I just want to say that I suck at telling stories to strangers, so
I’m sorry if some things that I try to explain don’t
make sense. My story starts with a boy. He was a senior and I was a
freshman. It’s not as bad as you think…he was a young
senior and I was an older freshman. Only two years apart. Note that
I had never been in a relationship and I never had a simple kiss.
We met through marching band. (For anybody in marching band, I bet
you know which sections we are/were in, I’m in guard and he
was a percussionist. Lol.)Anyway,
we began to talk and I thought that all we would be was flirting
buddies or whatnot. I didn’t think that an actual senior
would have an interest in me. I didn’t like him really and I
feel like that’s the reason why I said yes that fine
Wednesday afternoon on March 2. But as we dated, he began to grow
on me. J He
took me to prom and was so sweet to me. And I knew that he would
eventually be going into the Marine Corps on September 9, (my
birthday! Great,
right?) so I did everything possible to not get so attached. About
three months into our relationship I began to have horrible
nightmares. Nightmares that an untreated chemical imbalance
created. Nightmares of me killing my family and everyone I cared
about and then committing suicide. Another nightmare….the
one that ruined everything…this nightmare took place in the
desert. Him and myself just standing in the blazing sun. He pulls
out a gun and shoots me. I told him about my nightmares and he told
me he knew what they meant. I knew what they meant too, but I
didn’t want to accept it. He came over my house and we
“mutually” broke up. He wanted me to have time to move
on and get over him before he leaves. Also, we didn’t want to
do anything “stupid.” I know, why couldn’t we
stay together? His excuse was so I could have a
“normal” high school experience. Whatever. I was so
upset, I began to self-harm by scratching. Which soon led to
cutting. About three months after the break up, I was really bad. I
got yelled at by my parents every day because I wasn’t over
him. My dad left us for two weeks and it wasn’t the first
time he did this. I found out that both my grandparents who I am
very close to were dying and I had the pain of seeing my graduated
ex at practice, band camp to be more specific. For those who
don’t know what band camp is…it’s a rehearsal
that takes place ALL day; 12 hours. As much as I hated seeing him
at practice, I knew that this might be the last time I see him and
I missed him so much. I went to his going away party and I sat in
the bathroom and cried. School started and I had a Tuesday
practice. I saw him and that was the last time I saw him. He
didn’t say goodbye to me and my dad flipped when I told him
that. He started yelling at me and then my mother began to yell at
me and I was a total mess. I stupidly went on facebook and posted
an ugly and stupid status. One saying I was going to kill
myself… He and my two closest friends showed up at my house
minutes later asking to see me. My mom didn’t know I updated
my status to that and when they showed up one of my friends showed
her. She freaked out on me, but then realized how bad I was. I
didn’t go to school the next day and around 11:30am the
police showed up
at my house. Someone printed out my status – even though I
deleted it the night before – and showed my band director,
who showed my guidance counselor, who showed the police. The cops
questioned me and asked me why I did what I did and they made me
show them my wrist. They believed that I was a threat to myself, so
I was Baker Acted. For those who don’t know what being Baker
Acted is… The Baker Act is a law in Florida that allows
mentally ill people to be committed to a mental health facility for
72 hours, against the will of the mentally ill person. It is often
used on people who are dangerous to themselves, for example, if
they are hurting themselves intentionally, or on people who become
violent and try to hurt others. I missed a week of school and
I was afraid to go back to school. But I went back to school and
everything was fine, nobody questioned where I was. In the
hospital, I was put on Wellburtin and I’m still taking it,
but I don’t feel any different. And I’m scared. Scared
to tell my therapist that it’s not working. It’s been
64 days since I’ve last seen him. I’m scared when he
comes back. I don’t know how I’ll handle it. I’m
so embarrassed for how I acted that night. And he’s going to
be a different person. Trained in the art of war. I was scared of
cutting again…but I got over that… I’m scared
of being Baker Acted again. I’m scared of everything and I
hate it.
I just want to say that I suck at telling stories to strangers,
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Dec 2, 2011 4:52pm
