As the suicide note explained, her father had repeatedly sexually abused her and she knew no other way out. Months after he was arrested, he finally confessed. The note also said something else. It said that the only family she ever knew and cared about was me. She left me a ring that her mother had left to her.
I cried for weeks. How is it that I never knew? We were closer than anyone and talked about everything; how come she never told me that? I was certain that I could have helped her, and I began to blame myself.
After weeks of grief counseling, I came to understand that the burden of Cindy’s sexual abuse was too much for her to bear, especially when she started to become intimate with boys. The counselor explained to me that her shame was too great to talk about, even to her best friend. It dawned on me how alone she must have felt, and it suddenly became clear to me why she never wanted to spend the night alone in her own house.
My own suffering—weeks of pain and confusion—was eased greatly with all the help and support I received. Teachers, counselors, friends and family members all nurtured me. It was clear to everyone that this situation was going to change my life forever, but because I let help in, it subsequently added to my life an aspect of wisdom and compassion. I wish that Cindy could have known the relief that comes from letting others help you with your pain.
Cindy’s suicide note also requested that she be cremated. The note said that I should spread her ashes wherever I wanted to. I chose the ocean off the beach where we had spent two weeks that summer.
On the day of the memorial, we rented a boat to take us out to sea. The boat was packed with friends and teachers, even though it was a rainy, overcast day. We stood on the bow and took turns sharing our experiences and love for our friend. When it came time for me to free her ashes, I hesitated. I didn’t want to turn them loose in a sea that looked dark and menacing. I thought she had had enough of that in her own life.
My hesitancy gained attention, and both my mother and my counselor stepped up on the platform and put their arms around me. With their support I opened the lid and set my friend free. As some of the ashes hit the surface of the water, the sun broke through for a moment and sent beautiful rays of light that sparkled on the surface of the water. The clouds parted some more and soon the whole boat was bathed in warm sunlight. At that moment, I felt calmer than I had in weeks. Somehow I knew that the angels had come for my friend and that she would be all right—and so would I.
Rosanne Martorella
[EDITORS’ NOTE: Some of the critical signs to watch for if you think someone you know may be suicidal are:
• A sudden change in behavior (especially calmness after a period of anxiety or a lift in mood after a period of deep depression, which would indicate that the person now has the energy to act on suicidal thoughts).
• Preoccupation with death.
• Giving away belongings.
• Direct or indirect threats to commit suicide. (It is particularly important to pay attention and take seriously any talk of suicide even if it seems like the person is “joking.”)
If you or someone you know is feeling suicidal or is showing any of the critical warning signs above, reach out to a professional you can trust (such as a school counselor) or call one of the hotlines listed below.]
800-SUICIDE: 800-784-2433
Yellow Ribbon Project: 303-429-3530, 3531, 3532
www.yellowribbon.org
Helps prevent teen suicide.
Youth Crisis Line: 800-843-5200, twenty-four hours
www.befrienders.org
Can refer you to a crisis hotline in your area.
I Am
I am a poet writing of my pain.
I am a person living a life of shame.
I am your daughter hiding my depression.
I am your sister making a good impression.
I am your friend acting like I’m fine.
I am a wisher wishing this life weren’t mine.
I am a girl who thinks of suicide.
I am a teenager pushing her tears aside.
I am a student who doesn’t have a clue.
I am the girl sitting next to you.
I am the one asking you to care.
I am your best friend hoping you’ll be there.
Krysteen Hernandez
Beyond Surviving:
Suggestions for Survivors
Hundreds of books have been written about loss and grief. Few have addressed the aftermath of suicide for survivors. Here again, there are no answers; only suggestions from those who have lived through and beyond the event.
1. Know you can survive. You may not think so, but you can.
2. Struggle with “why” it happened until you no longer need to know “why” or until you are satisfied with partial answers.
3. Know you may feel overwhelmed by the intensity of your feelings, but all your feelings are normal.
4. Anger, guilt, confusion and forgetfulness are common responses. You are not crazy; you are in mourning.
5. Be aware you may feel appropriate anger at the person, at the world, at God or at yourself. It’s okay to express it.
6. You may feel guilty for what you think you did or did not do. Guilt can turn into regret, through forgiving.
7. Having suicidal thoughts is common. It does not mean that you will act on those thoughts.
8. Remember to take one moment or one day at a time.
9. Find a good listener with whom to share. Call someone if you need to talk.
10. Don’t be afraid to cry. Tears are healing.
11. Give yourself time to heal.
12. Remember, the choice was not yours. No one is the sole influence of another’s life.
13. Expect setbacks. If emotions return like a tidal wave, you may only be experiencing a remnant of grief, an unfinished piece.
14. Try to put off major decisions.
15. Give yourself permission to get professional help.
16. Be aware of the pain of your family and friends.
17. Be patient with yourself and with others who may not understand.
18. Set your own limits and learn to say no.
19. Steer clear of people who want to tell you what or how to feel.
20. Know that there are support groups that can be helpful, such as Compassionate Friends or Survivors of Suicide groups. If not, ask a professional to help start one.
21. Call on your personal faith to help you through.
22. It is common to experience physical reactions to your grief, e.g., headaches, loss of appetite, inability to sleep.
23. The willingness to laugh with others and at yourself is healing.
24. Wear out your questions, anger, guilt or other feelings until you can let them go. Letting go doesn’t mean forgetting.
25. Know that you will never be the same again, but you can survive and even go beyond just surviving.
Iris M. Bolton
Learning from My Past
As the days pass slowly
And the weeks creep by
I find myself obsessing
About ways that I could die.
I lay awake at night
Thinking of my pain.
There’s no way it can get better;
I have nothing left to gain.
Suddenly thoughts of death
Are controlling my every move,
And every battle with my mind
I always seem to lose.
I no longer want to be around
The people that I love.
All that I can think about
Is what’s waiting up above.
I cut my arms with razor blades
To dull the pain inside,
But that can only last so long;
I don’t want to be alive.
I manage to keep my composure
When people are around.
They wouldn’t understand me
So I don’t make a sound.
I smile when I have to.
&n
bsp; I break down when I don’t.
I know I should be strong,
But I also know I won’t.
So I make a plan to take some pills.
It shouldn’t take too long.
I write out notes to all my friends
To read when I am gone.
I ask my mom to understand
That life is just too hard.
My mind can’t fight it anymore;
My heart is far too scarred.
I plan it out so perfectly
I even set the date.
I’m pretty sure I’m ready;
I know this is my fate.
My bed is made up neatly
As I take them one by one.
I start to feel a little scared;
I know I’m almost done.
All that I can think about
Is how I’m letting go,
And how much I love my family.
I really hope they know.
My eyes are getting heavy.
My body feels so weak.
Everything inside is numb.
That’s the way it has to be.
I’m glad that Mom’s not here right now
To watch me slowly die,
But still I wish that I could say,
“I love you and good-bye.”
I give in to the darkness.
I slowly slip away.
I hope I go to heaven
Where dark night turns to day.
I wake up in confusion,
I don’t know where I am.
Is this heaven, or is it hell,
The land of the eternally damned?
There are people all around
Although I can barely see,
I can hear the soothing voices
Of people dear to me.
My family and friends are here
Comforting one another.
I can hardly make out any words
Until I hear my mother.
Each tear she cries feels like a knife
Stabbing at my soul.
I let my pain and suffering
Blind me from my goal.
At one point I was determined
To make it through this test,
To lead a life of fulfillment
And to do my very best.
But I somehow lost all sight of that.
I hope she can forgive.
I promise not to waste
My second chance to live.
I sit up in my hospital bed
Tears streaming down my cheeks.
My mother rushes over crying
Like she hasn’t seen me in weeks.
I tell her that I’m sorry
For causing her so much strife.
I tell her that I will succeed
In leading a better life.
Together we figured out a way
For me to get some help.
I know now that I can go to her
Instead of doing it by myself.
I know that it’s not over yet;
It’s a long road up ahead,
But I appreciate the little things
Because I could be dead.
I’ve learned to live each passing day
As if it were my last.
I look forward to the future
And I’m learning from my past.
Rachael Bennett
Another Statistic
I don’t want to be another statistic
Some suicidal teen
Who makes a choice to kill herself
When the world just seems too mean.
She can’t go on with life
Or so to her it seems
Reality has fallen short
And so have her many dreams.
I don’t want to be another statistic
Some pregnant little girl
Who met this great guy
And then gave sex a whirl.
She was only fifteen
But it felt so right
She thought they’d be together
For more than just a night.
I don’t want to be another statistic
Some kid strung out on crack
Who started at a party
And now he can’t turn back.
First cigarettes and alcohol
Now meth, crack and cocaine
He’s been smoking it so long
That now he’s gone insane.
I don’t want to be another statistic
Some girl left in the rain
Who was walking home from school
Then raped and left in pain.
She can’t tell her parents
And it hurts to tell her friends
She doesn’t know what she’ll do
To make this nightmare end.
I don’t want to be another statistic
Some kid out of school
Who dropped out really early
And was acting like a fool.
He thought that it was boring
He thought that it was dumb
He doesn’t have an education
But lives on the streets like a bum.
I don’t want to be another statistic
Some stereotypical teen
I’m gonna make a difference
I’ll finish with my dream.
I won’t end up pregnant
On drugs or even dead
I won’t drop out of school
Because I’ll use my head.
I don’t want to be another statistic
To fit into some mold
Of what society thinks of kids today
Because it’s getting kind of old.
Not all of us are bad
In fact most of us are good
When will the world see us
And give us credit like they should?
Amanda Parmenter
5
TRAGEDY
I’m convinced that tragedy wants to harden us and that our mission is to never let it.
Sally Reardon, Felicity
An Unbreakable Bond
Becca and I met in the first grade. She was a new student registering at our school and I, well, I was in trouble for daring Kenny Boucher to stick raisins up his nose. We spent the entire afternoon in the principal’s office together and came away from the experience completely inseparable. At a parent-teacher conference, my first-grade teacher told my mother that elementary friendships never last, that within two months everyone has a new best friend. She was wrong. Through elementary when best friends change every week, middle school when no one is ever “cool” enough and junior high when everyone reevaluates everything about themselves, we remained steadfast. And together, with excitement and apprehension, we entered high school.
It’s truly amazing how your entire priority system changes when you enter those intimidating double doors. Instead of sleepovers and birthday parties, it becomes dating and dances. The first dance was homecoming. I didn’t really think about it; I had better things to do such as football games, seeing movies or going out to eat. Besides, I wasn’t allowed to date. I didn’t want to be another freshman dork at a dance without a guy. My reasons were good enough for me, but they didn’t satisfy Becca.
The Friday morning of the game, she appeared at my locker, where I pretended to be furiously looking for my biology book.
“I didn’t know you weren’t going to the dance,” she accused me.
I shrugged, still burrowing.
“Come on,” she pleaded. “Please go with me.”
I dug still, wishing I’d never heard of homecoming.
“Why won’t you go?”
Silence from my end.
“Is this because you don’t have a date?”
I stopped furrowing through my stuff. “Maybe.”
She sighed in frustration and turned away. I sighed in relief, although I knew she wasn’t going to forget the conversation even if she had to find me a date.
The second confrontation occurr
ed at the actual game.
“I don’t have a date either,” she announced to me.
“Becca, you told me you had a date. You’ve had a date for several weeks.” I was starting to get slightly annoyed. Slightly. “Would you just leave me alone already?” I looked up at her. That was really the wrong move to make. Becca had that “wounded puppy” look in her eyes. I hated that look.
“Please . . .”
“Will you leave me alone if I give you an answer?”
She grinned a characteristic Becca grin. “Yes,” was her quick reply.
“Call me tomorrow, okay?”
At promptly two o’clock on the day of the dance, I received the dreaded call.
“What have you decided?” she asked, trying to sound like she really didn’t care.
“I guess . . .” I moaned, desperately searching for the
I’m-sorry-but-I-can’t-make-it speech I had been rehearsing all day.
“Yes! Thank you. Thank you! You have no idea how happy I am! We’ll pick you up at seven, ’kay?”
“You don’t need to pick me up . . .” I began.
“Don’t worry about it. It’s on our way. Love ya, bye.”
“Bye.” I didn’t want to admit it, but her excitement was catching. Maybe that night wouldn’t be so bad after all.
Okay, I’ll say it, the dance was fun. Becca and I had the time of our lives, dancing like maniacs. It seemed like eleven came way too fast. One second we were dancing to “Time of Your Life” and the next the lights were coming back on in the gym. Becca threw her arm around my shoulder.
“So, what do you think? Glad you came?”
I grinned at her. “Thanks for talking me into it.”
“No problem, babe. Come on, let’s go home.”
Arm in arm, we left the building, totally wrapped up in life. It seemed that we were heading into the happiest time of our lives, and the next three years were looking really good.
“This is weird,” Matt commented, turning on his windshield wipers. I cast a nervous glance out the back window. It was beginning to hail with a ferocity that you usually don’t see in the middle of October.
“Are we almost home?” Becca asked, with just a twinge of anxiety in her voice.
“Yeah, a few more miles.”
Squinting out the front window, I watched the tree limbs laying in the bed of the truck in front of us wave in the strong wind.
Chicken Soup for the Teenage Soul on Tough Stuff Page 9
