It's officially July 16th, so I don't have to seem like a derp for writing two blogs in technically the same day...
Anyhoo... I was stalking tumblr, like I do. Going through pages and pages of pictures of half naked men, beautiful photography, ridiculous gifs of Lady Gaga, some type of porn it seems like, and very depressing posts about being ugly... and I stumbled upon this:
I want to get hurt. A car accident, anything. I want to get injured enough to wind up in a hospital, just to see if anyone would come to make sure I'm okay. And I'd pretend to be sleeping or dying so in case anyone actually did come, they would sit at the edge of my bed, crying, and tell me everything. I want to hear everything they've ever thought of me, how they really feel, if they're sorry for anything. I just want to know the truth. And I want to know who truly cares about me.
I always think about this. I always think that no one will show up because im not important enough.
That's it.
It really got me thinking, how many times have I ever imagined hurting myself to see if what this is saying would happen. People coming in, either in groups or one at a time, to see my mangled body and confess something, or even just to hear them cry. I don't know if that's too morbid, but it's how mine, and apparently other peoples, mind works!
Here is a story for you all, since I do enjoy telling them... even if they are very very hard to let out, like this one is going to be. But I want that is why I have this blog, for people to know what I've gone through so they don't have to feel alone, they can know of someone that felt the same, did the same, whatever. I want people to know I'm here for them and that they really aren't alone. Even if I'm a total stranger...
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But before I go on, I want everyone to know this one thing, I am not looking for attention. I do not crave unlike certain family members of mine. I learned by growing up, to keep things to yourself... so I want you to know. I'm not looking for sympathy, I'm not looking for someone to ask if I'm okay, because obviously I am. Or at least I think I am. I'm not just saying this to get some sort of reaction. So remember that when you read this.
I'm about to open up something I've never told anyone in my entire life, and it may not seem like it because it's all typed out, but I'm having a very hard time typing this... tears are literally streaming down my face right now...
Here it goes...
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My freshman year I was going through a very very hard time. I mean really my entire high school “career” sucked major balls, but some years were harder than others, and I think freshman year was specifically tough. I came out freshman year and that's when the bullying and teasing; taunting and harassment, really came out the most.
All I remember most of my freshman year was... “I want to die.” That and about how happy I was that I had Mrs. Moore as a teacher. She cared about me and accepted me with open arms about who I was. Anyways... I remember one particular day, and I will never ever forget it, that I was in Mr. Quinn's class for freshman science (Earth Science for those of you who go to Polson.) I never paid attention in his class because he would basically give us all the answers anyways during tests and worksheets. I remember earlier that day kids bumped into me and said, “Faggot,” “Move queer,” “Ferry Jerry.”
Of course I ignored them and tried to show them and the kids who were watching that I was strong, better than them by not giving in to crying. But on the inside I was crying... On the inside I was killing myself however many different ways so I could be in “Heaven,” or my view of “Heaven,” knowing I'd be happier there.
When I was in Quinn's class I stayed there in my seat, not wanting to move at all. I stared at my notebook page, blank like my expression. I took out a red pen and started scribbling. I still have the piece of paper today actually. In my old Earth Science notebook I used more for doodles than I did for actual notes. I wrote, “I JUST WANT TO DIE.” And I kept writing it, etching it hard into my notebook. I then stopped and thought about going home and taking a knife to my wrists. I was wondering where I would do it, I figured, no matter how cliché, I would do it in the bathroom so it'd be less of a clean up for mom. Then I got thinking...
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How could I leave my mom? She has done everything and was so strong for me throughout my entire life. I imagined her expression as she walked into the house to see my pale body floating in my blood. I wanted to start crying. I felt the tears start but I held them back. I couldn't just start crying for no reason in the middle of Mr. Quinn giving a “lecture.” People already thought I was too much of a fag, I couldn't give them reason to start more stuff about me.
I then thought about what it would be like if I swallowed pills instead. Her reaction was still the same...
It's crazy how you can do that. You know, live with someone long enough, or know them long enough, to know their exact reaction to any type of scenario. Well I've become pro at it with my mothers...
I then thought, what about my funeral? Who would show up? Evy no doubt, and Cj too probably. Would Kathy? How about Jennifer and Billy? And then I pictured their expressions, Kathy's was the worse because at the time we were best friends. I wondered who else would even show up to my funeral? Would my family be ashamed because I was gay and killed myself? Isn't that like a double whammy for going to hell?
I wanted to burst into tears about that time. Thankfully the bell rung. A kid stopped me before we left class. I'm not going to name a name, but he really helped me that day. He stopped me and said, “Jerry, I'm sorry. I'm sorry for anything I've ever said to you or about you. I'm... sorry.”
He apparently saw what I was writing all over my notebook when I was spacing off about everything...
I went to the bathroom, locked myself into a stall and cried. I was late for my next class, which thankfully was math with Mrs. Moore. She didn't mind. I think she could tell I was crying.
…
Okay, now that that's over... and taking me about almost an hour to write it... I want to tell you all that it's okay to think, “I wonder if I hurt myself, who would show up?” I want you all to know I would show up and probably be crying my eyes out, but I just hope no one would want to really find out by seriously harming themselves.
I think sometimes we all need a little reassurance about who would come to our bed in a hospital, or to a funeral and what they would be like.
I love you all. Remember that always.
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