I've had a hard time deciding what to say about this. I've struggled about whether or not I should even say anything. I don't show emotion. I don't know how to comfort people who are hurting because I am never in situations in which I need to be comforted. Until a week and a half ago...
I just spent 17 days volunteering at Teen Missions International's yearly boot camp. (I am in the airport right now waiting for my flight home) I was away from internet, my phone, any contact with the outside world. I felt the need to have my phone and broke the rules and brought it to my room one night. It was at that point that I found out that one of my best friends had been killed in a car accident the day before. http://www.monroenews.com/news/2013/jun/15/seth-m-winter/ I called Mom and got the full story. For the first time in years I cried myself to sleep. Never have I been happier to have my own room.
I had to tell my youngest sister and try my best to comfort her and then I had to walk away. I had to leave her crying, confused, and away from everything she knew. I knew one of her leaders from my summers with TMI and I knew that Shannon would deal with it well, but as I walked away, I broke down. I had to get far enough away that she wouldn't see me. I hid. I cried. I skipped work for the rest of the afternoon.
Seth and I were best friends when we were really young. He was 19 days younger than me and I never let him live that down. We got in trouble together when we swam in the horse trough and went into the pig barn without permission. We fought like brother and sister. He was my first crush. I was convinced that I was going to marry him until I was 13 years old!
One of my favorite memories of Seth was when my parents were at the Moscow TC and my brothers and I stayed with his family. It was the dead of winter in SE Michigan. He had the childhood I always wanted - he grew up on a farm surrounded by corn and soybean fields. There is a creek that runs along the east side of their property and it always had cattails growing in it. We would take these cattails and hit things and each other with them because they would explode in the most fantastic puff of white fluffiness. We spent hours in the frozen creek doing this. We broke through the ice and got out clothes soaking wet, but we didn't care because we were having too much fun. When we finally went inside, Mrs. Winter was furious because the cattail fluff was all over our clothes and we had dragged it through the whole house. We both got spanked, but that is still one of my absolute favorite memories from childhood.
14 days ago, one of my best friends was taken from me. 16 days ago, he made a stupid decision. 17 days ago, he installed speakers in his car and didn't have time to tie them down properly. 16 days ago, he was speeding and texting while driving. 14 days ago, one of my best friends died and I was alone to deal with it. I'm 23. I'm not supposed to have friends dying. He was 23. He had an amazing life ahead of him - a wonderful girlfriend, and a promising career as a pilot. Seth loved life and every situation like no one else I have ever met.
Seth, you will be missed so much by so many people. My prayers go out for your family and everyone who has been affected by your loss.
Tuesday, June 25, 2013
Monday, January 21, 2013
The One Where I Close A Door
TRIGGER ALERT - I discuss self-harm in this post and go into fairly explicit detail.
I am now the proud owner of a tattoo. I went against everything I was raised believing, everything my parents have told me, and I could potentially be disowned if they ever found out. I have tried to tell myself and the few people who know that this isn't at all an act of defiance; that I really only got this for myself. But that's simply not the case. This is me closing the door on my most agonizing, long lasting act of defiance. I was a cutter for five years, and while each specific instance had a different cause, the core motivation was always the same: I wanted them to notice me and my real problems, and not my brother's problems, or my sister's bad relationship, or make cruel comments about my weight or my inability to grasp the concepts in Algebra.
I have finally figured out why I did it. I did it for attention, but not the kind of attention that most kids who cut are accused of. No, I wanted attention at the most basic level. I wanted them to love me for me, not for what I could or could not do. That is why for the first year or so, I wasn't very careful about where I cut - my forearm could have had a footlong gash and they probably still wouldn't have noticed it anymore than they noticed the spiderweb of scabs and scars. When I realized that they were really that oblivious, I decided to get more subtle with the location - moving to the upper arms and thighs. If the people whose attention I was so desperate to grab didn't even notice that one of their children was that fucked up, then I didn't need to risk the judgment of anyone else who might see and whose opinions didn't really matter to me.
While my experiences as a child and an adolescent made me strong, they also scarred and jaded me. They forced me to see that the people who are supposed to care about you the most sometimes completely drop the ball and end up abandoning you while still living in the same house.
This tattoo is the final act of defiance - my last hurrah, if you will. I hope that they never see my tattoo, and the chances are fairly slim because it is on my ribcage and I never even wear bathing suits that would show it. But, for me, it is the closing of that chapter of my life. It is me finally being able to say that I have conquered that problem, and that I will never go back to the way I was then. So, while it is for me, it is also for them and it is dedicated to them.
I am now the proud owner of a tattoo. I went against everything I was raised believing, everything my parents have told me, and I could potentially be disowned if they ever found out. I have tried to tell myself and the few people who know that this isn't at all an act of defiance; that I really only got this for myself. But that's simply not the case. This is me closing the door on my most agonizing, long lasting act of defiance. I was a cutter for five years, and while each specific instance had a different cause, the core motivation was always the same: I wanted them to notice me and my real problems, and not my brother's problems, or my sister's bad relationship, or make cruel comments about my weight or my inability to grasp the concepts in Algebra.
I have finally figured out why I did it. I did it for attention, but not the kind of attention that most kids who cut are accused of. No, I wanted attention at the most basic level. I wanted them to love me for me, not for what I could or could not do. That is why for the first year or so, I wasn't very careful about where I cut - my forearm could have had a footlong gash and they probably still wouldn't have noticed it anymore than they noticed the spiderweb of scabs and scars. When I realized that they were really that oblivious, I decided to get more subtle with the location - moving to the upper arms and thighs. If the people whose attention I was so desperate to grab didn't even notice that one of their children was that fucked up, then I didn't need to risk the judgment of anyone else who might see and whose opinions didn't really matter to me.
While my experiences as a child and an adolescent made me strong, they also scarred and jaded me. They forced me to see that the people who are supposed to care about you the most sometimes completely drop the ball and end up abandoning you while still living in the same house.
This tattoo is the final act of defiance - my last hurrah, if you will. I hope that they never see my tattoo, and the chances are fairly slim because it is on my ribcage and I never even wear bathing suits that would show it. But, for me, it is the closing of that chapter of my life. It is me finally being able to say that I have conquered that problem, and that I will never go back to the way I was then. So, while it is for me, it is also for them and it is dedicated to them.
Subscribe to:
Posts (Atom)