and the scars were on my left wrist, and if I was to try and slit my wrist wouldn’t  it be my right? Then I thought, “Wait, they’re going to know somethings up if I was to come up with some elaborate story about why I would, or wouldn’t slit one wrist versus the other due to being left handed.” Fortunately my pain started to dissipate which in turn lessened the concern for having a plausible story.

     So inadvertently I was able to dodge that “bullet,” but how long would I be able to? I knew that due to my reclusive lifestyle by the next time I saw anyone chances are my wrist would be healed, but was I hurting myself even more by not saying anything?  Even though I don’t agree with the labels of “inspirational,” and “brave” that’s all I had, and I didn’t want anyone to know “the real me.” I was afraid of how the people closest to me would feel; I could only imagine what others would think.  Why am I so consumed with how I’m viewed? Who am I? What have I become?!?!

1 comment:

  1. You will always be a brother to me .and Im sure you know how much of a lunatic I am ,your far from crazy and your still the strongest person Ive ever had the pleasure of meeting in my 40+ years !

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