Strange dreams and memories
I can't remember the last time I looked at Livejournal, let alone posted in it. I'm not sure who, if any, of my friends still look at it or who might be reading this. But I've had this journal for years, and the thoughts that are keeping me awake tonight are thoughts that I once had an opinion about and wrote about first right here in this journal, many years ago, and it's only fitting that I write about them here again to keep them from haunting me at 3am.
Instead of a dream tonight, I had an incredibly vivid memory of my sophomore year of high school. Nothing was altered or exaggerated, it happened exactly as it did in real life, and I felt it almost as strongly as I did when it happened. It's like I was watching a movie of what happened. I was in Doctora _____?'s class (not Sager, the one who taught the level before--not important), and I was sitting next to Austin. I remember feeling frustrated with him and angry with him, because we'd had to take these two-person tests, and he would never study and he would never know any of the answers, and since I'd chosen to sit next to him at the beginning of the semester, he was my partner and I was stuck with him. Doctora wouldn't let me switch, and I had to carry the both of us through the class. She eventually realized that I was failing because he had refused to try, and because he was so inhibited by his mental illness that he couldn't try. I remember her saying that she'd let us sit together because she'd hoped I'd help him raise his grade, but instead he was dragging me down with him. I remember letting her move me to another seat, next to a girl I didn't know very well who wasn't too much better off, but who tried. I remember Austin being hurt that I'd want to switch, but I remember making the conscious choice to do so to save myself from failing because of him. Gosh, what a warning that was, what a perfect metaphor for my entire relationship with him. If only I'd seen our romantic relationship that way at the time, I'd have saved myself years of heartbreak and recovery for my choices with him.
Anyway, I moved, and had been doing better. Then one morning I saw (from my new seat) that Austin had fresh cuts covering his arms, and I knew he'd purposely worn short sleeves and lingered in his seat after the bell rang so that I would see what he'd done the night before. Or maybe even that morning. I remember the blood being pretty fresh, and it sent me into a complete panic.
I rushed off to gym class and in the locker room I told Jes Kuschka what happened. I had done pretty well at holding myself back from crying, until we walked out into the gym. At the time I had been seeing Martin (sort of), and I remember fighting with him about something small and stupid earlier in the week. Martin saw us standing there and said some sort of sassy/friendly hello, and I burst into tears. I remember I was crying so hard that I couldn't talk, and he kept saying "Is this about me?? Are you ok? Are you sure this isn't about me? What happened?" and Jes kept assuring him that it did't have anything to do with him, that it was much bigger than him and that I would be fine. And then I remember Martin doing what was probably the sweetest and best thing he's ever done for me. He said, "Come here, it's ok." And he hugged me for as long as I needed him to, even though we were fighting and even though he didn't know what I was upset about, and it was the nicest, most sincere and comforting hug a friend could give. I'm crying just thinking about it. I don't know that he and I have ever had a more sincere moment than that, before or since.
I remember sobbing, thinking, "Austin did this and wanted me to see it. He knows how I feel about cutting, he knows that it upsets and scares me shit out of me because of my sister's attempted suicides and cutting, and he knows that I love him and he's doing it anyway." I knew it was selfish, but I knew it wasn't his fault. I was SO angry with him for not considering me or anyone else that loved him when he hurt himself I was angry with him for being so flippant about his cutting, especially with how I'd felt about cutting in general. But I was heartbroken that I'd loved him (at this time, we were not romantically involved but I'd already loved him) and that he might have loved me back but didn't want to go on living.
I recognize now, many years later, that he did want to live. He may have cut himself, tried to run away, and done a multitude of weird and upsetting things in those days, but he could not have killed himself. He had wanted attention--he had wanted the people in his life to show him that they loved him, and he'd wanted someone to tell him that they cared--that he was important and that it was ok that he felt the way he did. I remember trying to tell him that so many times, but he wouldn't listen, and I think I was angry for that reason, too.
I'm not sure why I remembered all of this in my dreams tonight. I haven't thought of that moment in probably 4 or 5 years, at the very least, and it seems like a somewhat random choice for my brain to make. It could be because Martin got married this week, and we aren't close enough anymore for me to be invited or for me to even know about it outside of Facebook. It could be because I cooked dinner with my sister tonight in her new apartment, and I saw her old scars on her wrist. Or it could be because I've been thinking about Expressive Arts Therapy and becoming a licensed mental health counselor, and my brain is saying "Look, remember this? Do you think you could help strangers through a time like this when this was so hard for you?" I don't know the answer to that question. I know it would be different, because I'd be an outside party. But it'd stir up feelings and memories like this, I'm sure.
But maybe that's why Art Therapy feels like an important career path to me, because so many people in my life could have and would have benefited from it--and because I benefited from it, going to WSYT and the Drama Studio and working/playing out all of my frustrations and pains in a safe environment that with my great and weird friends. Lord knows, that's the reason I'm alive today. So why shouldn't it be the reason that somebody else is alive today?
In my true fashion, this post is the first I've written in years and it is approximately seven pages long. It is now 4am, and I hope that I've processed this enough to be able to go back to sleep without much trouble. I miss Austin. I miss Martin. I'm glad Maria, Martin, AND Austin are all in such wonderful places in life, even if Maria's is the only one I'm involved in. Now I just need to get my own life together, and get myself to a place where I feel like I'm safe and calm and headed in the right direction. Poor Tim is trying to sleep next to me right now and ignore the bright computer screen. I'd wake him to tell him all of these things, and I know he would insist that he doesn't mind, but I'd rather not bother him with it just now. It can wait until morning. I'm sure everything will feel much better than it does right now, while it's all still so fresh in my mind.
Instead of a dream tonight, I had an incredibly vivid memory of my sophomore year of high school. Nothing was altered or exaggerated, it happened exactly as it did in real life, and I felt it almost as strongly as I did when it happened. It's like I was watching a movie of what happened. I was in Doctora _____?'s class (not Sager, the one who taught the level before--not important), and I was sitting next to Austin. I remember feeling frustrated with him and angry with him, because we'd had to take these two-person tests, and he would never study and he would never know any of the answers, and since I'd chosen to sit next to him at the beginning of the semester, he was my partner and I was stuck with him. Doctora wouldn't let me switch, and I had to carry the both of us through the class. She eventually realized that I was failing because he had refused to try, and because he was so inhibited by his mental illness that he couldn't try. I remember her saying that she'd let us sit together because she'd hoped I'd help him raise his grade, but instead he was dragging me down with him. I remember letting her move me to another seat, next to a girl I didn't know very well who wasn't too much better off, but who tried. I remember Austin being hurt that I'd want to switch, but I remember making the conscious choice to do so to save myself from failing because of him. Gosh, what a warning that was, what a perfect metaphor for my entire relationship with him. If only I'd seen our romantic relationship that way at the time, I'd have saved myself years of heartbreak and recovery for my choices with him.
Anyway, I moved, and had been doing better. Then one morning I saw (from my new seat) that Austin had fresh cuts covering his arms, and I knew he'd purposely worn short sleeves and lingered in his seat after the bell rang so that I would see what he'd done the night before. Or maybe even that morning. I remember the blood being pretty fresh, and it sent me into a complete panic.
I rushed off to gym class and in the locker room I told Jes Kuschka what happened. I had done pretty well at holding myself back from crying, until we walked out into the gym. At the time I had been seeing Martin (sort of), and I remember fighting with him about something small and stupid earlier in the week. Martin saw us standing there and said some sort of sassy/friendly hello, and I burst into tears. I remember I was crying so hard that I couldn't talk, and he kept saying "Is this about me?? Are you ok? Are you sure this isn't about me? What happened?" and Jes kept assuring him that it did't have anything to do with him, that it was much bigger than him and that I would be fine. And then I remember Martin doing what was probably the sweetest and best thing he's ever done for me. He said, "Come here, it's ok." And he hugged me for as long as I needed him to, even though we were fighting and even though he didn't know what I was upset about, and it was the nicest, most sincere and comforting hug a friend could give. I'm crying just thinking about it. I don't know that he and I have ever had a more sincere moment than that, before or since.
I remember sobbing, thinking, "Austin did this and wanted me to see it. He knows how I feel about cutting, he knows that it upsets and scares me shit out of me because of my sister's attempted suicides and cutting, and he knows that I love him and he's doing it anyway." I knew it was selfish, but I knew it wasn't his fault. I was SO angry with him for not considering me or anyone else that loved him when he hurt himself I was angry with him for being so flippant about his cutting, especially with how I'd felt about cutting in general. But I was heartbroken that I'd loved him (at this time, we were not romantically involved but I'd already loved him) and that he might have loved me back but didn't want to go on living.
I recognize now, many years later, that he did want to live. He may have cut himself, tried to run away, and done a multitude of weird and upsetting things in those days, but he could not have killed himself. He had wanted attention--he had wanted the people in his life to show him that they loved him, and he'd wanted someone to tell him that they cared--that he was important and that it was ok that he felt the way he did. I remember trying to tell him that so many times, but he wouldn't listen, and I think I was angry for that reason, too.
I'm not sure why I remembered all of this in my dreams tonight. I haven't thought of that moment in probably 4 or 5 years, at the very least, and it seems like a somewhat random choice for my brain to make. It could be because Martin got married this week, and we aren't close enough anymore for me to be invited or for me to even know about it outside of Facebook. It could be because I cooked dinner with my sister tonight in her new apartment, and I saw her old scars on her wrist. Or it could be because I've been thinking about Expressive Arts Therapy and becoming a licensed mental health counselor, and my brain is saying "Look, remember this? Do you think you could help strangers through a time like this when this was so hard for you?" I don't know the answer to that question. I know it would be different, because I'd be an outside party. But it'd stir up feelings and memories like this, I'm sure.
But maybe that's why Art Therapy feels like an important career path to me, because so many people in my life could have and would have benefited from it--and because I benefited from it, going to WSYT and the Drama Studio and working/playing out all of my frustrations and pains in a safe environment that with my great and weird friends. Lord knows, that's the reason I'm alive today. So why shouldn't it be the reason that somebody else is alive today?
In my true fashion, this post is the first I've written in years and it is approximately seven pages long. It is now 4am, and I hope that I've processed this enough to be able to go back to sleep without much trouble. I miss Austin. I miss Martin. I'm glad Maria, Martin, AND Austin are all in such wonderful places in life, even if Maria's is the only one I'm involved in. Now I just need to get my own life together, and get myself to a place where I feel like I'm safe and calm and headed in the right direction. Poor Tim is trying to sleep next to me right now and ignore the bright computer screen. I'd wake him to tell him all of these things, and I know he would insist that he doesn't mind, but I'd rather not bother him with it just now. It can wait until morning. I'm sure everything will feel much better than it does right now, while it's all still so fresh in my mind.