Missing Caitlin. If I had a penny for every time I’ve wanted to talk to her after her death, I’d be a multi-millionaire. There’s so much shit that I still want to do with her, things I want to share with her.
I’m bitter, sad, angry. Bitter because during he last days she wanted to live. Sad because her life was cut short. Angry with her so-called “God”.
I want to cut. I want to cry. I want to kill things.
It’s so easy to destroy everything.
I suffer from too little ego and too much pride.
I know that teens are moody. And I know that a lot of teens feel suicidal at one point in time. And some of them hurt themselves. But should it really last this long?
What does it matter, anyway? It must not matter. Every time I’ve reached out for help, I’ve got nothing but empty promises. If the fact that I’m suicidal doesn’t scare my family, does that mean I don’t matter?
It hurts.
“Scream all you want; no one’s listening” That’s Caitlin’s MSN message. And I swear to God it’s the truth.
Can’t you hear me? I’m screaming, scatching at the walls. I want out! Can’t you hear me over the deafening silence? No, you’re too busy looking away, listening to other people. When will you notice me? When I’m legally declared crazy? When I’ve finally grown the balls to kill myself? No, that’s too long. I can’t be saved then.
If you do something now, I can be saved, I’ll retain my sanity. I won’t feel that urge to toss myself in front of speeding vehicles anymore, or daydream of OD’ing on sleeping pills. Save me, you motherfucker. I can’t get myself out of this hole by myself. All you have to do is give me a hand, a referral to a psychiatrist. I’ll get better, I swear. I don’t WANT to be suicidal all the time. I don’t WANT to have these crazy high-low episodes. Please, just help me.
I’m so low at the moment. I feel like shit. My self-esteem is gone. My tear ducts say it might be a good time to let some tears flow, but I don’t feel like crying. I want to end this misery. I don’t know what to do at the moment. I keep going in circles; I go through my usual webpages over and over and over without really taking them in. Someone give me my sanity back please?
When you’re gone, I’ll get rid of everything that reminds me of you. All the social-networking sites we shared will be removed from memory; both computer and my own, all the the alliases we had will forcefully be forgotten, the pictures and music we sent each other deleted. But… I also realize now I want to keep your blog. And all the conversations we had together. I love you more than you’ll ever know and it hurts so bad. I’m not angry, strangely enough.
I’m saving every post you made into MS Word. You didn’t even get to 17, you know. You were waiting until you turned 18. You believed you’d be free. And through all this, I’m starting to really believe your friends when they said I was the cause of all your pain. I bossed you around so much. It’s like a sick replay of when we were kids. I suppose everyone, though, bossed you around. We all wanted you to get better, be happy. We all had your best interests in mind.
And you know what’s so fucked up? I can’t even close our last conversation box. If it’s there, maybe I can pretend you’re still there. And I keep having these wild hopes that you’ll wake up alive tomorrow. If you do, I’ll love you forever and ever, never judge you, agree with you when you say you are fat, anything you want. JUST DON’T FUCKING LEAVE ME.
Oh God. I’m drinking green tea (it tastes pretty horrible). Oh God. I could be doing something worthwhile like saving a life (just pick up the phone, dial 911, direct them to Caitlin). Oh God. I’m watching a Let’s Play of Phantasmagoria 2 and laughing (right after 2 hours of crying for my best friend [myself]). Oh God. I deserve every sip of this godawful tea because I’m letting someone die!
I feel so fucking ill. I never thought you would ever make me feel this way. I never thought conversation with you would make me void of soul and leave this painful vacuum in its stead. You make me feel dead inside. I want to laugh.
Where to start? The head-first dive into depression? Breaking edge? The broken promise? Sleepless nights? The spiders and all the beetles? My stupid, harpy of a stepmother? My bratty little half brother?
The beginning might be a good place. The drive down wasn’t that bad. Took us 3 and a half days.
We (me, dad, and Vern) got to our summer house late afternoon. It wasn’t more than 4 hours later my brothers Andy and Chris show up with Andy’s girlfriend Jen. They talked our ears off. Then Chris stayed the night. Me and Chris stayed up till 4am talking. We talked about our anxiety, my depression, cutting. He made me promise to stop cutting. Fuck him. He promised me he’d talk to dad about my anxiety and depression so dad would get me to a therapist and on medication. Fuck Chris because he never did a damn thing! Fuck Chris cuz he was so drunk he couldn’t remember a fucking thing. Why the fuck should I honour the promise I made to him if he didn’t honour the promises he made to me? There were other promises, but this one burns the most.
I felt like shit most of the month. I got so depressed at times I wanted to die, or something to distract me from my misery. I wanted to cut so bad, but I thought Chris would pull through with his promises so I didn’t. It was this depression that lead me to breaking edge.
I was invited to stay the night over at Chris’s apartment for the night. Yup. This is where I break edge. I was invited because I was miserable at the family reunion earlier that day. My aunt Sherrie thought it’d be a good idea. Sherrie, Chris, Andy, and my cousin Matt all live in the same area (actually Chris and Andy live in the same apartment building and Sherrie and Matt live in the apartment across from Chris and Andy). Plus, my cousin Amanda was visiting Sherrie (her mother) with her two kids. Amanda and Chris picked me up from North Tay, that’s where the summer house is, and then we went to Sherrie and Matt’s apartment. When we got there, Sherrie was already smashed. It was both sad and hilarious at the same time. We (me, Chris, Matt, Amanda and my cousin Andrew) watched her down a wine glass of gin and orange juice. We laughed as her words got so slurred and as she stumbled around. Then, Sherrie tried to tell me that I didn’t have to drink any beer and stuff like that. She was so far gone. After that, She went to the liquor store with Andy to get more booze. It was after she left that Chris offered me a beer and Matt handed it to me. I WAS going to refuse. For some reason, I couldn’t refuse. Maybe it was because I wanted to drink with them. May be it was my tiny crush on Matt that made me take the beer. Maybe it’s because I don’t have any fucking spine and I felt so much pressure. Anyways, it escalated from there. We went outside and drank more. Went to my cousin Kelly’s party. Drank more there. Nearly passed out on some boy’s bed. Disgusting, isn’t it? I’d love to blame this event on someone, but I know I’m the one at fault. I didn’t have to accept the beer. I could have said no. But I didn’t. SInce then I have been switching between self-pity and self-loathing.
I had lots of nights where I couldn’t sleep. A couple of them were energy drink-induced I know. The rest of them, however, I have no clue what cause was.
Stupid harpy bitch, aka my stepmother Mary Anne, was nothing but bitch bitch bitch, whine whine whine, kvetch kvetch kvetch when she arrived several days later.
And my little brother Vern was horrible. I can’t even express how he acted. The effort of finding the right words is folding my brain into an origami swan.
Lastly, the bugs that resided in that house. It’s like oh em gee! Look at all the spiders and beetles! I killed at least 20 bugs in all. Spiders: I hate them. Especially the one I nick-named Indianna Jones before killing it, as it decided swinging across my room was a novel idea. I didn’t actually mind Indy at first because he was pretty ninja. He managed to get across my room without me noticing and I was looking out for him like a hawk. But Then he had to swing over my bed like the real Indy in Raiders of the Lost Arc. It was lights out for him.
I haven’t talked to Caitlin for 3 days now and I’m worried. I just read a disturbing blog post on her Netlog page. She titled the post “Bye” and I am assuming the worst. I feel ill. I want to take back the email I sent to her earlier today, asking her if she died or something because she hasn’t logged onto MSN for several days. I think she hurt herself. And I’m scared. For the first time in a long, long while I am scared. My best friend, the friend I knew literally all my life because our mothers were friends, could be dead. I’m so close to crying. I need to tell someone. But there’s no one I can tell.
I hate family vacations. Why? They always involve going to New Brunswick and no internet for a month. It also, unfortunately, includes me losing some sanity and becoming suicidal. It’s a nice place to visit for a week or two, but a month? No.
First off, I will be packed into a fully loaded minivan, driven across the country during a 4 or 5 day period, and be forced to eat foods that are not entirely vegetarian-friendly. Secondly, I will have to stay in a house that has been standing in isolation for roughly 200 years. Old houses are not as romantic as they are made out to be. Also, this house has the most hideous wallpaper. Come on! Light pink roses against forest green. *vomit* Thirdly, I will have to stay in Andy’s old room to better preserve my sanity because my room there makes me break down. Fourthly, I will be driven into a minor state of insanity. Fifthly, SPIDERS THE SIZE OF TOONIES. I shall take pictures with my camera to show the world these monstrosities. And the fact that there’s A HUGE FUCKING NEST OF THEM OUTSIDE THE HOUSE. Sixthly, NO INTERWEBS!!!! I shall suffer… Lastly, I will be packed into the van again for a week long trip back. There I will be picking up the pieces of my mind and duct taping them together.
The only thing to look forward to is seeing Andy, Chris, Matt F *swoon*, and Emily. Also, the rest of the cousins, relatives, ect. Why are most of my relatives in New Brunswick? And all-too-soon, it will only be me and Ben living out here in Alberta. Mary Anne and dad are moving back to NB in a bout 5 years.
Speaking of leaving, why do all the people I care about or admire leave me? I find these awesome people, but I never know them for long. It’s cruel.
Here’s how today went down:
I get out of bed and I feel like I’m on top of the fucking world, dreaming of a straight-edge community here in Edmonton. That straight-edge documentary I listened to has completely changed my perspective on life and how I see things. On my way to school, my daydreams get wilder. They extend to actual sXe concerts and mosh pits gone crazy and out of control (bodies flying left and right, high on adrenaline and endorphins from various injuries). I get to school and the buzz gets me higher and higher.
The bell rings and I go to math class. We start learning a new linear function. Miyagishima talks so fast I can’t keep up when she tells us how to program our graphing calculators to make the line of best fit. I obviously miss something because even though I’m following instructions perfectly, I’m not getting the same answers as the teacher. I get so frustrated I lose the ability to speak. There goes the best mood I’ve had in a LONG while.
Next class, film studies, we watch more of Amelie. This movie is fucked up in more ways I can count on my fingers. I cringe at all the NC-17 scenes (sex, implied sex, and people having orgasms). Thank you, Anderson, for covering the movie projector lens during the last part.
I spend lunch moping in the library, mentally scarred for life and spiralling into what feels like the worst bout of depression ever.
Third class. Culinary arts. I dislike this class so much. We don’t go to the kitchen right away. Instead we do theory for 15 minutes and do some questions. I hand Hallowes my paper and he checks it over. My misery must uncharacteristically show on my face because he asks “Are you happy?” and I say “Not really” “Why?” “I’m depressed” “Why?” “It’s a clinical thing” “Do take medicine for it?” “No” “Do you talk to your doctor about it?” “No”. He hands me back my paper and I leave his small office. We then go to the kitchen and my group bakes chocolate and angel food cakes.
EDIT: I kinda forgot to mention that Hallowes was nicer to me after the office incident.
Last class is uneventful. We do review on our last chapter in this unit in social studies. At the end of class, Hamilton starts reading out Darwin Awards.
Not literally, but figuratively in depression. Sometimes I wonder if my parents ever notice these moodswings. This morning I was pretty happy and now I’ve hit rock bottom. About half an hour ago I mutilated my leg again. I don’t bother to clean the razor blades anymore and you can see how the blood’s congealed into this brown, sticky substance. There’s blood on them from months ago which no one will ever see, nor care. Cut, cut, cut. It’s all I have going for me.
I’m a freak, an outcast with no place in any society.
I always manage to fuck things up. ALWAYS. I’m not a very social person and I find it hard to get my opinion across without pissing people off. In fact, I don’t think I want to go back onto BISf anymore cuz I pissed off one of the moderators. Way-to-fucking-go Melissa. You’re such a fuck-up. You can’t make friends. You can’t carry a conversation. You don’t even have any fucking confidence. No self-esteem. You fail at life.
My best friend is a trainwreck. I can’t help her anymore. And, strangely, I can’t get angry about this. I can’t cry, either. I’ve recently learned that she’s gay and I’m alright with that, but she isn’t. She thinks that it’s either suicide or she’ll end up hurting, maybe killing, a lot of people. Maybe she’s right, maybe she isn’t. All I know is that I have no more influence over this matter; it’s up to Caitlin now.
My stomach is all like “ew” cuz I just ate some chocolate and chocolate makes me sick. And now I am eating this gummy candy and drinking this diet chocolate-cherry Dr Pepper. I now feel even more “ew”. This Dr P tastes like a tootsie roll.
I am depressed. I got this new sXe Tshirt yesterday and I know I should be happy, but I’m not. I wore my shirt today at school. And then I started questioning the point of being straight-edge. For the millionth time. This is so stupid. Yes, everyone else get drunk/stoned on weekends. Yes, everyone else has fun. But they also end up coming back to school Monday hung-over, sick, and who needs that? Not moi.
I miss Caitlin. She hasn’t been in the hospital for a week yet, but I already am miserable without someone worth talking to. I have nothing to look forward to.
So my world is crumbling. No one cares.
So the person I care about has an addiction. No one cares.
So my grades are falling. No one cares.
So I’ve started cutting again. No one cares.
Does anyone care if nobody cares?
I mutilated my shoulder again. Got rid of my old razorblades, then opened up another razor. Another blade, another bloody Kleenex. Is that another bit of sanity saved, or lost?
