Unwravelling in your head...

I sat in my bedroom all night long, cutting my wrist with the blade. I started watching the blood drip down my arm, and I ran my finger across the cuts. In a sick way, I liked the way it felt. This was not the first time; this was not the last time either. I hated doing it, but I also liked doing it. It got all of my anxieties out. I felt a tear run across my face, but it wasn’t because the cuts hurt; it was because I remembered why I was doing this. Having no friends was hard, but actually being known as “the psycho kid” was worse.
But I was just another girl from Phoenix, Arizona.
I covered my wrist with the wristband, and everything was okay again, on the outside.

Within the next month of October, I started blocking myself out from everything. Obviously the anti-depressants weren’t helping, again, but I didn’t want to tell the psychiatrist that. He had tried so many medicines on me. I’ve almost tried every anti-depressant pill in the book, and this one he was sure would fix me. I kind of felt bad for the guy.

After school on Tuesday my mom finally talked me into going to see a psychologist. I hated psychologists from the beginning and I refused to go to one. But I was my mom’s only daughter out of five kids, and she loved me to death, so I guess she’s just doing her job, and after countless attempts of being happy, I guess this was the only option.

“Hi Jamie, how are you today? Why don’t you have a seat in that comfy couch right there and I’ll get you some crayons to color with,” the psychologist said when I came in.

“I’m not a kid. I’m 16 years old. I’m in high school.”

“I know, but coloring always makes me feel better, dear,” she said with a smile and a weird laugh. “So, you must know why you’re here today, right?”

“Yes, I’ve known for three years now. I’m psycho. Insane. I know,” I said, a little more angry sounding than I meant. I wasn’t angry with her. I was angry with myself for being mental.

“Jamie, sweetie, you’re just special, that’s all.”
Her tone of voice made me gag.

I went home after a worthless hour session with Dr. Lenshaw. I thought that was a dumb name. When I got home, I just plopped myself on the couch as usual and did some homework. Homework sucks. I mean, every teen feels that way, but I could be on Tumblr. I could be out skating. I could be doing anything but this. When Mom walked in with groceries, she almost saw my wrist since my jacket was bunched up a little and I didn’t have the wristbands on. I almost got caught again…

She made me quit cutting a long time ago, around 3 years ago, when I first was diagnosed with manic depression. She threatened to send me to an in-patient mental institution far away out in Nevada. I finally talked her out of it, but the second time she caught me, a few months later, she followed through with it. Oh God, those three weeks were the death of me. It didn’t make me any less depressed; it actually just made me more depressed. When I finally got home, my cuts were just fading scars on my wrist, and all the sharp things from my room were gone.

I helped my mom with the groceries then went to my room. I rested myself down on my bed and thought for just a minute. I held the blade to my wrist again, but stopped, because I knew I would have to help with dinner soon. I cut my thigh instead.

The next day, I got bullied, just like every day in my magical high school. This time it was only from afar, thank god, I couldn’t take any straight-up business anymore. I went to Spanish class with a totally blank mind, and sat there like a nobody, as always.
At lunch, I usually sat with the weird kids. The ones who dressed in all black but didn’t really define as “Goth”. They had a new kid today, at their table. I didn’t ask her name, but she seemed somewhat like me: someone who didn’t really belong here, someone who didn’t belong anywhere. We exchanged glances for a minute, but then the bell rang.

I learned that the girl at the lunch table was actually a new girl that same day, and I had 5th period with her. I also learned that her name is Luna. I really liked that name. I finally got up the courage to talk to her. I introduced myself, and said I liked her hair. It was long, curly, blonde, but not overdone. She was really beautiful. I lost my courage and turned away after that.

“Luuunnaaa,” my mom repeated in a whimsical way when I told her about my day. I couldn’t believe her. I’ve only dated one girl in the history of my life, and I mean I’m glad my mom is so supportive, but she didn’t have to mock me.

“Yep. I really like her name. And she has really pretty hair.” I guess I set myself up for the following: “Ooh, she has reeealllyyy preeettttyyyyyy hair!”

When we got home she asked me how I was doing, and I said, “Fine,” as always.
I finished my homework and ended up sketching. I usually just let my hand and the pencil graze the paper and come up with whatever my mind is stuck on. I ended up drawing Luna’s luscious hair and was shocked at how well I drew her. I finished the picture, and I stared at it for a minute. It wasn’t perfect, but it was definitely her. I ripped it out and threw it in my drawer. I made it a goal to learn more about her the next day.

For once in my life, I really had someone to sit with at lunch. I talked more to Luna. I learned that she really loves music. “I used to sing in a choir at my old church, and I always loved it. I love to perform,” she said. I couldn’t get her to sing for me, though. She also told me that she hadn’t wanted to move, but her parents thought Arizona would be a good place for her, since she had problems at her old school. I told her more about me, too. I told her I like skateboarding, I like hats, and I love food. I didn’t tell her about my mental/self-harm issues, because for once, I wasn’t thinking about any of that.
------- add some more days here…--------
The next week, I cut myself a few times, and they were pretty decent cuts, on both my wrist and my thighs. It was mostly because my mom stresses me out and we fight, but it wasn’t as bad as usual. I talked on the phone with Luna most nights, and she helped me a lot. She didn’t even know how much she was helping. Her voice gave me chills up my spine and made my heart flip-flop, all in the good way, of course! Was I starting to like this girl? Maybe. But my problems were worse than she could fix…

I woke up on Halloween pissed that I had to go to school. Halloween is MY day, the best day of the year (besides my birthday in August). ----ADD REASONS WHY I LIKE HALLOWEEN------. I didn’t want to ruin it by going to school, but I had already missed too many days this semester. I didn’t want to wear a costume to school, so I just threw on what I usually wear on Mondays and left.
I met up with Luna when I got there, and we walked each other to our classes. I thought that was cute, especially since she was dressed as a vampire. Maybe she could suck all the blood out of my body so I wouldn’t have so much satisfaction after I cut myself… I cleared the thought from my mind and dropped her off at her first period. I walked down the hall just to find Abby, the bitchiest girl in the school, stopped in front of my locker.

“Heeeyy Psycho! Whoops, I mean Jamie. Aren’t you supposed to be wearing a costume? Or were you too fucking insane to remember that this morning?” Abby said with the ugliest smirk on her face, dressed up with fake freckles as she wore her Skanky Strawberry Shortcake costume. She was so ugly; I didn’t know what all the guys saw in her and why all the girls wanted to be her friend.

“Abby, move out of the way, I don’t have time for this,” I tried, but I knew nothing could stop her.

“But Psycho, I’m just having some fun! Come on, tell me, why aren’t you wearing a costume? Or—wait—guys I get it!” She said to her friends, “Psycho is wearing her own costume! It’s called, ‘Crazy-girl-in-a-normal-world’ or even better, ‘Mad-cow-disease’!”

I decided I didn’t need my books for this class and finally walked into the room. I asked to go to the restroom right after the bell rang, and I ran all the way there.
I sat on the bathroom floor…I cut my razor into my arm…

Why does Abby have to be such a bitch?! *slice* I can’t believe I just stood there and took it!!! *slice* Why can’t I just be normal?! *slice*

I guessed my crying was louder than I thought, when someone came out of the next stall and asked me if I was all right. I recognized the voice…Luna.
“Yeah, I’m okay, just bad cramps,” I said, trying to disguise my voice.
“Oh, are you okay? Do you need to go to the nurse?” She said and knocked on my stall door.
“No, I’m fine.”

Some blood from the cuts dripped to the floor.
She saw under the stall.
She also recognized my voice.
She opened my stall.
She held toilet paper tightly over my cuts.
She brought me to the nurse.
This time was 100% worse than the last time…

I ended up going to the Phoenix hospital and got 5 stitches in my arm. My mom said she was disappointed in me. My dad said he didn’t know his own daughter anymore. My brothers tried to comfort me, but it didn’t work. All I wanted was Luna. I wanted her to come see me. I wanted her to hold me and tell me everything would be all right…
But she didn’t come, and I was admitted into the Teen Suicide Center as an in-patient. I was told I would only be there for four weeks. Some of the other girls there told me they had been there for 10 weeks +. I guess the doctors didn’t mind lying to us.

While I was there, all I could think about was Luna; how she was doing, if she was upset with me, if she thought about me too. I wasn’t allowed contact to anyone but family, so I just tried to forget about her. She probably thought I was a monster. She probably thought I was psycho, like everyone else thought. Hell, I didn’t even know if she likes girls or not! How could she ever think about me after what happened? It probably traumatized her. She probably already forgot about me.

“Jamie Rodith, please report to the visiting area, you have a visitor,” the intercom in my room rang. I thought it was just my mom. I was in for a huge surprise when I got to the visiting area.

No, it wasn’t Luna. It was my 84-year-old grandmother Jackie. I hadn’t seen her for 3 months since she lived in North Carolina. My oldest brother Jeff was with her; he probably flew her out here so she would be safe. She got me some apple juice off the cafeteria carts and we sat at the visiting table.
“Jamie, sweetheart, how are you?” She said. I think she was trying to play off that she was in a mental institution looking at her granddaughter who had ugly scars all the way up her arm.
“I’m doing my best, Grandma,” I said, trying to tell her the truth. She always knew when someone wasn’t being honest with her.
“Oh, Jamie,” she started tearing up, “I just love you so much, and I don’t want you to be so sad. I want you to be happy. You have a full life ahead of you, darling.” I always loved the way she called me darling.
“Grandma, don’t cry, I’m doing fine. I’m recovering here. I’ll be better when I leave.”
“But, Jamie, you have to promise me you don’t try to…die, on purpose. That would be so terrible, considering…” she broke down in full force tears mid-sentence.
“Considering what, grandma? What’s going on?” I started panicking.
“Jamie, I have cancer. I have ovarian cancer.”
I froze. The thought of my grandma having cancer and the chance of me losing her ripped my heart in half and turned my stomach upside down.
“I…I can’t lose…But…” I was in a loss for words, “But you can get surgery, right? They can take it out. You’ll be fine, right?”
“Oh darling…I know it’s hard, I know. I’m so sorry—I,” She wiped the tears from my face, “I can’t get it removed. They said the surgery would be too risky for a woman my age. They said I would have a longer life if I just let it slowly take its course.”

I couldn’t speak anymore. I just held her. I held her tight. The doctors could try to stop me, I didn’t care, I was holding my dying grandmother. I cried a river of tears, but wanted to instead go pull out a razor somewhere and cut my arm, and my thighs, and my everything, just get the pain out…but I didn’t. I couldn’t, so I just sat there and held my grandma in my arms and cried into her shirt, like I used to when I was little and I got hurt playing kickball in her backyard. I took in her scent, I took in her everything. I didn’t know if this was the last time I would see her or not.

As if reading my thoughts, she said, “Jamie, baby, its going to be okay, I am not going anywhere, I’m going to come here every day if I have to,” She took my face in her hands and looked into my teary eyes, “I’m staying in Arizona for a couple months, or at least until you get out of here. I promise I’m here, sweetheart. They said I still have a while.”
I still didn’t say anything. I just looked into her eyes, and she looked into mine. I hugged her one last time before she and my brother had to go home, since visiting hours were over. I slumped over and walked back to my room.

The next three days were hell on earth. I kept thinking of my grandma, if she’d come visit again, and when that would be.