It's not done, just a first draft
We had to give the suicide prevention lesson again at school Monday
And I was too late to ask for an administrator to cover my class
There just weren’t any left
The lesson starts with talking about ways to get help
About a girl bullied so bad she was driven to suicide
The lesson ends with giving the students the suicide hotline number
1-(800)-273-8255
I cried the entire way through
The students kept asking if I was okay
If I wanted to say anything
I said no
There’s a shackle around my jaws
Only allowing my jaw to open wide enough to tell lies
To tell them suicide isn’t the answer
To tell them suicide is for the broken
To tell them that every two hours a kid their age kills themselves
I don’t tell them about what can lead a person down that path
Don’t tell them what the emptiness feels like
Don’t tell that that it physically hurts to feel depressed
That the metaphorical weight on your chest isn’t a metaphor at all
And the worst part is I can’t even give that pain a name
Not even with imagery
I don’t tell them that most of my childhood has been erased
That I don’t know who I was before depression and I definitely don’t know who I am now that I can give it a name
I tried once to think back about all the things I used to do for fun
What I loved
What I disliked
Was it dinosaurs or barbies
What movies do I actually like
What books do I like
What food do I like
How do I feel about things
When did I start feeling this way
When did I become the skeleton in my closet
When did that skeleton turn into the dust covering my apartment
All I remember from being a kid was sports and Disney movies
Remembering my dad saying if I had so many hits per game he’d allow me to have ice cream for desert, if not, no desert
Try harder
Remember hearing prejudices about hobbies people enjoyed so I learned to hide mine
Buried them in the La Jolla shores sand
I went looking for them in October and couldn’t find them
Someday years from now a kid will be playing at the beach only to find my treasure box and wonder who the person was that left such precious items there
And not leave an X to find them again
Maybe that’s why anger
And rage
Are such easy emotions for me to tap into
Because I learned that joy
And love
And happiness
Are too easy to misplace
When those are all gone
There is nothing left of you but empty
And from empty grows anger
And anger grows nothing
Nothing grows pain
Pain grows the want to escape
Escape grows the want to leave
Leaving grows the want to start new
Wanting to start new grows the realization that you have nowhere to go
Nowhere to go leads to ? ? ?
Whether I knew it or not
I buried myself the first time my father hit me
The first time my mother turned a blind eye
The first time they told me art was not something I should be concerned with
That sports were a much better use of my time
The first time I was told I was insane
The first time I was told I didn’t need a therapist
The first time I said I have anxiety and my mother slapped me
The first time I said I have depression and my father said leave my house
The first time I said I wanted to drop out and my parents said you’ll ruin our lives if you do that
The first time I said no and my father kicked me out a second time
The first time I said “I like… ” and my sister stopped me before I could get the third word out
I’m not a skeleton in my closet
I’m a rotting corpse trying to stop decomposing
Who isn’t even sure
If hanging on by my last ligament
Is even worth it anymore
Administration/Counselors don’t want me telling my students this.
They don’t want a Head stone’s classroom to become a graveyard