If I Die Young

The bell rang for lunch and I booked it up the stairs to the quad. It was a Friday before a three-day weekend and I was done with my on-campus classes. I rushed up the stairs to solidify weekend beach plans with some friends before heading out to eat. As I got closer to where my friends sit, the intercom came overhead "Students, please evacuate the quad!" I kept walking, thinking it was a drill or something. "Students, this is NOT a drill. Evacuate the quad now." For the first time, I saw my peers' faces and realized that something truly was wrong. Girls were crying, boys were physically getting sick, and others looked stone faced. I didn't know what was going on and I felt lost in a crowd of people. As I turned to go back towards our evacuation spot, I saw the body laying there motionless.

I ran down the stairs, trying to get that image out of my mind. I shook my head and just muttered aloud "no. no. no. no. NO." I got sucked into the crowd as teachers corralled us to our evacuation zones. I looked around me and somehow I didn't recognize a single face. As we made our way down to the field, I saw a boy who I drove to school each day. I looked at him and I just ran. I ran towards him and wrapped my arms around his neck. There was no way that I was letting go. 

We made it down to the field and the stream of tears had slowed down. My breath was rattling as I looked around me for my best friend and sister. I couldn't find them. I turned to some random kid to borrow his cell phone (I had walked into a pool with my phone two days earlier) to call my sister. She didn't pick up. I frantically called my house and my dad picked up just as it was going to voicemail. He answered saying, "Tom Potter at Interstate Envelope." Dad. Where is Allie? "She's here at home. She came home sick. Why? What's up?" Dad, somebody just died. "Rachel, it's probably just a part of the assembly." No. They died. I don't know who. But they jumped off of the roof and they are dead. We're on lockdown. Except I think I can check myself out since I'm 18. I have to go to Mountain and tell them I won't make it. 

I checked out of school and drove to Mountain Avenue, the school I worked at after school. I signed in with shaky hands and practically ran to my teacher's classroom. When I got to the door, it was locked. So, as I began to shake and go into shock, I ran to the next classroom. Locked again. Finally, I got into a classroom of a familiar face. The teacher looked up from her desk to see who walked in and instantly she asked what was wrong. I shook my head. I walked (or maybe ran-- I don't remember) over to her desk and just stood there in a panic. A few kids were in the classroom and I stood there deciding how I could tell her. The teacher asked again, "Rachel, what's wrong. Something is wrong, right?" I nodded my head. "Okayy... What happened? Was it something at school?" Nodded again. "Did someone get hurt?" Nodded. "I need you to give me something." Building. "What? building? did a building collapse? Earthquake?" Shook my head. I whispered someone jumped. This part is a little fuzzy. I think she dragged me outside of the classroom, but I can't be sure. All I know is that we ended up outside of the classroom. She hugged me and asked me if I was okay. She told me to go home and that she would tell Mrs. Dziok. I hugged her one last time, still sick to my stomach.

I walked back to the office to sign out and as I was just about to leave, I heard my teacher, Mrs. Dziok, talking in the other room. I walked back to find her, but she was headed back to her classroom. I began following her when the teacher specialist stopped me. "Rachel, you go to CV, right? Are you okay. Do you need to talk?" Yes. But I'm okay. It will all be okay. "Rachel, I need you to not tell any of the teachers. Mrs. Witt (the principal) wants to tell them herself" Okay. I walked out towards Mrs. Dziok's classroom with no intention of keeping that promise. 

I ran to her classroom and flung the door open. She sat at her desk looking over a pile of papers. "Hello, Miss Potter. How are you?" I'm okay. I can't stay today. I said as in one fast breath. She looked up and saw my face and just knew. "Rachel... what's wrong?" I didn't know what to say. I'm not allowed to say. "What the hell do you mean you aren't allowed to say? Says who? You can tell me." Somebody just killed themself. Someone just died. In front of everyone. I was in tears at this point. She just grabbed me and held me tight.

***

Two years ago today, a 15 year old boy at my school jumped off of a three-story building dying instantly. He died publicly and violently in front of hundreds of classmates during our lunch break. So, while his nightmares ended that day at 12:22 PM, mine and so many others' began. That day was full of sorrow, confusion, panic, and mass chaos. That night and many nights afterwards were filled with nightmares, flashbacks, and images. There isn't a day that goes by where I don't think about what happened and the hysteria that took place. I truly do wish that he hadn't been so alone that he felt the need to end it all. It's a permanent decision that cannot be undone. Nobody should be so alone that they feel they have no option other than to kill themself. Nobody.

Jar of Hearts

I realized something tonight. I was laying in bed and I had been thinking about how I had been rude and ungrateful to someone who was trying to help me. I was ignoring her and shutting her out. So I texted her and told her that I was sorry for being difficult and that I didn't mean it, etc. She texted me back a response that made me think and it has sort of turned my world upside-down. She said When you are ready to change, you will ask. I will be here, always. At first I was a little mad, no joke. I was reaching out the best I knew how and I was trying to accept her help, but she basically was telling me that I didn't want her help. She basically told me that I was too stubborn to let her help me. I don't know if that's what she meant, but that's how I took it, and I'm glad.

After I got over the initial shock, I thought about why she would think/ say that. And I started to realize that I fight every. single. person. who tries to help me. I fight it. I say thanks, but in my mind I think well, I'm done. I never let them help me. I always knew I was guarded, but what I didn't realize is that underneath my guard is a wall. A solid, cement wall that lets nothing else in. The problem is that for the first 15 years of my life, I let the wrong people in. I didn't filter people out of my life and they slowly broke me. My fault began when I started to assume that every person would one day hurt me and fail my expectations. So, I set my expectations low. And when people start to exceed them, I do one of two things: cut them out of my life completely, or I re-set my expectations to this impossibly unattainable level.

So, nobody has made it much further than that first set of expectations. The acquaintance-level. I don't have anyone to be close with. I don't know how to open up. I don't trust anyone, because for the longest time, I haven't had anyone to trust. People lie, people cheat, people say the wrong things. And then, I end up hurt. I have this twisted sense of how people interact, and I don't really know how to fix it. I don't know what it means to truly love someone. I don't know what it means to let someone in. I'm afraid of the rejection. I'm afraid of the judgement. But most importantly, I'm afraid of them accepting me. I'm afraid to be loved. I know how to be sad. I'm really good at it. I know how to be broken. But now, I want to be whole. Err, I want to want to be whole. I think I like the idea of being whole, but I'm scared. I'm scared of failing. I'm scared of being outside of my comfort zone. I'm afraid to let someone see me as I really am. I'm afraid to let people know who I truly am and what I am truly capable of.

I don't understand the meaning of love because the people who I have loved in the past, have been the wrong people. When I have been in trouble, I have this need to be understood, and yet I'm not willing to let anyone in. I expect people to just know me. To just see past it. To understand what I mean when I'm saying the opposite. I shut people out and I tell people to go away (through words and actions) and then I expect someone to ignore everything I have told them and just keep asking me. Except, when someone is rejected and treated with hostility OVER AND OVER, which is what I do, then they aren't particularly inclined to stick around.

I've had all of these promises broken, and so instead of trying to fix it and start over, I have given up on trying. I say I want help, but all I want is for my brokenness to be accepted and loved. In order for me to really truly get help, I need to let someone in. I need to tell someone something that I've never told before. I need to let out a secret and trust that it will remain a secret. So, I'm giving myself homework. That friend I mentioned earlier-- the one who told me she would be there when I was ready-- I'm going to tell her 5 secrets. 5 things I have never told anyone. 5 things that I am afraid to say because it will make me cringe because it will be hard and uncomfortable and maybe even a little bit awkward. There. It's written down. It's necessary. So, instead of someone making the effort first, I am going to take the first step. I'm going to. I am going to take one more step, because I can. I can be more than just a shadow of a person.

Who You Are

I messed up. This week, I messed up big time. You see, there are days where nothing goes right and everything goes to Hell. There are moments where you just lose it, I mean completely lose it. Then there are weeks. This was one of those weeks. I got lazy. I stopped being careful. I knew that I had these triggers, but I thought that I was okay, I thought that I was fixed. Silly me. I stopped checking to make sure that I wasn't dreaming, and in the process I lost myself again. I started slipping and I didn't notice. I didn't notice until it was too late. I acted on it and those triggers, well, I let them affect me. I sat in my bed with tears streaming down my face, knowing that I had just messed up and I knew that I was digging myself back into a hole. So, I sat there and cried as I prepared myself for the upcoming battle of climbing back out.

The next day, I called someone who had been a saving grace during my last depressive episode. I called her and she listened as I cried, she listened as I told her how I had messed up, and she listened as I told her that I was too scared and tired to pick myself back up. And then, she talked. She told me that she was there, she told me that I had to just do it. She told me that I needed to get in for help. She compared it to when an alcoholic messes up. How they have to get themselves back to meetings and get back on track. I hadn't ever thought about it in that way. So, I went to my meeting of sorts-- counseling. It isn't fun or enjoyable to sit in an uncomfortable chair all vulnerable and weak. It just isn't. I haven't climbed all the way out. I haven't climbed out at all yet-- I've only had the time to set up the ladder to help me out. I didn't think it would be this hard-- I'd forgotten how hard it had been to the last time. I think this time might be harder. Because just like good old Jessie J., I keep asking myself  why am I doing this to myself? Losing my mind on a tiny error, I nearly left the real me on the shelf. I nearly lost myself again, but luckily I saw it before it got to the point of no return. I caught it before I hit rock bottom-- instead I'm just halfway to rock bottom! But I caught it. And that's the important part.

It isn't easy to admit defeat. It isn't easy to admit that you messed up, it just isn't. It doesn't get easier. But, life gets better, things get happier, and you get the support you need to fight it off. I'm not whole again, not by a long shot. It's going to take a lot of work. But in the end, it's worth it.

Hometown Glory

Everywhere we go, we leave a little piece of our hearts. Every time we have one of those pivotal moments where we are forced to just stop and take it all in—the good, the bad, and the ugly—we leave a little bit of us behind. It’s why when we see someone from our past, our heart stops for just a moment. That little piece of you that you left with them is reunited for just a moment. And your mind is brought back to that image you had once forgotten. When you go back to a place that holds so many memories and moments, you are faced with this onslaught of emotions and feelings that have been trapped in the location of your heart.

This happened to me recently. One night when I was home for break, I decided to hop the fence to my old high school. I don’t know why I did it—I went alone and didn't have a reason to go. It was dark and there was nobody there, but as I paced the walkways of my past, it was like I was instantly brought back to an old version of myself that has been lost over the years. I walked along the track and knelt down to feel the grainy roughness of the astro-turf field. The touch of the rubber pebbles brought my mind back to the years of marching band spent on that field. As I looked up, my memories of hot, after school rehearsals were brought back to the front of my mind. I moved on and walked up the ramp towards the main quod of the school. As I passed the pool, I smelled the familiar stench of chlorine intertwined with pot and cigarette smoke. I closed my eyes and as I breathed in this mixture of scents, the late nights of water polo trickled back to memory. The laughter of my team; the blood from injury; the tears from defeat—it was all there. Almost overcome, I continued walking and scene after scene came to mind. High school wasn't this pleasant experience that I was dying to relive. But that night, I needed to get a piece of my soul back; I needed to feel a little more whole. I needed to reminisce in the loss of my sanity. I needed to feel like the “me” that existed that lifetime ago was still here, buried under the mounds of snow and layers of ice that now encase my heart. Because it was there that I started to realize who I was, where I was going, and what I wanted from my life. The dreams that have begun to fade and disintegrate were all born in that old La Crescenta school. I spent so many days trying to mend the broken lines and cracked pieces of my soul. I spent countless classes rebuilding myself and fixing the chinks in my armor. It was here that I learned to pick myself back up. It was here that I developed the strength I needed to survive. I might not remember the lessons I was supposed to learn. I might not remember the formulas, grammar, or dates that were drilled into my mind. But, I do remember those magical moments—the ones that shape you, the ones that change you. I can find arithmetic and poems anywhere I go, but the pieces of my heart that I have lost—those can only be found in one place.

Round my hometown, memories are fresh. The scent; the touch; the people—they hold the pieces of your past. They are where you can breathe more easily and feel more whole. They are a part of you.

Brave

I remember the day I finally decided to wake up from the daze and live. I was at one of the lowest points of my entire life and I was laying in my bed like a catatonic vegetable. I hadn't moved in days. A friend walked into my room and pulled the covers off of me. I lay there unphased. She stood there and firmly talked into my face, "Rachel, get your butt up. We are going to do laundry right now and you are coming with me. Please..."

In my mind I was thinking that I had just done laundry the day before. I literally lay there living in this false pretense. My friend continued saying, "Rach, you haven't done laundry in three weeks. Come on, hon. Let's go." Those words jolted me from my state of unconsciousness. three weeks. I sat up and looked across from me at my toothpaste-stained mirror. I didn't recognize me. There was no color in my face and my hair was a crazed mess. All around me were piles of dirty laundry. Suddenly I knew that there was something wrong and I couldn't let it over-run my life.

As we sat in the damp, humid air of the communal laundry room, I could feel my whole life spinning out of control. The cyclical hum of the machines made my head spin and I felt as if I was going to vomit. We had been sitting on the floor for over ten minutes and the thought of finally letting someone into my heart was sickening. Yet, as I took a deep breath and let the words escape my mouth, I just couldn't stop. I started telling her how I wasn't happy; how I hadn't been happy for a long time. No matter how hard I tried, I just couldn't be happy. By this point, I was crying. Crying as I told her my deepest darkest fears, regrets, and anxieties. Crying as I told her that I was afraid that something was wrong; afraid that I might actually have depression. I couldn't function anymore. I was terrified to tell my parents. I didn't think I could see a doctor, because then it would show up on my medical bills home. I was afraid that nobody would believe me. I was even afraid that I wouldn't have depression, because then there was absolutely no hope. For four hours, I cried to her in the laundry room, earning puzzled and empathetic looks from outside sources. As we talked, I knew what the answer would be: time to buck up. Time to face the music and take the next step. For I had already taken one step: admitting.

It wasn't easy for me to tell anyone, and to this day it still isn't. When people try to understand where I am coming from, I usually shut them out. It isn't easy being vulnerable and imperfect. You so desperately want people to see the forced, fake mask of who you are. Letting people in is probably the scariest thing I have ever done. But in order to go through the cathartic process of healing, you have to let people help you; you have to offer up your vulnerabilities. 

Say what you want to say and let the words fall out. Be brave. Be honest. Let them in.

Giving Up

The other day I was at the beach and I slowly stepped towards the ocean. One foot in front of the other I tiptoed into the current. I could feel the water slowly rise up my leg as I walked deeper and deeper—starting at my toes and slowly rising to my knee. I felt the cool, wet sand beneath my feet as I plunged forward—my body growing numb to the cold. To my right, the sun was setting and the words of a favorite song played on loop in my head. As I walked into the ocean quietly singing along to the music in my mind and watched the sun drifting away, my thoughts were brought to the closing scene in “The Awakening” by Kate Chopin. The character swims out into the ocean without return—alluding to the desperate fact that she had committed suicide. "The foamy wavelets curled up to her white feet, and coiled like serpents about her ankles. She walked out. The water was chill, but she walked on. The water was deep, but she lifted her white body and reached out with a long, sweeping stroke. The touch of the sea is sensuous, enfolding the body in its soft, close embrace." I hadn't ever understood that scene. Why or how could someone just walk into the ocean and die. How could they allow the ocean to take hold of them and envelop them in the crushing grasp of the waves? Wouldn't they just swim? Wouldn't their lungs fight so hard to stay alive? I remember thinking she just seemed like a whiny woman.

But my life has changed and it has taken me places that I couldn't before fathom. I have been in that depth of despair. I have felt the urge and pull towards the ocean—the release from this life. I know what it’s like when the brain warps and twists your perception on life. You know that suicide is awful and wrong, and yet there is this undeniable pull towards the act. It’s like you’re in a haze and life seems dauntingly endless. It’s when you feel as if nothing you do could ever matter to anyone and you’re just sitting there, invisible. You’re brain goes numb and the only thought that ever crosses your mind is end it. Just end it now. Nobody will care. Nobody will even notice. God doesn't want you to suffer. So just do it. There are so many ways you could do it. Look—there’s something sharp right there. Just jab that into yourself. That will at least stop some of the pain. DO IT. And then you do. And you do it again. And again. Until your body is covered in bruises and cuts. Until you see more color on your skin than you see flesh. It never ends. And when the escape is finally enough, you sleep. Until the next time those warped and twisted thoughts cross your mind again. Trust me, I know.

I can connect with Edna in a way I never could have before. I occasionally do feel like Edna. And it takes all of the strength that I have not to succumb to those temptations. Yet, when I was in the thick of the craze, I felt as if I was weak for not ever fully succumbing to the pressing thoughts. I felt that if I had enough courage, I truly would end it. I was too fearful. So a tiny part of me applauds Edna. She had the guts to do what every fiber of her being felt was right. But... it's not right. I've seen it. It never ends the way you planned. It never quite has the effect that you had anticipated. While you were numb to others around you, they were not. They see you. And they feel you. And when you're gone, they feel the emptiness that once was you. So don't. Look at the waves and don't think of them as a means of escape. Think of them as a reason to stay.

The World Spins Madly On

This isn't going to be a happy post. In fact, most of these won’t be happy posts. But, this is where I am and where I've been. So, if you want to read my blog, then you’re going to know that a lot of the times, things just aren't happy. This isn't supposed to make you feel sorry for me or anything, it’s just the truth. Here it goes?

You know that popular song by the weepies “The World Spins Madly On”? It’s one of my favorites. It starts out “I woke up and wished that I was dead/ with an aching in my head/ I lay motionless in bed”. Have you ever thought about that line? I mean really thought about that line? “I woke up and wished that I was dead”. Unless this has ever happened to you, then you can’t fully comprehend what I’m about to say. But you can try.

I remember the day I woke up and wished that I was dead. Actually, I remember the days. As in multiple, more than one, days. I remember the moment when I really truly wished that I was dead. I remember wishing I had never woken up. I wished that someone would just walk over to me and say, “Rachel, didn't you know? You died last night. Welcome to the afterlife.” But it never did. I remember laying there imagining this whole scene in my head. And everything was moving so fast. My brain wouldn't stop moving and thinking and I just wanted it to stop. I wanted to be numb. And so I stopped listening. I didn't listen to my brain. And then it did. It all went numb. Then a new thought entered my mind to fill the void. One that wouldn't ever leave. The kind that just happens over and over. That no matter how hard you try to make it go away, it just remains. Always in your brain. And this thought, it wasn't a good one. It was a scary one. Literally scared me. “Well, if you really want to be dead, just end it. You could. There are so many ways.” WHAT. You’re probably re-reading that again. Did she really just say that? Yes, I did. I can’t even tell you how many hours, days, and months I spent thinking of ways to kill myself. Yep. You read that correctly.  I did. Want to, I mean. I didn't have the courage or guts or whatever. I wasn't fully committed to it. But I wanted to. Because I didn't see the point. I had given up. I didn't think that it would ever end. Nobody understood me. Nobody was there. I just lay there in my bed, motionless. 

“And everything that I said I’d do, like make the world brand new.” We have these dreams. We dream of changing people’s lives, ending world hunger, turning the world upside-down. Well, I had a dream, too. I said a lot of things and as they started to crumble and fall, I knew it wouldn't happen. We dream and dream and dream, but until we do we are nothing more than words. 

“I just got lost and slept right through the dawn”. I did. I slept a lot. The girls in my hall all knew that I just slept. They all joked about it, but some understood that there was something wrong. I don’t think anyone really knew how to help me or fix me. So I slept. When you sleep, you don’t feel. You just sleep. Your brain shuts off. Your body relaxes. You’re motionless. I slept for days on end. If sleeping was an Olympic sport, I would have won gold, silver and bronze. Yes, I was THAT GOOD. I once slept 36 out of 48 hours. And the other 12? I spent them watching TV on Netflix. I was scared and lonely. I was hurting and in pain, but I was at a loss for words. I had nothing to do but sit and feel numb. You know how when you sit on your foot for too long it “falls asleep” and feels numb? That was my heart. My heart and soul were numb. My blank stares looked dead inside. There was no light, there was no life. Just dead, blank stares. 

“The whole world is moving and I’m standing still.” That’s what it felt like. I lay there in my bed, never moving. I watched as my roommate came and went and came again. I watched as fall turned to winter and winter into spring. I watched as classes finished and others began. I just watched. I wasn't there. I wasn't living. I just lay there and watched everyone else. I crawled myself into a hole—a really deep hole, mind you—and didn't know how to climb back out. My friends were all on the outside and I could see their shadows, but they didn't really exist. I knew they existed somewhere, but we weren't existing together. 

So, this song is more than just a song. It doesn't just sound pretty and uplift my soul. It fills my soul. Because someone somewhere knows a little bit of me. They know the feeling that words can’t fully convey. The world spins madly on. It doesn't stop just because you stop living. It still moves. There is a year of my life that I will never get back, and I hate to say it, but there will be more. The world just keeps going, and you can either choose to ride along or let it keep spinning without you. That’s what I get to do. Choose. And at least I still have the choice. Because some choices can’t be undone. When you choose something permanent, you can’t go back and say “wait, I messed up. Let me have a do-over”. No, it’s done. And so, I’m grateful that I was a coward and didn't commit. I'm grateful that I chose the choice where I could choose again. It means I’m still alive and I have another chance to keep moving on. 

And the world spins madly on...