Anniversary that no one talks about
May. 15th, 2013 10:25 pm![[personal profile]](https://www.dreamwidth.org/img/silk/identity/user.png){kind=small}
jynx_tsilevonTrigger Warnings: Stupid People, Suicidal Ideation
It's been 10 years since I tried to kill myself.
Or 9.
But I'm pretty sure it's 10. Because I was in fourth grade 10 years ago.
And no one talks about it. Actually, I don't even talk about it, much, anyway. Not consciously. I'm sure you all think differently. I apologize.
Whitemage, I think I told you last night because it's been 10 years and no one's talked about it since then, really. They moved on to talking about more important things. Twin and her sickness, Brother and his moving.
Looking back, I'm ashamed/proud/confident enough to say I did it for attention, and it didn't work. I was the kid who tried to kill themselves by jumping off a two story building. Out of my bedroom window. I would have landed on a bush, or grass. Possibly the patio if I had aimed. I wasn't going to aim, I still am scared of heights. Two stories was too high. The neighbor found me because I started calling for help after two (three?) hours. My brother and sister didn't hear me because they were watching something on TV downstairs. They'd forgotten about me.
I was supposed to be vacuuming. Or cleaning the bathrooms. Possibly dusting. I don't remember what the chores list said. I just know they handed me the chores list. It was divided out by name. Pretty equally.
My brother read the list the first time in the sections. His section, Twin's section, my section.
The second time he read it, he put all of his chores and most of Twin's in my section. I had no say in this. He was In Charge. Mom said so.
Dad had moved out the previous Christmas. I remember waking up and him not being there.
Twin and Brother made fun of me when I told them I wouldn't do their chores. They told me they'd just say I didn't do my share, and take credit for my section. I tried to get Twin to stay on my side, but Brother was In Charge and that meant his word was better than mine.
Mom would believe them, too. I still remember how many times I was scapegoated for them. I'm the middle child by 60 seconds. I'm still bitter, even though my parents have both long since apologized for not realizing it. Part of me wishes I had scars from the belt or the wooden spoon they used for punishment for lying and not doing as they told. I wish I didn't like vinegar. Soap doesn't taste that bad.
I wonder what they would have used after soap. I had gotten so used to the taste of that.
I did my chores. I think I had to vacuum the basement. Mom made me do that all the time, even though she knew I was scared. My brother tended to turn the lights out on me. I'd be stuck in the dark with the loud noises. There were marks on the wall where I'd run to turn the lights back on and hit the wall so hard to dent it.
I did my chores. Brother handed me the list to do his and Twin's. I started crying, they laughed. I tried to find the bathroom cleaner, and kept asking where it was. They laughed at me.
It was upstairs. I went upstairs, into my room pulled the chair over and took the screen out of my window. I didn't have to open it that wide to get out. It was a crack window. I forced it shut from the outside.
I scooted over as far left as I could go. The moment I was pressed up against the raise of the roof and then nothing. And then I was afraid. Because I didn't actually want to be there.
I contemplated the ground for awhile and started to cry again.
Then I stopped and stared at the sky.
I figured they'd come get me soon.
I started to sing and it started to rain. I sang church hymns. I figured the Person listening liked me more if I sang. They hadn't covered what happened if you killed yourself in Church yet.
I was up there for a few hours. The neighbor who saw me about broke the back door trying to get my sister and brother's attention. My brother pulled me off the roof and pinned me to the floor in my room. The carpet was pink with random specks of color in it. I hated that carpet.
He pinned me to the ground but I could see Twin and she was crying. She stopped crying for me soon after that, but she cried for me that day.
My brother cried into my back and my sister called my mom. I don't remember where Mom was that day, but she came right home.
I went to school the next day. I slept on my mom's floor for a week. They took the crank from my window and removed the knob from my door.
Took me to a shrink who asked me why I did it. When I couldn't answer, he told me I was a selfish child who wanted all the attention on me. I cried so hard I didn't hear my mother yelling at him.
The Court ordered me to go to more therapy. Twin and Brother too.
The second lady wasn't nearly as bad. Brother didn't have to go for long. Twin and I stayed around for awhile.
They found Twin was worse than me fast.
My best friends had reacted how I expected. One had hugged me so tight I couldn't breathe. Two tackled me to the dirt and pinned me there. Made me stare at the sun and promise to never never never leave. I was the Leader. I wasn't allowed to go anywhere.
I'm still friends with the one who held me down and the one who hugged me. The one who tackled me down doesn't talk to me anymore. I could wear the pants with the grass stain for 5 years after that day.
In 7th grade I wrote about it. The roof and all. Made a personal narrative about it, but turned it into a joke. Read it to my class. We were all ALPHA students. They all knew me when that had happened. The girl who had sat next to me on the bus the day of had hugged me the day after. She hadn't let go until we were at school. She didn't know what had happened, she just knew to hold on.
MZ, you don't remember that. I know you don't because there was no recognition when you edited the story in 7th grade. Thank you, though, MZ.
The kids in my class clapped that day. Said I was brave. Some said "thanks for being here." My teacher hung the piece up in the room for a few months. She still has a copy. She gave me a hug when I turned it in. I don't know if she was allowed to do that, but I hugged her back.
And then no one talked about it again. I don't even have a copy of the narrative I wrote. It disappeared when my parents whipped the computer I wrote it one. The hard copy, with the comments, was shredded, I think.
10 years since the incident, 7 since anyone's really talked about it. I guess I should be proud that the glaring mark on my record is more of a coffee stain in the corner. I worked too hard for anyone to look back and see why I did anything. Maybe.
The first day of 6th grade, my teacher said I was the happiest student she'd ever had. I skipped into class. I got an award for it at the end of the year.
My friends, my best two, the one who held me down and the one who hugged me, Blue Jay and Delirium, will not keep pictures of me from 6th-8th grade. Del swears to me that my fake smile didn't fool anyone. Fooled everyone but them too. Even Twin. I could fool Twin a lot.
Few people can actually look at year books and pick me out of them. I changed too much since 2003, outwardly. I know this. We did it at Lunch, Senior Year. We brought a bunch of year books. They could find Twin everywhere. They couldn't find me without looking for my name.
Del's yearbook didn't count. She'd started circling me and Blue after the 6th grade one came out.
I talk about vanishing now. I guess it's because I did vanish, for periods of time. I tried to jump off a roof because I had vanished from my parents, and my brother and sister noticed. I existed only to get in trouble, and that was exploited for awhile.
I had a loud mouth. I argued with everything. It was easy to turn that against me.
I put my head down and took it, after awhile. Suddenly it was easy to see through Twin's lies. Brother had other problems begin. Sometimes, when I was yelled at, they called every name but mine. There was a period of time where neither of my parents called my name but would just yell and I knew they were talking to me.
I got so used to getting grounded that I stole books and hid them under my mattress to read later. My ferrets almost gave me away once.
I did my homework because that's all I had in my room. Once Mom actually grounded me from homework because I did that for fun. She realized shortly after that she couldn't do that, or else I'd get in trouble at school. She made me do my homework at the kitchen table, and when I was done, I went up to my room and went to sleep. Brother and Twin would watch TV or play on the computer. Sometimes, when they felt bad for me, they would turn on the TV where I could see it reflected off the microwave.
I was in trouble almost as much as my brother in those days because I kept asking why my parents got divorced and who's fault it was.
When my mother told me she was moving to 5-minutes-from-Michigan area, I actually got out of the car into moving traffic just to get away from her.
My parents alternated who could deal with me. If I got on one of their nerves bad enough, I went to the other one. I started getting in trouble the most over the holidays.
My brother did drugs sometimes. Got caught by the police a few times. Wrecked a few cars. My mother hated me almost as much as she hated him.
He called me Mom. I was the only one who could keep him from dropping out of his window to go smoke, for a little while.
He lives in Cali now, working two or three jobs and going to school when he can. He dropped out of college twice back here. He doesn't do drugs anymore. Sometimes he texts me. Once he called me to remind me to wish Mom (or Dad) happy birthday. He'll probably call me when I turn 21.
His texts and phone calls are random, but always catch me at the right time. He remembers I exist, even now. Maybe, subconsciously, he still sees me face down on the pink carpet, silent but for the sobs.
He was never around for when Twin broke down. She saved that for me. She saved the cut wrists and the nooses and the open pill bottles for me. Sometimes when I'm angry, I think she did it to mock me. As if to say "look, they pay attention to me."
Other times, I just feel bad that she wants attention that way.
I felt the need to write this. I didn't talk about it to the person at counseling because I don't like talking about suicide. I don't like remembering the stupid reason why I was even up there in the first place.
Two years after I tried but one year before I wrote the piece, my dad re-wrote "Up on the Rooftop" to reflect my attempt. He told me I couldn't have actually done it, even if I had jumped. Showed me how to tie a noose and hang myself from the closet if I wanted to. Never showed Twin. I don't know why he showed me. I don't remember how to tie a noose and frankly I'm glad. I do know how tall the building has to be.
I wanted to talk about this with someone but was not brave enough to actually tell them the story behind it. Whitemage got close. I felt it on my tongue last night. It made my fingers burn.
I didn't want wisdom though so I turned off my computer instead.
I find it funny that I "attempted" when I did. It got so much worse shortly after. Slid downhill in a rock-slide and we are still digging a tunnel out. Then there would have been some sort of justification, if you can actually justify things like that.
Everything I did for the last ten years, since that day and up till Spring Break this year, was to be noticed by two people who didn't actually notice what I did. There was something else to divert their attention. When something drastic like roof hopping didn't keep their attention, I turned to school. I was damn good at school. That didn't matter.
I got into all of my colleges first try. Twin actually didn't. She blamed me. I still have the bite mark where she fought with me over it.
They weren't happy with the one I picked.
Twin had people give her gifts in congratulations.
We go to the same college, for those of you new here.
I picked to be an Engineer. I did. I did. Me. For me. I did, really. They were so very mad at me.
My mom lectured me for not spending enough time studying when I survived freshman year. My step dad slammed on the breaks when she said that and she almost hit her head on the dash. He told her to never talk to me that way again. My step dad really does mean well. He's the only Adult I got. He's there for Twin now. She needs that.
I picked to be an Engineer. I picked to take as long as I want (although Drakon and Cendri had to assure me that all the cool kids were doing it first).
I picked to be sitting here.
And, right now, I don't give a fuck what anyone else thinks about that. Because 10 years ago I didn't make it this far.
It's been 10 years since I tried to kill myself.
Or 9.
But I'm pretty sure it's 10. Because I was in fourth grade 10 years ago.
And no one talks about it. Actually, I don't even talk about it, much, anyway. Not consciously. I'm sure you all think differently. I apologize.
Whitemage, I think I told you last night because it's been 10 years and no one's talked about it since then, really. They moved on to talking about more important things. Twin and her sickness, Brother and his moving.
Looking back, I'm ashamed/proud/confident enough to say I did it for attention, and it didn't work. I was the kid who tried to kill themselves by jumping off a two story building. Out of my bedroom window. I would have landed on a bush, or grass. Possibly the patio if I had aimed. I wasn't going to aim, I still am scared of heights. Two stories was too high. The neighbor found me because I started calling for help after two (three?) hours. My brother and sister didn't hear me because they were watching something on TV downstairs. They'd forgotten about me.
I was supposed to be vacuuming. Or cleaning the bathrooms. Possibly dusting. I don't remember what the chores list said. I just know they handed me the chores list. It was divided out by name. Pretty equally.
My brother read the list the first time in the sections. His section, Twin's section, my section.
The second time he read it, he put all of his chores and most of Twin's in my section. I had no say in this. He was In Charge. Mom said so.
Dad had moved out the previous Christmas. I remember waking up and him not being there.
Twin and Brother made fun of me when I told them I wouldn't do their chores. They told me they'd just say I didn't do my share, and take credit for my section. I tried to get Twin to stay on my side, but Brother was In Charge and that meant his word was better than mine.
Mom would believe them, too. I still remember how many times I was scapegoated for them. I'm the middle child by 60 seconds. I'm still bitter, even though my parents have both long since apologized for not realizing it. Part of me wishes I had scars from the belt or the wooden spoon they used for punishment for lying and not doing as they told. I wish I didn't like vinegar. Soap doesn't taste that bad.
I wonder what they would have used after soap. I had gotten so used to the taste of that.
I did my chores. I think I had to vacuum the basement. Mom made me do that all the time, even though she knew I was scared. My brother tended to turn the lights out on me. I'd be stuck in the dark with the loud noises. There were marks on the wall where I'd run to turn the lights back on and hit the wall so hard to dent it.
I did my chores. Brother handed me the list to do his and Twin's. I started crying, they laughed. I tried to find the bathroom cleaner, and kept asking where it was. They laughed at me.
It was upstairs. I went upstairs, into my room pulled the chair over and took the screen out of my window. I didn't have to open it that wide to get out. It was a crack window. I forced it shut from the outside.
I scooted over as far left as I could go. The moment I was pressed up against the raise of the roof and then nothing. And then I was afraid. Because I didn't actually want to be there.
I contemplated the ground for awhile and started to cry again.
Then I stopped and stared at the sky.
I figured they'd come get me soon.
I started to sing and it started to rain. I sang church hymns. I figured the Person listening liked me more if I sang. They hadn't covered what happened if you killed yourself in Church yet.
I was up there for a few hours. The neighbor who saw me about broke the back door trying to get my sister and brother's attention. My brother pulled me off the roof and pinned me to the floor in my room. The carpet was pink with random specks of color in it. I hated that carpet.
He pinned me to the ground but I could see Twin and she was crying. She stopped crying for me soon after that, but she cried for me that day.
My brother cried into my back and my sister called my mom. I don't remember where Mom was that day, but she came right home.
I went to school the next day. I slept on my mom's floor for a week. They took the crank from my window and removed the knob from my door.
Took me to a shrink who asked me why I did it. When I couldn't answer, he told me I was a selfish child who wanted all the attention on me. I cried so hard I didn't hear my mother yelling at him.
The Court ordered me to go to more therapy. Twin and Brother too.
The second lady wasn't nearly as bad. Brother didn't have to go for long. Twin and I stayed around for awhile.
They found Twin was worse than me fast.
My best friends had reacted how I expected. One had hugged me so tight I couldn't breathe. Two tackled me to the dirt and pinned me there. Made me stare at the sun and promise to never never never leave. I was the Leader. I wasn't allowed to go anywhere.
I'm still friends with the one who held me down and the one who hugged me. The one who tackled me down doesn't talk to me anymore. I could wear the pants with the grass stain for 5 years after that day.
In 7th grade I wrote about it. The roof and all. Made a personal narrative about it, but turned it into a joke. Read it to my class. We were all ALPHA students. They all knew me when that had happened. The girl who had sat next to me on the bus the day of had hugged me the day after. She hadn't let go until we were at school. She didn't know what had happened, she just knew to hold on.
MZ, you don't remember that. I know you don't because there was no recognition when you edited the story in 7th grade. Thank you, though, MZ.
The kids in my class clapped that day. Said I was brave. Some said "thanks for being here." My teacher hung the piece up in the room for a few months. She still has a copy. She gave me a hug when I turned it in. I don't know if she was allowed to do that, but I hugged her back.
And then no one talked about it again. I don't even have a copy of the narrative I wrote. It disappeared when my parents whipped the computer I wrote it one. The hard copy, with the comments, was shredded, I think.
10 years since the incident, 7 since anyone's really talked about it. I guess I should be proud that the glaring mark on my record is more of a coffee stain in the corner. I worked too hard for anyone to look back and see why I did anything. Maybe.
The first day of 6th grade, my teacher said I was the happiest student she'd ever had. I skipped into class. I got an award for it at the end of the year.
My friends, my best two, the one who held me down and the one who hugged me, Blue Jay and Delirium, will not keep pictures of me from 6th-8th grade. Del swears to me that my fake smile didn't fool anyone. Fooled everyone but them too. Even Twin. I could fool Twin a lot.
Few people can actually look at year books and pick me out of them. I changed too much since 2003, outwardly. I know this. We did it at Lunch, Senior Year. We brought a bunch of year books. They could find Twin everywhere. They couldn't find me without looking for my name.
Del's yearbook didn't count. She'd started circling me and Blue after the 6th grade one came out.
I talk about vanishing now. I guess it's because I did vanish, for periods of time. I tried to jump off a roof because I had vanished from my parents, and my brother and sister noticed. I existed only to get in trouble, and that was exploited for awhile.
I had a loud mouth. I argued with everything. It was easy to turn that against me.
I put my head down and took it, after awhile. Suddenly it was easy to see through Twin's lies. Brother had other problems begin. Sometimes, when I was yelled at, they called every name but mine. There was a period of time where neither of my parents called my name but would just yell and I knew they were talking to me.
I got so used to getting grounded that I stole books and hid them under my mattress to read later. My ferrets almost gave me away once.
I did my homework because that's all I had in my room. Once Mom actually grounded me from homework because I did that for fun. She realized shortly after that she couldn't do that, or else I'd get in trouble at school. She made me do my homework at the kitchen table, and when I was done, I went up to my room and went to sleep. Brother and Twin would watch TV or play on the computer. Sometimes, when they felt bad for me, they would turn on the TV where I could see it reflected off the microwave.
I was in trouble almost as much as my brother in those days because I kept asking why my parents got divorced and who's fault it was.
When my mother told me she was moving to 5-minutes-from-Michigan area, I actually got out of the car into moving traffic just to get away from her.
My parents alternated who could deal with me. If I got on one of their nerves bad enough, I went to the other one. I started getting in trouble the most over the holidays.
My brother did drugs sometimes. Got caught by the police a few times. Wrecked a few cars. My mother hated me almost as much as she hated him.
He called me Mom. I was the only one who could keep him from dropping out of his window to go smoke, for a little while.
He lives in Cali now, working two or three jobs and going to school when he can. He dropped out of college twice back here. He doesn't do drugs anymore. Sometimes he texts me. Once he called me to remind me to wish Mom (or Dad) happy birthday. He'll probably call me when I turn 21.
His texts and phone calls are random, but always catch me at the right time. He remembers I exist, even now. Maybe, subconsciously, he still sees me face down on the pink carpet, silent but for the sobs.
He was never around for when Twin broke down. She saved that for me. She saved the cut wrists and the nooses and the open pill bottles for me. Sometimes when I'm angry, I think she did it to mock me. As if to say "look, they pay attention to me."
Other times, I just feel bad that she wants attention that way.
I felt the need to write this. I didn't talk about it to the person at counseling because I don't like talking about suicide. I don't like remembering the stupid reason why I was even up there in the first place.
Two years after I tried but one year before I wrote the piece, my dad re-wrote "Up on the Rooftop" to reflect my attempt. He told me I couldn't have actually done it, even if I had jumped. Showed me how to tie a noose and hang myself from the closet if I wanted to. Never showed Twin. I don't know why he showed me. I don't remember how to tie a noose and frankly I'm glad. I do know how tall the building has to be.
I wanted to talk about this with someone but was not brave enough to actually tell them the story behind it. Whitemage got close. I felt it on my tongue last night. It made my fingers burn.
I didn't want wisdom though so I turned off my computer instead.
I find it funny that I "attempted" when I did. It got so much worse shortly after. Slid downhill in a rock-slide and we are still digging a tunnel out. Then there would have been some sort of justification, if you can actually justify things like that.
Everything I did for the last ten years, since that day and up till Spring Break this year, was to be noticed by two people who didn't actually notice what I did. There was something else to divert their attention. When something drastic like roof hopping didn't keep their attention, I turned to school. I was damn good at school. That didn't matter.
I got into all of my colleges first try. Twin actually didn't. She blamed me. I still have the bite mark where she fought with me over it.
They weren't happy with the one I picked.
Twin had people give her gifts in congratulations.
We go to the same college, for those of you new here.
I picked to be an Engineer. I did. I did. Me. For me. I did, really. They were so very mad at me.
My mom lectured me for not spending enough time studying when I survived freshman year. My step dad slammed on the breaks when she said that and she almost hit her head on the dash. He told her to never talk to me that way again. My step dad really does mean well. He's the only Adult I got. He's there for Twin now. She needs that.
I picked to be an Engineer. I picked to take as long as I want (although Drakon and Cendri had to assure me that all the cool kids were doing it first).
I picked to be sitting here.
And, right now, I don't give a fuck what anyone else thinks about that. Because 10 years ago I didn't make it this far.
no subject
Date: 2013-05-16 06:19 am (UTC)People who haven't been through things don't understand what dissociation feels like. When you discuss something with them, they write it off if you related it factually and monotone. They assume it's not important.
But some things, like even when you're able to get distance, they don't really go away. There's no closure on it, 10, 20 years down the road. There's coping. There's not being that person anymore. But there's no erasing it. And I get that that keeps hurting.
I have a lot of sympathy for you going through the things you went through, whether you believe they were big things or not. And I have a lot of empathy in ways I wish I could explain, except I don't want to make this about me and my experiences, because this is your space and in this space I want your words and your experiences.
Thank you for the times you've discussed this with me. This really is a deep insight into you, and I think this shows a lot of progress on your part with how much you were able to put into this particular account of it.
You did pick to be sitting here. You are making choices for yourself, and I'm very proud of you. And I will always be proud of you making those choices, even when you have bad days and plans blow up in your face. Because my caring for you is not about your success or your failure, but about you fully being yourself and owning your life. And you're working really hard on that.
As you've pointed out, look how far you've gotten in 10 years.
no subject
Date: 2013-05-16 03:49 pm (UTC)I would feel honored if you shared the stories behind your empathy. This isn't my space, it's a shared space. Dialog helps me learn, especially since I have yet to figure out how to ask questions.
I'm sorry that in our conversations I'm often very hostile. I don't want the past to define me at all but I realize everything I am is because of that. It's disheartening. I want to move on, after all.
Thank you. Really.
no subject
Date: 2013-05-16 05:04 pm (UTC)Once again, I'm really glad you opened up about this, whatever your personal feelings on it.
My parents stayed together through our childhood, but once my brother got into school, I often ended up ignored. Still, it remained my refuge. Teachers were the adults I went to and confided in, and my peers were people I avoided for fear of being labelled "weird" and awkward. (Which happened anyway! Because if you avoid people, they start to feel strange around you.) I got teased a lot from my classmates and my relatives, and so I treated even further into my own world in my head.
I had relatives who were passive-aggressive towards me, I was basically a servant in my own house from the time I was 10, doing all of the laundry, the cooking, and a chunk of the cleaning. If things weren't done to Dad's level of perfection, I was instantly punished. I wasn't allowed over to people's houses because they were "poor influences" and if I had friends over, not only did I get in trouble for anything I did pushing the envelope, but I got punished when they left for any house rules they broke as well (/guests/ could not be punished, obviously, but I was made responsible for their actions and manners, as well as my younger brother's.)
I never had scars and marks. Dad stopped using corporal punishment on me when I was 12, because I was becoming a "young lady" and for him, gentlemen did not /hit/ women, they just gaslighted them. So the rest of my time at home everything went from 50% psychological to 100%. I still thought all this was normal. I was certain my parents loved me dearly, because they always provided for me. Mom's worrying and projecting of her own fears and feelings of failure was just how mothers were.
Neither of them discussed being proud of me until Dad said so at my wedding, and both said so when I graduated from college. Since, Mom has waffled between supporting me pursuing more education and advising me that I might be too broken to really finish this and might consider giving up. Dad spent 2 years blasting science in general from the pulpit to try and get me to quit biochemistry and do law so they would have a lawyer in the family.
I've abused painkillers and self-harmed, and unlike your sister, I never told anyone. I didn't want anyone to know. I've just now gotten around to tell Cendri most of it. I didn't want to deal with coming from a bad home, I didn't want to be the abused kid. My internal dialogue was "suck it up!" and "show no weakness!" and I hated the idea that bad things I had done and that had been done to me would define me, too. I felt like if that was what made me, then I was a bad thing, too.
I ended up standing over a sink, then sitting in a shower attempting to slit my wrists and screaming at myself for being a coward, while my infant son was laying in his crib in the next room crying for his mother. I was convinced I would screw him up--not because of my childhood, because I hadn't admitted there was a problem yet, but because I felt like it was me who was wrong. I felt like I simply was a defective parent and a bad wife because of some internal flaw in my being. I blamed myself for everything that happened to me, from my father's treatment of me, my antagonistic relationship with my brother, to "allowing" my first boyfriend to assault me because I couldn't tell him I was uncomfortable before the situation got out of hand.
I have just always wanted to be normal, to not make waves, to blend in. The first 24 years of my life were all centered around just being as quiet as I could be and touching as little of the world as possible. Leave no marks! Because people got angry about marks you make. Clearly you only made marks for attention.
I didn't have it any worse than you, though. We're pretty equal from where I sit. Though I understand if you don't accept it that way.
People who are trying to heal and move on get hostile when their world views are challenged. They get hostile when things shake up. They get hostile when horrible, negative feelings arise and they want them out, but they can't aim the hurt at the people who hurt them. I was an utter bitch to everyone in high school, even the people who tried to help me. Ask Cendri sometime. But it was because I was hurting.
The disheartening feeling is hurt. But know you are what you are not just because of the past. We are only defined by our past when we let it. When we choose to turn back and look it in the eye, when we take our new found wisdom and set the past in context, when we define it instead, it loses its power over us. That's when we get some traction.
You are moving on. You're working. It's a process, and a long one. Sometimes a lifetime one. But don't lost hope--not because you will make, but because you are making it. Every step forward right now is making it.
Things can effect you and shape you, but they do not make up your core self. You can make a vase from a piece of clay, but the clay is still clay. It's periphery changed, not its substance. In the same way, you have always been and always will be Jynx. And that is for you to know and define, whatever you have been through and will go through. You know that as a truth more and more each day. This is how it will get better, is in knowing yourself.
I'm just honored to help. <3
no subject
Date: 2013-05-16 06:01 pm (UTC)Thank you, though, for sharing all of that with me. It means a lot.
I'm lucky now. Because I have you, and people like you. People care now, and Lord knows every time I try to vanish one of you hunts me down. I'm not as brave as you all are, not nearly as strong. I still use flight over fight instincts because most of the time, it's just not worth it. At lot of what comes out of my mouth now is really just hot air.
But I'm here, and you're here, and maybe by the time you and I get together next I will be able to make mug brownies and cheese toasties.
no subject
Date: 2013-05-16 09:21 pm (UTC)I'm glad you're still here, too. And, hell, I'm glad I'm here.
<3
It's okay to run instead of fight sometimes. It doesn't make you weaker or less courageous. Sometimes it just means you have all you can deal with right now and you can't take more. We're willing to let you run, if you just tell us that. It's the passive vanishing that we're against--because we want whatever you do to be an active, conscious choice. That's how you own things.
And hot air coming out of your mouth is also called letting off steam. We all have to do it.
I believe in you and your cheese toasties. And mug brownies.
no subject
Date: 2013-05-16 10:52 pm (UTC)Seconding this.
no subject
Date: 2013-05-16 10:59 pm (UTC)no subject
Date: 2013-05-16 10:51 pm (UTC)no subject
Date: 2013-05-17 12:13 am (UTC)no subject
Date: 2013-05-17 12:15 am (UTC)