I don’t even know who I am anymore...
“When I saw your head...” Lucas says. His voice is barely a whisper. “When I saw all of the blood... I thought it was over... I thought I had lost my best friend, right there...”
He closes his eyes, and I wonder if he’s picturing the image again-the wound in my head, and the blood all over the floor. Maybe he’s imagining the paramedics taking me away in the gurney. Or maybe he’s imagining the look on my parents’ faces when they walked in on the paramedics working on me.
Lucas shakes his head a few times. A tear slips down his cheek.
“Please don’t cry,” I say. I grab his hand, and lace my fingers through his.
“I didn’t die,” I say. “I’m still here, you didn’t lose me.”
Lucas nods. “I know... But I almost did...”
We sit there for a while, our hands joined together. We don’t say anything after that. We just go back to watching the movie, hand in hand. I guess Lucas was right about what he said earlier; I didn’t think about what I was doing when I did it. I didn’t think about the consequences of my actions.
I didn’t think about what would happen to my family. I didn’t think about what would happen to my parents-or to Caden. I didn’t think about how they would feel about it, or how they would have to learn to deal with it.
I was selfish. I acted on my feelings but not on the feelings of all the others. I didn’t even think about Lucas, who’s been there for me since as long ago as I can remember. Lucas was right. I was willing to give up everything.
I gave up.
I can’t do that again.
I can’t give up again.
* * *
It’s been a full week since the incident. My doctor said that I could finally try to take a shower. I just have to be very careful of my stitches. The water is cold at first. I turn the knob to the right, and the water begins to warm up. I start out slow, easing my way into it. I stand half in the water, half out, so my head isn’t getting wet. Then I slowly bring my head in, and let the water consume me.
I stand under the water for a long time, letting it rain over me, and drown out any sound. It feels good to do something, even if it’s as little as showering. Laying in a hospital bed for seven days hasn’t necessarily been pleasant. Not to mention I felt disgusting. My mom was the one who asked if I could shower. Apparently, I started to smell bad. She said the smell was getting so bad that she couldn’t stand to be in the room with me.
After a while, I begin to wash myself. My mom bought me lavender scented shampoo, conditioner, and body wash-my favorite.I try squeezing some of the shampoo into the palm of my hand, but it seems to be a struggle. I squeeze as hard as I can, and a few squirts of shampoo finally fall into the palm of my hand. I guess a gunshot wound to the head-even if it didn’t get past the scalp-has drained me; the first time Lucas brought me food during his lunch break at school, it was hard to grip the spoon. He only brought me chicken noodle soup, but it took me almost an hour to finish it.
I guess my motor skills are just a little slow, still. Things as little as gripping spoons-and trying to get the spoon to your mouth-and squeezing shampoo bottles, are going to be a challenge for the time being. I’m just going to have to keep working on it. I avoid even going near the stiches on my head, as I lather shampoo carefully through my hair. Once out of the shower, I dry off and get dressed. My mom brought me black sweatpants and a plain white T-shirt to wear for today. Just showering and getting dressed made me feel weak.
It takes most of my strength to open the bathroom door and make my way across the room to lay back in bed.
“How was your shower, honey?” My mom asks. Since I have to be here for at least another week (key words: at least), she brought me a bunch of clothes, one of my pillows and blankets, and my laptop. She’s organizing everything right now.
“It was okay,” I say. “Did the doctor say anything about... Like my motor skills and
stuff?”
“What do you mean?” My mom asks. She was folding some of my clothes, but she stops to look at me.
“It’s just,” I begin. “It’s just been kind of hard lately... Like I’m too weak to do things...
Or it’s harder to do certain things than it should be.”
My mom walks around the bed to stand next to me. She touches my shoulder with her hand.
“It’s going to be hard, Kalani,” my mom says. “The doctor said that it could take you a few months to gain full strength, and to get full range of your motor skills back.”
I nod, though I don’t know why.
“I think I wanna take a nap,” I say. My mom smiles but it’s not a happy smile. It’s a ‘my child is so weak that she can’t even take a shower without feeling like she wants to sleep for a year’ type of smile.
“Okay,” she says. She kisses the top of my head, then walks back around the bed. I crawl into bed, with my pillow, and my blanket. I feel more at home.
I know that my mom is disappointed in me. And if she’s not, then I know for a fact that she’s heartbroken about what I tried to do. I feel bad. It’s like I said before. I was being selfish when I acted on my feelings. I was. Sleep takes me before I can even finish my train of thought.
* * *
My family has been on rotating shifts since the incident. Yesterday, my mom stayed with me while my dad worked. Tomorrow, Mia will stay with me while they both works. But today, my dad is with me. He took the day off. He brought me alfredo from my favorite restaurant, for lunch. Now we’re watching a movie together.
“Hey, Dad?” I ask. I set my fork down on the tray in front of me, and turn a little to get a better look at him.
“Yeah?” He responds. He pauses the movie and looks over at me.
“Can I ask you a question?”
My dad nods, giving me his full attention.
“Well,” I begin. “I guess it’s not a question... But before I woke up in the hospital... I saw something...”
My dad looks confused, so I continue.
“Do you remember that lake that you used to take me to? When I was little? The one hidden up in the mountains?”
“Of course, I remember that spot, we used to go up there all the time. But what does that have to do with anything?” He asks.
“I saw it...” I say.
My dad still looks confused, so I continue.
“Right before I woke up, I was there. I was sitting on the bench, looking at the water. I thought I was dead... And maybe that was heaven or something...”
My dad doesn’t say anything.
“You probably think I’m crazy,” I look down and shake my head. I’m not even sure why
I brought it up.
“No,” my dad says with a shrug. “No, I believe you...”
My dad hesitates before saying, “Maybe we can go up there sometime...”
I look up at him, startled. My dad hasn’t offered to do something like that with me in a long time.
I nod, and smile. “I’d like that.”
My dad smiles too. Then he turns the movie back on and returns his attention to the screen. The moment passes by, as if it was carried away by the wind.
I hope he was being serious about what he said. I hope he stays true to his word. I guess this whole experience has reminded me how much I’ve missed being a part of my family, and I don’t just mean having the same last name. I mean being a part of them; being completely accepted and taken in by the people I come from.
Maybe this is my second chance. Maybe I was meant to push my way back in. Maybe...
Seventeen
“Mom said that she let you off easy last time,” Mia says. It’s her turn to watch me today, while our parents work.
“She said that you were supposed to see a therapist last time she found the cuts,” She continues. “But she didn’t make you go. This time, you don’t get a choice.”
“That’s so unfair,” I say, rolling my eyes.
“I disag
ree,” Mia says. She stares at me with real seriousness.
“What?”
“Kalani,” Mia begins. “Do you believe that after what happened, you don’t seriously need help?”
I stare at her, but I don’t respond.
“Are you going to argue that you’re perfectly fine?” She asks.
“I am fine!” I say, too defensively.
“Your post says otherwise,” Mia says.
I stare down at my fumbling fingers.
“I can’t believe you saw that...”
“Of course, I did. Everyone did. Just because it’s a high school chat room, doesn’t mean people didn’t show it to everyone they know.”
“Why would they do that?” I ask, shocked.
“Because they were scared, Kalani!” Mia shouts. “As soon as people saw what you wrote, they took it straight to every adult they knew. They thought you were going to hurt yourself.”
I look back up at Mia, with tears in my eyes.
“I just hate the way everyone has been talking about me,” I say. “Talking about how I need ‘serious help’ as if there’s something wrong with me.”
“There is something wrong with you,” Mia says.
“No,” I shake my head.
“And as soon as you start to realize that-”
“There’s nothing wrong with me,” I say, louder this time.
“-The sooner you can get better.”
“I don’t need help!” I shout, causing Mia to jump. A tear falls down my cheek.
“Why does everyone keep saying that? Why does everyone keep saying that there’s something wrong with me?!”
I let out a sob, which jolts my body forward.
“There’s nothing wrong with me...” I say, but it’s barely a whisper.
I feel arms wrapping around me: Mia, hugging me. I let her pull me into her arms, and rest my head on her lap.
“Kalani,” Mia says, in a softer tone. “There is something wrong with you; you are extremely depressed... And you can’t go on living like this.”
I let out another sob. Mia begins to stroke my hair, and I let the motion soothe me.
“I know that the people around you, telling you that there’s something wrong with you... It makes you feel like you’re some kind of freak. It makes you feel like you want to be normal. But denying that there’s something wrong only makes it worse, Kalani. It causes you to hold every feeling you have, inside of you, until finally, you break. And all of those feelings finally come out, but in the wrong way.”
I’ve stopped sobbing, but I can still feel tears running down my cheeks.
“Talking to someone about your feelings will help you understand them better. Releasing all of the feelings you have will help you heal. But keeping them bottled up inside... It leads to this, Kalani.” I don’t have to look at her to know that she’s talking about my suicide attempt.
“Please get help, Kalani.” Mia says. “Please let us help you. Because I can’t watch you struggle anymore. I can’t watch you try to kill yourself again.”
A silence falls over us. I let her words sink in; I let them consume me. And I realize that everything she’s saying is true. I’ve felt like a freak these past couple of months, because everyone has been telling me that I am one. They just haven’t been saying it in the same way. Everyone at school has been calling me a freak and a hoe and a bitch ever since senior year started. And ever since my family found out about the cuts on my arms and legs, they’ve all been talking about the help that I need to get, like there’s something wrong with my brain.
But they’re right. They’re all right; Mom and Dad, Mia, Lucas. Everyone. There is something wrong with me; I’m depressed. And at the end of the day, I let my depression consume me. I can’t do that again. I have to get help.
I sit up and stare at Mia. I nod.
“I’ll talk to someone.” I say, finally.
“I need to get help.” Another tear slips down my cheek.
I realize now how hard it is to admit that; It’s hard admitting that there is something wrong with me... Admitting that I need help. It’s so hard that I let out another sob. Mia pulls me back into her arms, and we just sit there for a long time. Mia lets me sob, and she doesn’t say anything. She just lets me accept the fact that everything is not okay.
* * *
Today will be my last day in the hospital. Tomorrow morning, I will be released. From there, I will have to attend group therapy meetings every Saturday, and one-on-one therapy meetings every Sunday. My life won’t be normal again for a while. The principal called my mom yesterday to schedule a meeting.
What the meeting is for? I’m not sure. It’ll probably be a chance for the principal to talk about what happened, so that she can try to fix the collateral damage. The problem is, it’s too late for anything to be fixed. Besides that-and therapy taking up every weekend of my life-my parents have also decided that I’m not allowed to be alone.
I’m basically being put on 24/7 house arrest; for the next few weeks, I’ll be doing all of my school work from home, and someone is required to supervise me at all times. I’m not allowed to be in my room alone-including when I’m trying to sleep. And if I want to use the bathroom-for anything-I have to leave the door open. Unfortunate.
It’s a bit overkill if you ask me, but I can’t blame my parents for being so overprotective. When you almost lose a child, it does something to you; it changes you. It’s unfortunate. There’s this thing I’ve noticed about today’s generation: they romanticize everything–including suicide. People think that taking your own life is a beautiful tragedy, something that should be honored in some way.
Suicide is not romantic or beautiful, in any way. Suicide is not going to fix every problem you’ve ever had, and it’s not going to bring peace to your life; It’s just going to end it. And then there will be nothing left. Nothing. But people don’t realize that.
Suicide is ugly, and painful. I didn’t do this to send a message, or to be poetic, or to seek attention. I did it because I was done with this life. My parents are just like everybody else. They’re changing because they’re scared I’m going to try this again.
They’re changing now, because they couldn’t bother to change before I drowned. That’s another thing I’ve noticed about today’s generation. It takes someone dying-or almost dying-in order for people to finally change.
It takes someone finally being pushed over the edge for people to finally care about other people’s feelings. I’m not okay with that.
* * *
I’m getting anxious. It’s 9 o’clock. In 12 hours, I’ll be discharged from the hospital. I can’t wait that long. Caden is watching a movie-Shrek. Amelia is in the bathroom. And Mia is out getting me dinner. My parents are at home, with Skylar.
They felt like having her stay overnight wouldn’t be the best idea.
“Why didn’t you go home with Mom and Dad?” I ask. Caden is sitting in bed with me, contently watching Shrek.
“They said I could stay,” Caden shrugs. “I love you, and I didn’t want you to stay here all alone.”
“Still,” I say. “You could’ve chosen to sleep in your own bed, rather than in a creepy hospital.”
“Yeah but you’re here,” Caden says. He doesn’t say anything after that. He just goes back to watching his movie.
“That’s why I’m here, too,” Amelia says. She stands in the bathroom doorway for a few moments, before finally crossing the room and sitting back down in the chair closest to my bed.
“We love you, Kalani,” she says. “You’re not staying here alone.”
I fall silent. I know that if I stay quiet, I won’t say what I want to say; that nobody stayed in the hospital with me when I got attacked by Jazmine. That I only had to try to kill myself to get them to stay with me, to care about me. Or maybe they’re just not allowed to
leave me alone. Maybe my parents have already set up a schedule, in which I become a prisoner.
It
’s an interesting thought. I turn away from Caden, and lay down. I close my eyes, and will myself to forget about the thought.
Eighteen
My mom and dad had to work today, and so did Mia. Caden and Skylar had school today, but Amelia didn’t have any plans. So, she’ll be here to drive me home once I’m discharged.
“You fell asleep before Mia could bring you dinner,” Amelia says. She’s helping me pack up everything I had during my stay.
All of my clothes are packed away but I still have to make sure I don’t leave my laptop here-or the charger. And I definitely can’t leave my pillow or blanket.
“I was tired,” I say. “I just kind of wanted to get the day over with.”
“Are you ready to go home?” Amelia asks. She stops gathering things from around the room, and stares at me.
I can’t seem to look her in the eye, because I know what she’s asking me: am I ready to face the place where I was ready to die? I’m not sure about my answer. I look away, and continue folding my blanket.
“I don’t know,” I say. “I mean I’m sick of staying in the hospital... I guess I’m just afraid of what I might find...”
Amelia doesn’t respond to that. She just grabs my bag and slings it over her shoulder.
“Let’s go,” she says. I grab my blanket and pillow, and follow her out the door.
Before I leave the room for good, I stop at the doorway and glance one more time around the room. I can’t help but feel like I have more memories of being in the hospital than I should. Amelia thanks the nurse who cared for me throughout the week, and continues down the hallway. We take a couple of different turns, before we finally find an exit. As soon as the door opens, I’m blinded by the sunlight. I realize now that I haven’t been outside since before the accident; I haven’t been connected to the outside world in a long time.
Amelia leads the way through the parking lot, until we find her car: the same type of car as mine, only hers is black. Amelia opens the passenger door, and gently helps me in. Then she closes it, and opens the door to the backseat. She throws everything into the backseat, and makes her way around to the driver’s side of the car. We both fall silent as Amelia starts the car, and pulls out of the parking lot, speeding down the road. Surprisingly, the hospital is only ten minutes away from home.
You're Not Worthless Page 12