In the Rearview (8 page)

I don't know how to show my feelings

I write them down

Poem after poem

Writing how I feel

But it barely helps

And I hurt more

When I make people cry

By saying what I feel

Round and round I go

Never having a chance

To get off this dangerous ride

Keep it hidden

Keep it quiet

While I spin deeper

And deeper down

Don't let others hurt

From seeing my pain

Don't let my cycle spread

Keeping it all to myself

Hoarding the pain

You look right through me

You don't even see

You never try to help

Your ignorance is worst of all

You must know I'm hurting

You can't be oblivious

You turn your head

You pretend not to notice

You do more damage than

You will ever know

Get it out

Get it all out

Let it lose

Let it fly away

The frustration

The anger

The hurt

Get the negative out

So there's room for new

Open up

Be accepting

Let in the happiness

The contentment

The love

You try but you fail

When somehow

They morph

They change

And rot

Pieces crumbling

And liquefying

Into something

Black and rancid

Nothing that comes in

Can remain good

For long

So get that out too

Let it all out

Until there's nothing left

No bad

But no good

Just empty

And lonely

And hollow

A confusing life

Dear Diary,

Well, I never told my parents, and I'm glad I didn't. It would have killed them, and if it didn't kill them, they would have killed me. My intention was never to hurt anyone else. So I'm still keeping this to myself.

However, a new development has come into the storyline. I'm not sure if it made things less complicated or more.

Our school counselor realized he had no idea how to relate to us in this instance. He wasn't young enough. He had never gone through what we are going through. Finally, he saw he was in over his head
. So he found someone who
could
relate to us, someone we actually could trust.

Through this, a group was formed at school. It was specifically for girls who currently are or recently have intentionally hurt themselves. We don't have a name for our group, but we meet once a week, and we are excused from class to do so. We talk things out and try to make each other feel better. It doesn't always work, I mean most of us still do it. But it's nice to meet in a room with people for an hour who know and understand what you are going through.

I don't know how much this will help, but our leader seems to understand, and he keeps everything we say to himself, as much as he possibly can. If he thinks anyone is an incredible or imminent threat to themselves, then he legally cannot keep quiet. But he warned us of this, and before he goes outside of the group, he agreed to discuss what would be done first.

He's a nice guy. He's a trustworthy person to talk to.

He hasn't convinced me to stop, but I know he has each of our best interests at heart, and he is trying in earnest.

I feel better after group each week. Sometimes I wish we met more often.

Why didn't it stop

It just kept coming

Blade after blade

Cut after cut

I never knew

It would happen like this

I wish I could change the past

I wish she had given mercy

I wish she were here now

To help me continue

Why did she do it

Why didn't she listen to me

She killed herself with

Just one swipe

And now she's gone

Forever

Never to see or hug again

I miss her now

I wish I could have stopped her

I wish I could have helped

I was powerless

She must not have loved me enough

Why did she do it

Knowing it would ruin my life

The fall from

Happy to sad

Loved to lonely

Fulfilled to empty

Pretty to ugly

Skinny to fat

Together to alone

Hyper to depressed

Excited to frustrated

Laughing to crying

Good to bad

Are all a long fall

And it's hard to bounce

When you're a rock

Almost impossible to climb back up

While carrying a world of feelings on your shoulders

The fall from happy to depressed

Is a long one down

It has been long

Since I felt good about myself

I can't remember what it feels like

To be loved

And happy

I can't remember how I used to

Live in a happy little shell

With friends and feel love

Now all I am is depressed

And lonely and sad

It has been too long

When you see me

You're looking at what you believe is real

But I wear layers of camouflage

So no one can begin to understand

The real and true me

I glow like gold

On the outside

And no one can hear me screaming inside

If I took a tool

No man has made

And stripped the layers of camouflage off

You'd see someone weak and lonely

And you still wouldn't understand

No one knows the real me

And no one ever will

 

Dear Diary,

Again my feelings have changed. I was happier to have a group. I felt better with an adult I trusted and who appeared to understand. But now I feel like I've contributed too much to something horrific.

I know I've said many times before, this had increased quickly. But I now realize I am partly to blame for starting this wildfire. I was one of the first two, and I wish, more now than ever before, no one had followed in my careless footsteps.

I don't even know what to call it anymore. It has become this thing, that's all I call it,
this thing
.

It has become this thing that happens, this thing I do. It's a thing a lot of people do now. And others judge people who do this thing.

It's this thing we shouldn't do, but aren't ready to stop.

One girl hears about it and then starts to do it. I feel horrible when someone finds out I do it, and then all of a sudden a few days later, I see the unmistakably intentional marks on her. I only wanted to do it myself; I didn't think it was something any of my friends should do. Hypocritical, I know, but all I can do is cry when I think about my two best friends dealing with similar pain. One cuts like I do, and the other forces herself to throw up.

Though an eating disorder is different than what I do, in my mind it isn't too far off. She seems normal to all who don't know. She looks happy, healthy, and just like the rest of us. However, on the inside she hurts more than some other people; she hurts like me.

She started this other thing, this bulimic thing, on a whim. She only wanted to lose a few pounds to fit into her new outfit. She didn't start because she was disgusted with herself or found herself to be super overweight. But now that's precisely how she sees things. She can no longer see what is truly in front of her mirror like she used to. Her perception has morphed. It's deformed.

Her self-perception is as dysfunctional as our cutting. To make things worse, now it has become a real, addictive problem. She can't eat a full meal without having her gag reflex affect her afterward.

What has my school become?

Every day I find myself wanting to grow up more than I ever used to. I want to grow up and grow out of these problems. I want to be away from all of the bad.

Will that ever happen?

We have been called suicidal

As if we were a bad and nasty thing

You and I

Together forever

Under the pressure

Of a waterfall

Falling ever harder

Ever faster

Shooting pains into the heart

And ideas into the mind

Waves crashing down

Stinging the soul

And scarring the body

Hurting the mind forever

But the deepest cuts

Are human made

I lie in bed

Eyes wide shut

But I can't sleep

Too many things buzz through my head

I fear to forget something

Afraid of change

I think instead of sleep

Until I can take it no more

Then I fall into a momentary light rest

Only to wake

Make it through my miserable day

And come back to my restless night

I walk through the crowded halls

And everyone catches my eye

I sense danger wherever I am

I feel danger when I'm being watched

Danger when being judged

My flaws and imperfections

Shine through

I do my best to stay safe

And away from

All seeing and judging eyes

But no matter where I go

Danger lurks

 

Meagan sat in the little room with other girls who were as close to understanding as anyone could be. She glanced around the table at everyone present, and she felt safe. Surprisingly, she was actually happy to be here. In here, she paid full attention and cared about everything that was discussed.

In here, she was able to be real, she didn't need to pretend.

The group had been meeting once a week for several weeks now. Every girl who began with the group was still here, all eight. Evidently these meetings were important to more than just Meagan.

Waiting for group to start, she thought about the circumstances in which she had been able to attend. She had lied to her parents, made up some bogus excuse, to get their signatures in order to skip class for it. She had stated since she was accelerated, she'd been asked to participate in a new and advanced group of students on a trial basis. She'd said nothing of cutting. She hadn't mentioned the counselor or anything real about group.

She'd lied through her teeth.

Meagan knew she had been wrong to lie, especially since they were signing for consent. She knew she should have told them the real reason why she was getting out of class. But she hadn't, and yet she still had gotten what she wanted. She had gotten something that would be helpful to her. Her counselor had trusted all of the ladies hurting themselves to tell their parents, and the rest probably had. Their leader had trusted that each parent signed the consent form, understanding what group was about. The rest probably had, but not Meagan's.

Oh well.

She just wasn't ready to tell her family, she wasn't ready to tell most people, and for that she forgave herself.

Meagan's eyes moved to the front of the room as the man, brought in to her school to lead their group, began to speak.

"Today I thought we could share one instance of what has brought us here. I know we've spoken about how our actions make us feel, but we haven't discussed what everyone has done to hurt themselves. I know this will be tough, so if you don't want to participate, I understand."

Meagan's group leader honestly cared about each of the girls there. He wanted to know more in order to help as much as he could. Despite her furious attempts not to, Meagan was beginning to trust in him. She wondered if he would be able to help.

“I think it would benefit everyone to better understand each group member as well as themselves.”

Meagan saw nods start all around the room.
Okay, I can do this. If everyone else can, so can I
, Meagan thought. She let out a hesitant breath, laced with jagged anxiety.

"I have an assignment before we go, so don't let me forget to talk about it later. Don't worry, it won't be graded, but I do want it to make you think. We will discuss it more after." He had a way of making eye contact with everyone in the room in such a way that set them all at ease. He didn't judge. He didn't lecture. He simply listened and tried to help.

"But first, I was hoping everyone could share a unique experience. Everyone here suffers, but no one needs to suffer alone. I wanted to remind each of you this is a safe place with others who understand. Everyone will be respectful." He paused then and waited for a volunteer to start.

Meagan's heart nearly leapt into her dry throat. She would never go first, but she was eager to listen, and she would listen intently to the stories of the other girls. She didn't want to admit it to anyone, not even herself, that she wanted to know more about how others hurt themselves and what had led up to such pain and hard decisions for others. Her curiosity had led her to the library where she was too scared to check out the books. She feared someone would someday see the list of everything she had borrowed, and they'd find out her secret. Thus, she still only knew about herself, and she thirsted to understand more.

She hated to acknowledge the darker side of her curiosities, but even ignored, they gnawed at her conscious, begging to be free. This was her opportunity.

Meagan waited for the first volunteer to speak and realized she was not only curious, but she was also excited. She wondered if learning more would help her out of the destructive habit she'd begun.

She was also excited because she knew in here, in this closed conference room, these girls were able to voice all of the things they didn't share with anyone. Meagan was able to sit across the table from other girls who went through similar things. She was able to show her scars and tell her stories to girls who could acknowledge her without bias or malice and simply listen with understanding. Meagan honestly felt secure, as did everyone else present, in this time set aside during fifth hour.

She was as excited to share as she was to listen.

Meagan locked eyes with Haley, the first to speak, as she began her story.

"Okay I'll go first. I stared cutting a few months ago." Haley regarded her hands folded on the tabletop as she spoke. Her eyes were down. She was loud enough for everyone to hear, but her voice lacked confidence.

She was so monotone it was as if staying uninterested would protect her.

"Can you tell us about a specific experience you've had? If you're comfortable with that."

Haley timidly looked up. She hesitated before nodding and breaking her short-lived eye contact.

"Well, I don't do it that often. I usually do it once a week or less. That's about how often my stress reaches a breaking point. I only do it in completely hidden areas. Never on my arms, because that's too visible, and I never want to get caught. Usually I use my shaving razor, and I push hard enough into my thigh to break the skin. Anyway, sorry, a specific time I've done it..." Haley paused her staccato statements for a deep breath.

"You don't need to apologize," the ever-gentle leader interjected.

"Oh sorry, okay."

Meagan's heart beat in that moment for Haley. She could feel the pounding vulnerability and strength Haley was summoning for this bout of show and tell.

Haley began to twist her fingers together while pausing once more.

Meagan wondered if Haley was thinking through dozens of experiences, trying to pick one. She wondered if Haley was sifting out the worst and most depressing to seem less destructive, or if she was doing the opposite to seem the most extreme.

Meagan waited poised, holding her breath to hear what Haley had to say next.

"A couple weeks ago, I got into it with my dad. He yells. A lot. Actually, I think that's why I started in the first place. I can't take it when my dad yells at me. He says these mean things, and then afterward, I let them run over, and over, and over in my mind until I start to believe the harsh things he says ar
e true. I start to think I'm just stupid, and worthless, and unfeeling, like he tells me so often. So I started cutting to deal with the way my dad makes me feel and to prove to myself that I
can
feel
.

“Anyway, he came home from work crabby and mad that day, and all afternoon he and my mother were arguing. I did my best to stay in my room, focusing on my homework. I even put music on for distraction.”

Nods bounced around the room.

“But then it was dinnertime, and I had to interact with him. I tried to stay out of the conversation, but my dad just ticked me off, and I talked back to him. I was pretty snotty, but I just couldn't keep my irritation inside. He started screaming about everything I've done wrong lately, and I just lost it. I started yelling right back. My face was hot, and I said things I definitely shouldn't have, but it didn't make me feel any better.”

Meagan wondered if Haley had ever told anyone about her cutting before. Was this the first time some of these girls would say the words out loud?

“After dinner I took a shower, and I cut my leg. I watched the water turn pink around my feet, and I just stood there crying. I felt better afterward, but I cried a lot.” Haley flushed slightly.

“I don't normally cry when I cut. I think that's why I picked that time to share. It stuck out in my memory. Anyway that's all." She finished with the last few words rushed, as if she was anxious to complete her story.

Haley had kept her eyes glued to her hands during her entire speech, but as she finished, she peered up and around the room with a look Meagan guessed contained some pleading for understanding.

"Thank you. That was incredibly brave."

Brooke, sitting next to Haley, leaned over and hugged her. She reassured her, stating, "I've cried too."

And Meagan surprised herself by whispering, "So have I."

Brooke took it upon herself to go next, which cued everyone to share clockwise around the table. That put only Brooke and Ashley to go before Meagan.

Meagan's heart beat faster as Brooke started.

"My name is Brooke and I'm an... oops, wrong group."

Laughs spread around the room, as the ladies caught on to the meaning of the joke.

Meagan smiled broadly because, honestly, this wasn't usually a place for giggles, and the joke was unexpectedly welcome.

Brooke began again after she had received the response she'd clearly hoped for. “To hurt myself, I don't do much cutting. I have before, but usually I give myself bruises or burns on purpose instead. I have banged my wrists against the counters until they are black and blue.” Meagan tried to restrain herself, but she couldn't help it as she let out a barely audible gasp.

Thankfully, Meagan was able to hold back the lump in her throat from leading to anything else, and she managed to swallow it away. She had never heard of someone banging their wrists to inflict pain. It sounded so much more painful, deliberate, and drawn out than her own scratches back and forth.

Meagan wondered what type of pain, or personality, it took to hurt yourself that way. She wondered if Brooke was in more emotional pain, if she was braver, or if she was just further from sanity than Meagan was.

Brook continued, “I've also stolen lighters from friends and burned little spots on my legs, but I don't do that anymore. When I burn myself, it tends to make me feel horrible afterward, and aren't we making these stupid mistakes to feel better? Plus, I don't like the way burn scars look, as vain as that sounds. Someday I expect to grow out of this, so I don't want to be covered in ugly marks.”

Brooke displayed more confidence than Haley, and more than Meagan guessed she would have.

“I started when I hit a bad and low place in my life. I had started drinking, and I was so lost. Then I'd found out I was adopted, and I kind of freaked out. I started banging my wrists and burning myself to feel better, and it worked. Even though I'd stopped drinking, I'd replaced it with a whole new set of problems. When I hurt myself, I felt better because I was choosing to stay in control of my mind by staying sober. And I also felt better because it released every bit of pent-up frustration and hurt that was eating away at my soul telling me to drink.

“A specific time I gave myself bruises was the first time I decided to start hurting myself. My boyfriend, you guys know Josh, he had broken up with me after cheating with Sheila. Plus, in the same week, days before Josh's decision, my parents sat me down and told me they aren't my real parents. They'd adopted me from a single mother with a drug problem.

“I was so mad and hurt and sad all at once. I was confused and, while doing my best to keep it together, I started to have a serious fit.” Brooke glanced around the room as she spoke, making Meagan feel as if she was experiencing the torment along with her.

“I was home alone, and I started to throw things around my room. Eventually, I punched the wall and bruised my hand. Somehow the pain helped me to feel better, more in control. So I started hitting my desk with my fists and my wrists. Over and over. I did it for about ten minutes, and afterward I felt completely calm. It was the quietest night I'd had in months, after that first time.” Brooke had a look of confusion flash across her face as she finished her story.

Meagan thought she saw relief, happiness, and remorse on Brooke's face all at once.

The overload of opposing emotions was something Meagan could understand, and so she commented first this time. “I'm here if you ever want to talk.”

“We all are,” someone chimed in, though Meagan missed who had said it as she had reached over to squeeze Brook's hand.

Brooke beamed at her, and she realized she had made a new friend.

Their leader added, “Thank you for also being brave enough to share.”

Ashley sat forward in her chair when she was ready to begin her story.

Meagan's heart skipped a beat as she realized she was next to go.

“First, before I start sharing, is it okay if I make an announcement?” Curious eyes blinked, waiting to hear what she had to say.

“Of course.”

“Well, I've stopped cutting! I thought you guys would want to know.”

Ashley's proclamation was clearly news to more than just Meagan, as many of the girls had shocked smiles displayed. A few even began to clap, and everyone else quickly joined in. Meagan could see the pride radiating out of Ashley's entire body in waves. She had accomplished the impossible. She had done something no one else in this room had done yet.