New Beg. (further cont'd)

So back to where I left off, I was put into the close observation unit. I ended up staying for a week. When you're put in close observation, you are confined to one small corner of the unit. You are dressed in bright yellow scrubs, socks, (a sweatshirt if you're cold), and you sleep in a room with nothing in it but a bed, which contains no sheets, a pillow with no pillowcase, and one thick blanket. I endured it for the first couple of days, then on a saturday, I had enough of it. So I managed to rip the entire sleeve off of the sweatshirt I was wearing (while "sleeping" under the blanket in my room), and they caught me as I was in the middle of trying to strangle myself with it. This was a bad idea, as they then put in me a paper gown, as I couldn't even be trusted with clothes. I wore that paper gown for 2 days. It was truly embarassing, but they were doing whatever it took to keep me safe. They let you shower every other day, but anytime you are in the bathroom, someone is in there with you (for protection measures). It was not a fun experience. I finally convinced my doctor that I was ready to go back out into the unit. In addition to the complete lack of privacy, there wasn't much to do. So you could either sleep...or write, or they had playing cards (that I shuffled over and over and over because there was no one back there that wanted to play with me). It made for a really long week. I was so relieved when I got out. Once I got out, I still had suicidal tendencies, I just didn't act on them in fear of having to go back to close observations. In this particular hospital, they had privilege rankings. If you were an A, then you couldn't leave the unit, which meant any classes that were off the unit, you were unable to attend and you had to eat your meals that were brought to the unit on trays instead of going to the cafeteria. If you were B, then you could go off the unit, so long as you had a staff member accompanying you. If you were a C-, you could go anywhere on the grounds by yourself, with the exception of going outside on walks. If you were a regular C, you could go on walks outside by yourself, and anywhere else in the building by yourself. I went back and forth with the privilege levels during the course of my stay. About 3 weeks after I arrived, I finally got my B, and a day or two later, I recieved my C. Which I was pretty happy about because when I got there on March 31st, they were undergoing a process of making the hospital a smoke free environment. (I smoke.) So until I got my C I couldn't smoke because by then only people with their C could go outside to the designated smoking area and smoke. This lasted a week. Then they made the hospital 100% smoke free. No more smoking at all. The only time I smoked was when my parents came up to visit me and I was given day passes to go off hospital grounds with them and I would smoke then. Backtracking a little bit, the first weekend I spent there, my parents came up to see me. Since I was still an A at this point, we stayed on the unit in the library the whole time. But April 3rd was my 22nd birthday, so they came up to "celebrate" my birthday with me. We just talked, played cards, and they would go out and buy food from somewhere and bring it in to me. When they left, I had a major breakdown, I didn't want them to leave me there. I cried so hard I shook and can still feel the pain of them having to leave. My mom usually ended up in tears too. It took a good half hour before they could actually leave because I was so upset. It was so hard. Now back to getting my C. I maintained my C for quite some time. I went to my classes like I was supposed to. Then after a period of time (I couldn't be sure of exactly how long), I began feeling the urge to self-mutilate again. (I have a history of this.) So I began doing self-injury again. I started on my upper legs. Then it became addictive. Once I had done some on one leg, I began doing it on the other leg. By the time my doctor put a stop to it once and for all, I had cut on both upper legs, my wrist (the inside, so when I wear my watch, it covers up the scar), my stomach, and my shoulder (all places where no one could see the scars in plain view. I think I counted twenty some cuts in all. I fessed up to my doctor every time I did it, and finally she threatened to put me back in close observation if I kept at it, and sure enough, I cut one more time, and I was put into close observation for a day. I told her I would stop and she trusted me so she let me back out. And I haven't cut since. I lost my C when I was put back in close observation. So I had to earn it back again, but I think I earned it back within a short period of time. All this time, I was going to classes. I was learning Dialectical Behavioral Therapy, I was going to a class called "co-occuring disorders" which was about struggling with substance abuse as well as mental illness, I was going to fitness (usually I played basketball with a a couple of fellow patients), I was making things in crafts (a leather belt, a leather bracelet, a leather keychain for my mom, and a few other things.) But nothing was working. I still felt the emptiness, the hopelessness. I still viewed myself as a lost cause. By this point, I was doing one on one therapy with an amazing therapist who was also my clinician. I was beginning to open up to her about my abusive relationship, about how I still couldn't move past the death of my grandmother, of how I wanted to go drink when I was released. At that point in time, I had given up on trying to stay sober...the only reason I had stayed sober during that period of time was because I didn't have a choice. Slowly, she worked with me. As she learned more about me, the way I thought and the way I had been thinking throughout my entire life, she was able to help me more and more. However, I still struggled. I still had breakdowns. I still had days where all I wanted to do was isolate. I'd cry myself to sleep. I'd call my parents and realize how much I missed them and have a breakdown on the phone. It got to the point where I was no longer allowed to call my parents, because I was calling them constantly and just causing unnecessary stress on both ends. They called me though, quite often. I was getting letters and packages from family and friends. My cousins and their kids (my second cousins) came down in June to see me. My parents came every month and stayed for about 2 1/2 days at a time. This was something I really looked forward to. But each time they left, I took it extremely hard. I hated being there not because of the staff or anything like that, but becauase for the first time in my life, I was being "forced" to look in t the mirror and face my problems. And I was being told that the only way to deal with them was to look them straight in the eye and get through it in a healthy way. I then entered my angry stage. At this point, I began punching my hand into the wall. Not just once, not just twice, but every time I walked into my room, I would slam my fist into the wall (which behind the paint was cement). And I mean every time. This really got me into a lot of trouble. I craved the feeling I got when I punched the wall. I don't know if it was feeling of finally having control over the pain (even though it wasn't the emotional pain I had control over), or if it was simply that I was angry and I didn't know how else to get it out.

Need to go, more later...keep reading, I promise there's a good ending...just have to take you through everything I had to go through to get to that point... thanks for reading!

New Beginnings (still cont'd)

So where I left off was March 31st, 2009...the day I was shipped up north to the state hospital. As if it weren't bad enough that I was being taken somewhere 5 hours away from my family and friends to a place that was a complete mystery to me as far as what it was going to be like and what was going to happen, I was handcuffed and put into the back of a car with the divider between the front and back seats. So it wasn't exactly comfortable, and inside all I could think about was how I didn't know how long I was going to be gone. People at the previous psych hospital had told me I'd only be there a month or so...but I had a deep gut feeling that it was going to be much longer than that. But I had no idea. Fear of the unknown. How many of us fear that? It is one the worst feelings to experience because you truly don't know what to expect. And that day, I had no clue what to expect. All I knew is that I was scared, lost, lonely, and very much not happy that I was being taken there. It was a five hour long drive, and of course my driver didn't stop the whole way up, not a single time. I was crunched in the back for five long hours, but luckily I was still in the stage of sleeping excessively, so I slept most of the way up. I woke up about thirty minutes before we got there and when we got there, I was ushered into this small room and much to my relief, they took off the handcuffs. Then a nurse and a psychiatric tech came in and began to ask me a lot of questions and go through the small plastic bag of things I was allowed to bring with me. After about an hour of this, the psych tech (who later became my favorite psych tech out of all of them) took me out on the unit. And talk about fear. I walked onto the unit and everybody was staring. I was the New patient that everyone was checking out. I felt completely naked and couldn't wait to run and hide under my sheets and go back to sleep. After the psych tech showed me around a little bit, that is exactly what I did. In fact for the next three days all I did was eat and sleep. Eat and sleep. The first day I got there I met my doctor and she asked me a lot of questions and I shocked myself because I was actually being honest with her. I guess I figured it couldn't get any worse, so why keep hiding it? And each time I met with her for the next three days, she would encourage me to go "socialize" with the other patients, but as soon as I walked back onto the unit, I went straight to bed. I was still terrified. Finally came the day that I got the courage to go sit out in the unit. I was actually greeted with friendly welcomes (which at the time I scoffed at in my head, thinking "yeah, welcome to the crazy hospital!" but for the most part everyone was nice. There were a couple patients that weren't as kind, but I managed to shrug it off and move on. And that's when it started...life in the mental hospital. They had classes during the week, a couple in the mornings and some on the afternoons. The afternoon classes were usually classes such as fitness, relaxation, yoga, and on specific nights they had crafts. But for the first week or two, I wasn't assigned to anything and I wasn't about to go on my own. I was still in my stubborn mindset that no one was going to be able to help me...that I was simply a lost cause. Finally I had what they called my 'IDT' meeting. I met with my doctor, my clinician, my nurse, and my TR person and we created my treatment plan. It was after this meeting that I had to start going to those classes. Around the same I was going even further downhill. At the previous hospital, I had been trying to find things to hurt myself, and as i stated in a previous post, I was placed on one on one observation for at least half my stay there. When I got up north, they didn't have any one on one supervision, so I had more freedom and much more time to think. This was a bad combination for me. After I fessed up to my doctor that I had a towel strip hidden in my room (to try and strangle myself with), they placed me in close observation. I ended up staying in there for a week. It felt like one of the longest weeks of my life.

I will continue with this further another night. It is late and I am tired. I hope someone is reading this and really, I just want to be able to spread hope that people who suffer from mental disorders CAN recover...it just takes a lot of work and determination. I'll write more later..

New Beginning (cont'd)

So it's 2:33am, yet I can't get my head to stop spinning in circles. I'm in the middle of a "rough patch", and am in a writing mode therefore I figured I would continue with my story. As I was saying in my previous post, It wasn't a possibility, but a matter of when. With my fourth attempt, I was sent to a psychiatric hospital, but managed to lie my way out in less than two days. It was around this time that I began conversing with my ex (the one in which it was a toxic relationship and by toxic I also mean abusive) again. I had been talking to her on and off, but it became more and more frequent. I missed her. Yet at the same time I was spiraling downwards deeper than I'd ever been and was reaching a point in my alcoholism in which my tolerance was rising higher than ever before. I would drink and drink and drink, and when I didn't get the effect I wanted, it pissed me off and threw me in a downward spiral. I was often in my own world...my world of emptiness and loneliness. I could be in a bar surrounded by hundreds, yet still feel completely alone. I was miserable. I kept drinking. By December, I was frequenting the bars every weekend and would try to sneak in beer during the week as well when I got off work. But mainly weekends were my downfall. One morning I had what my sponsor calls my "moment of clarity". The night before my cousins came into town, who brought their two kids (my grand cousins) who were 10 and 3. They loved me. And I promised myself I wouldn't go out that night. But then I got a phone call from a friend inviting me to go downtown and boom. No hesitation, no thinking necessary-- I was there. I went out and proceeded to get as drunk as my wallet would allow me to. After stumbling into bed at 3am, I was awakened by my cousins at 8:30am. They wanted me to get up and play with them. So I got up and had the realization that I was STILL drunk. I was dizzy and felt off balance. I tried to hide it well but am still not sure if it worked or not. The next day, I walked two miles to a gas station, where my ex picked me up and took me to my first AA meeting for the 2nd time around. (I had to walk from my house, since my parents did not know about my contact with my ex nor would they have approved-- after all the damage that was caused to the relationship between my family and I had stemmed from that relationship and that particular woman. By this I mean she was not welcome anywhere near my parents house.) When I got home, I was not greeted with a warm welcome. They knew it was her that had taken me to the meeting and at that point in time didn't believe that I needed to go to AA, they simply thought I just wanted to get back together with her. Which, at the time, was part of the reason I went back to AA. In the week following, I ended up getting in a fight with my parents regarding my contact with my ex and one morning I just packed my bag full of clothes and tolietries and left. Just walked out on my parents (yet again). I went to an AA meeting then frantically tried to find a place to stay that night. I found one but only for that night. The next day I miraculously found a place to live. It was a friend of my ex's and she let me rent a room from her. However, I was without a car. So this meant missing a couple nights of work until I managed to convince a co-worker to take me to and from work as he lived right by where I was living. And so it began. Three months of living HELL. Emotionally I was a wreck. Mentally, I was beyond a wreck. Financially I was making barely 400 dollars a month. By the time I paid my bills I was lucky to have 50 dollars to live on for 2 weeks at a time. And some of that went towards gas money for people giving me rides places. In the meantime, my ex and I tried to get back together. Then she broke up with me, telling me she wanted to get back together with her ex-girlfriend. I was crushed. We didn't talk for a couple weeks. Then she managed to snatch me back and I fell into her trap once again. In February we got back together again, yet after only a week, she broke up with me again. She claimed that she "needed time to be on her own", that she "needed to learn to be single for awhile." Shortly thereafter I found out she was back with her ex. She had managed to con me again. I lost it. When I got back together with her the second time, I had called my parents and told them I was back together with her and they freaked out. (They couldn't stand by and just watch her hurt me.) I met with them and they gave me all of my medications and it seemed unnecessary to say the obvious-- that as long as I was involved with her, I wasn't to be involved with my parents. So now, I had nothing and nobody. I hated myself. I hated that I had hurt my family. I hated myself for going back to her and letting her break my heart. I hated myself for many reasons. I couldn't stand to be in my own skin. It was pure agony. For the next 2 weeks I would sleep until it was time to get up for my daily AA meeting, get ready, go to the meeting then go back home and sleep until 7:30pm. I'd get up and eat something, then go to work for 4 hours then go back to bed and so the pattern continued. Suicide was always on my mind. I was constantly thinking of ways to do it. What way would work. What way would be the easiest. I was consantly brainstorming, all the while I was lying to both my N.P. and counselor and everyone else around me. I tried to hide it but it got harder and harder. On March 1st, 2009 I had it planned. I was going to O.D. on every one of my medications (which I had a LOT of), then proceed to go to work and let the rest play itself out. However, I fell asleep on the couch and woke up when my ride got there. I was so mad at myself. I went to work, did my job and went back home and straight to bed. I woke up the next day (March 2nd)d, went to the meeting then right back to bed. But I kept waking up. I kept thinking to myself...if I just take all these pills, it'll end. The pain will be gone forever. I won't have to hurt anyone else. I got out of bed but stayed in my room (which was in the basement-- which was an area that my roommate hardly ever went down to) in hopes that my rooommate would think I was gone. I got out my medicine and overdosed on around 30 or 40 of one medicine as well as 20 or 30 of another pill. Then my heart sank. I ran out of water. If I left my room, she'd hear me. But I had many more pills to take. However, I wasn't willing to take the risk that my roommate would hear me and come downstairs and ruin it all. I hoped that what I had taken would do the trick and with an oddly calm feeling, I crawled into my bed and just went to sleep. This next part is all told to me by my roommate. I had taken the pills at 7pm. Around 7:45, my roommate noticed I hadn't come upstairs for work and she said she didn't have a good feeling about it. So she came down to check on me. She said she asked me if I was going to work, but I just mumbled that I was just going to sleep. She left me alone, but still didn't have a good feeling so she went back down to check on me. However, this time, she realized something was off. I was unresponsive and the couple of times I came to I was completely incoherent. She was a former psych nurse, so she checked my blood pressure and pulse. Oddly enough, they were fairly normal. So she left me be. But she couldn't shake that bad feeling, so she came and checked it again and was alarmed to find that my blood pressure and pulse were bottoming out. I was going downhill and fast. She called 911 and I was rushed to the hospital. I was unresponsive and I'm not sure what they did to me but I was kept overnight in ICU so they could keep a close eye on me. The next day they moved me to a regular hospital room and that night I was taken to a psychiatric hospital. The first night I was there, what they call a "DE"-- Designated Examiner, came to talk to me. Had I known what her job was, I would've changed my story. But I had no idea. So I spilled everything. I told her I hated my life, that I didn't want to live anymore. How I was pissed that my roommate "saved" me. That I just wanted to die and end all of the pain. Later I found out her job was to determine whether or not I needed to be placed on a further hold (as the police had put me on a 24 hour hold) and later if I needed to go to court to decide whether or not I should be committed to the dept. of health and welfare. And put me on a hold she did. On March 10th, I was taken to court (in handcuffs while escorted by two policemen in the back of a police car) and was committed to the dept. of health and welfare for up to a year. I was to go to the State Psychiatric Hospital. Much to my dismay I was held at the current facility for a month before they finally shipped me to state. Half the stay I was placed on one-on-one observation in which I was shadowed by someone 24-7 because I kept getting caught with things I could use to hurt myself. I wasn't to be trusted. I was willing to try anything to end it. FInally on March 31st I was taken to the State Hospital. I ended up being there for a LONG six months. It was the most trying and hardest time of my life.


Not to cut off the story, but it's now 3:20am and I need to at least TRY to sleep. I shall continue with my story soon. Again, this is all real events that have happened in my life and if you're this far, you'll keep reading further.

New Beginning...

Wow. So, I happened to have a friend who has a blog on this website. And I saw a link for it and remembered that once upon a time, I too had a blog on here. I tried to log on and sure enough, it's still here. The internet is an intruiging thing. How you can post something and forget about it for years, then go back and it's still in the same place. I read through the few blogs I posted back in High School (I graduated almost 5 years ago), and my heart sinks. And my eyes well with tears. I remember how alone I felt. How my world seemed so bleak, how no matter what I did, those feelings of hopelessness and emptiness would never go away. And up until about 2 1/2 months ago, they never went away. In fact, they worsened. I suffered in pain, no, in mental agony for five long years. And the truth is, I've had feelings of emptiness and lonliness since the young age of around six years old. When my grandma passed away at age twelve, the feelings worsened further. And as I stumbled across the realization that I was a lesbian around the same age my grandma passed away, it continued to worsen at a frightening pace of speed. I felt more alone than I ever thought to be possible. And yet, just when I thought it couldn't get any worse, it did. As a 'brief' update, I finally did approach my parents about the depression I had fallen deep into, and came out to them at the same time. I was relieved when I was overwhelmed with love and support from them both. They immediately sought out help for me and support groups to help us all "cope" with my being gay. They were there for me through everything and I mean everything. They have never once left my side. I ended up trying to commit suicide for the first time the summer after I graduated high school. All this time, even though I was going to counseling and taking medications (which ended up becoming a long list of medicines that didn't work for me), I still trusted no one and continued to put up that happy yet fake "clown" face. It was the only way I knew to cope. I briefly began doing self-injury, which thankfully was only short-term. In high school I was a fairly public figure and couldn't risk being "caught" with cuts on my arms or wrists. It would've collided with the happy image I had so finely tuned and crafted in order to fool all those around me. Once I started college, I discovered a new coping skill--alcohol. And I ran with it. This ended up turning into a serious drinking career that lasted all of nine months. I began drinking at LEAST four nights a week, if not more, every time blacking out or passing out and this was halted to a stop with a second suicide attempt that even managed to surprise me. I have no memory of about four days. I O.D.'d on my medicine and as a result had three seizures, was found unconscious in my dorms, and was rushed to the hospital where I stayed in CCU for three days. I was lucky to survive that incident. This happened in the beginning of the spring term my freshman year of college, and my parents made the decision that it was best for me to drop my classes for the rest of the year and move home to figure things out. I began attending AA meetings and began a sober life. A few months later, I ended my relationship with my first love. It was difficult but it was the best thing for both of us, as we had dreams that led us in different directions. I still remain in touch with her today, thankfully. That summer, I became certified as an NREMT-B and decided to try and follow my dream of becoming a firefighter paramedic. Less than a year later, I ended up in another relationship that grabbed ahold of me and I became entangled in a life that was so perfect at first and later turned into a toxic relationship. I loved this woman with an intensity that I had never before felt and couldn't imagine spending my life without her. A year and a half into the relationship, it had finally taken its toll and I made an incredibly difficult decision to leave. I had to get ME back. I had to take care of myself, and in the relationship, I had always put my needs last. I moved back in with my parents and finally got a job as an EMT. However, all through college and during my relationship with this woman, I never took my medicine and if I did, I didn't take it as recommended. So, I began working seventy-two hour shifts and after 3 months, I had a mental breakdown and attempted suicide for the third time. And two months later, I made a fourth attempt. I had my "clown" face mastered and no one could see through it. I managed to convince people that I had made stupid choices and that I had learned my lesson. By this point, I was so far down that I no longer saw any hope or any light. I was convinced I would die by my own hands at some point. It wasn't a possiblity, it was a matter of when.

Now, it's incredibly late, I'm exhausted, but I will return soon to continue writing about my journey through life. If you're hooked to what I've written thus far (which by the way is all factual information about what I have been through), then you'll be back to read more.

Well it's been far too long since I've been on here, so I figured I ought to write something in here again. I doubt anybody even reads this page, but here goes anyways. I finally snapped out of my "depression" phase. Well, technically. I haven't really gotten over it...but I've .. gotten better at hiding it. Funny-- that's the habit that got me into this mess in the first place. But it's an old habit thats taking over again. I feel that... telling people about it didn't do me any good- so I should just put it back where it was.
Schools almost here. I'm excited- I should be, after all its my senior year. I'm looking forward to it, but I don't know. I just enjoyed having the freedom to come home anytime when I couldn't hold the face on much longer. Now, I don't have that option..I get to go back to plastering the happy smiley face all year. I have to pick out a college soon too. I'm not really overwhelmed about picking one- sure I'm stressed- but everyone (well most people) have to deal with it at one point or another, and its my turn. I got a letter from Cornell University. I guess they want me for Track and Field. But I mean seriously, I'm just this kid who picked up track as something to do, as a way to meet more ppl and get more involved... and now they want me to do it competitvely for the rest of college? and Ivy League? I mean-- that's hardcore. It'd be a great education but... damn. I would probably turn them down... and probably will if they offer me a scholarship of any sort-- because track isn't my passion. It's not fair to them, any other possible recruits, or to myself to force myself to do something that isn't my passion. Basketball is my passion- basketball is what I really want to do. I don't care if I have to go to a junior college for 2 or 3 years-- if that's what it takes-- at least I'm accomplishing my dream. It'd be my dream of playing basketball in college- a dream I've carried within me since I was 9 years old.
This summer went by too fast. June was a good month- playing basketball, hanging out with friends... and I even met someone. Then came July. I went to Seattle, Reno, L.A., and Las Vegas.. and all for basketball. My friends are baffled by the fact that I played 2 solid months of basketball, have been back only a week, and already I am trying to find places to go play at and people to play against. I love playing. The summer fling-- that person I met-- ended already. Even though I wasn't ready for it to. It's okay though...it couldn't have worked otu anyways.

I think i just lost my best friend. I have to go.

Summer Trip Journal...#1

June 27th, 2:34 PM

So we're driving to Salt Lake City right now, its been so nice to not have someone pestering me all the time to do this or do that or whatever. Since the whole drive, I've been "sleeping"/reading and listening to music- I've also been thinking alot. Sometimes I find myself questioning myself. "Am I really that down..??" I don't want people telling me its bull or that I'm using it solely as an excuse (as a friend told me yesterday)..but ..i dunno. Earlier we stopped at a gas station and in the car I was feeling way down..it didn't help that we'd driven RIGHT by a place (in Bliss) that my family would always meet my grandpa and late grandma at alot, but as soon as we stopped the car and got out- an instant happy face was put up. Its like its a reflex..something that was an automatic instinct by nautre. I was smiling and cracking jokes and all...but I felt like a clown-- so fake. Upon getting back in the car, no longer was that smile on my face anymore..and if I get too deep into thought, I can just feel the tears welling up..and all this time theres this never-ending knot in the pit of my stomach..like theres something wrong or like something bad is gonna happen..and I hate it. The other day, a day more worse than most, my mom came home only to yell at me even after I had done everything she'd asked. I finally got sick of it and went outside to shoot hoops. First I just sat and admired the weather around me. The clouds were grey and black...the wind was becoming stronger and stronger by the minute, it was causing the trees to sway, and I could just sense the rain was coming. So depressing, yet I felt so at home..it was like I had pulled all that i felt inside and thrown it into the environment around me. I finally starting shooting around...the wind began picking up..a small pile of leaves in my driveway began to form a small whirlwind tunnel. I began shooting...and even as it started to rain I continued. The harder it rained, my shooting intensified..and I continued this until the rain became too heavy for me to see the basket very well..so I went inside. Even thought I was wet and dirty..my mom offered no conversation so I went into the solitude of my room, stuffed my face in my pillow and just cried. I HATE it becaues I have such a good life..it doesn't even out when put against the emptiness i feel in my stomach-- I can FEEL it..and it makes me feel so alone- even when I'm really not. (2nd entry is coming up next..)

Perfect Place

This weekend coming home from a basketball tournament...we stopped at this canyon type thing. And god..it was so beautiful...The canyon walls were a variety of colors etched into the rock that contain millions of years of history...which is more than anyone can imagine. And the sun was still out bright and shining..shining off the walls ...and deep within was a pool that seemed so pure in comparision to all that was around it. Going over the canyon was a tall, narrow bridge..that was exactly 90 feet tall...almost as tall as the trade towers that perished on 9/11. A semi had been blown over the edge of the bridge during a severe windstorm just several years earlier...sets of tires and shiny pieces of metal could be seen clear down within the bushes and rocks below. It just seemed so wierd..how a place so beautful and serene...could have so much death and sorrow mixed in with it. It was the perfect place. There was a fence so that people couldn't fall or anything...but...I walked along the fence to the end...and there was a place where you could get down to the edge a fence was originally there, but it had been bent over..so you could easily step over it...if you did, there no barrier between the yourself and the edge...and god..it was the perfect place. All I had to do was take 2 steps and...boom. It would all end. It would have been so easy. Why didn't I do it? I've asked myself the same thing. I don't think I have the guts to...or at least..thank god..I didn't have the guts to at that given moment. With my mom and dad and one of my best friends in clear view...I couldn't bring myself to even imagine how it would be for them to have to watch me fall to my own death. I've considered this option so many times..I won't lie...and the only thing that has stopped me...is...the few people in my life with enough consideration to sit down and listen. However..if half the people I talk to and confide in knew about this aspect of me..I think they'd turn me in. They'd say I was a danger to myself and tell my parents about it. Telling them is bullshit. They couldn't help me work thru this. If they knew I think they'd try to tell me I was fine..or that I was using it to get attention or sympathy..but jesus..if only that really was why I was doing this..it would make things so much easier. What would help is if I could use my sister as sometime to talk to..but i'm afraid if I do she'll freak out yet again..and will do the silent treatment again. What would help me is if I could just sit down with my parents and explain to them that my sexual preference was other than what they wanted it to be..and that it didn't change who i was or who I'd been to them all these years. What would help is if I didn't have to hide under this mask constantly for 24 hours of the day, seven days of the week...if I could just go meet more people like me without worrying about who sees me or hears about me. Obviously that's not gonna happen anytime soon..so I guess...I guess...I don't know.

"Never deprive someone of hope-- it may be all they have..." -unknown