Chapter 3
"I'm holding on/Why is everything so heavy?" Linkin Park, "Heavy"
Two weeks ago, Connor and I went to the edge of the cliff, worried about the outcome. I heard that other students called me a bastard child for believing Chester hanged himself at school the other day. It hit me in the heart. That's what led me to the cliff. Connor got concerned.
"Please tell me you're not gonna jump off of there, Tristan," he said, nervously.
"What's the point? I'm dirt! I'm crazy! There's no other way to live this godforsaken life," I yelled, panicking to the point of oblivion.
"Please, dude. I appreciate you and your family. For the love of mike, don't do it!"
I ignored his cries. I inched closer to the edge. Closer, closer. Then I stopped. I closed my eyes, then I threw myself down to a watery grave. I didn't breathe till I was a foot away from the water. My eyes were still closed and my body just floated in one place. Connor was shocked. He and I knew many students jumped from the cliff to their grave. The police dubbed this "Suicide Falls."
Connor called an ambulance, then the police and gave every bit of information he could. Fifteen minutes later, two EMTs came to the rescue and tried to grab me from the lake. When they dragged me to the ground, they found me unresponsive after taking my pulse. They rushed me to the hospital shortly thereafter.
I was hooked on IVs and an oxygen mask in a dark hospital room. I regained consciousness after about a few hours. When I woke up, I found my mother at my bedside.
"What were you thinking when you jumped off that cliff?" she demanded.
"I wasn't in my right mind and losing Dylan was the worst experience ever," I said wearily.
"Well, the nurse told me you will be heading to the mental hospital as soon as they find a vacant room."
"What?" I shouted. "They can't do that!"
"Honey, this is for your own good. It'll be only for a week or so."
I didn't know what to say about that visit to the mental hospital. I was staying there because of my suicidal ideation. My mind was automatically thinking the place was filled with goblins, gargoyles and ghosts. Or maybe that was my art playing tricks on me. I didn't know what to think except how the staff would treat me. There were about 20 people in the facility, with different illnesses and different reasons. The best I could do was give it a chance.
The nurse said cheerfully, "Welcome to your room." She then walked away.
I was in room 320 and I had the bed by the window. I didn't really know who my roommate was. It was more like I didn't really want to know.
I just lied in bed for a couple of hours before dinner. I was thinking about that jump. What led me to almost end my life. Why did I jump? Because I lost the one person in this world who protected me from the darkest moments, my deepest fears. I already feared my depression would never go away by the end of the week.
At dinnertime, it was as busy as the highway during nighttime. The menu was spaghetti and marinara with green beans and garlic bread. I went vegan six months earlier, so it wasn't half bad. I looked to my right and there was my roommate quietly sipping his tea. His name was Kevin. He was here after he overdosed on his anxiety medication. He was 19. He was more into heavy metal and punk. He was 6' 1", wrote poetry and letters in his spare time and had two dogs at home. I went over to him and talked.
"How are you, dude?" I asked.
"I'm okay," he said, "just a little weary. I've slept most of the day. I'm not really doing well mentally."
"Well, I'm here if you need to chat or vent."
"Thanks. I haven't done much social time since I got here. That's nice to know."
Later that evening, during leisure time, Kevin and I exchanged letters of appreciation and talked about our favorite bands. He told me that he only heard about Linkin Park two years earlier and was in love with the nu metal sound. I told them there were a lot of fans giving the band crap about changing their style through their music. Those several albums proved that they were one of the greatest bands around. It only made them cooler, at least in my mind.
The week went by really quickly. The staff has been watching me from the beginning, noticing my strong participation in all the groups day after day. It was like being in jail but without cages and bars. As far as I was concerned, the staff wasn't on our cases 24 hours a day. But, I did make one friend in the process. The experience was scary yet inspirational. My fellow elders gave me some words of wisdom along the way.
The next day, I was discharged from the facility. Free at last! I hoped I would never go back again. Before I left, I exchanged numbers and email addresses with Kevin. I headed outside and found my mother at the parking lot. She hugged me.
"How are you, love?" she inquired.
"I feel like I can handle anything," I confided.
We headed to the car, beaming like a couple of old friends at a reunion. I was ready to get busy living again. But I knew it would take a while to progress the whole event. It was time to heal.
Two weeks ago, Connor and I went to the edge of the cliff, worried about the outcome. I heard that other students called me a bastard child for believing Chester hanged himself at school the other day. It hit me in the heart. That's what led me to the cliff. Connor got concerned.
"Please tell me you're not gonna jump off of there, Tristan," he said, nervously.
"What's the point? I'm dirt! I'm crazy! There's no other way to live this godforsaken life," I yelled, panicking to the point of oblivion.
"Please, dude. I appreciate you and your family. For the love of mike, don't do it!"
I ignored his cries. I inched closer to the edge. Closer, closer. Then I stopped. I closed my eyes, then I threw myself down to a watery grave. I didn't breathe till I was a foot away from the water. My eyes were still closed and my body just floated in one place. Connor was shocked. He and I knew many students jumped from the cliff to their grave. The police dubbed this "Suicide Falls."
Connor called an ambulance, then the police and gave every bit of information he could. Fifteen minutes later, two EMTs came to the rescue and tried to grab me from the lake. When they dragged me to the ground, they found me unresponsive after taking my pulse. They rushed me to the hospital shortly thereafter.
I was hooked on IVs and an oxygen mask in a dark hospital room. I regained consciousness after about a few hours. When I woke up, I found my mother at my bedside.
"What were you thinking when you jumped off that cliff?" she demanded.
"I wasn't in my right mind and losing Dylan was the worst experience ever," I said wearily.
"Well, the nurse told me you will be heading to the mental hospital as soon as they find a vacant room."
"What?" I shouted. "They can't do that!"
"Honey, this is for your own good. It'll be only for a week or so."
I didn't know what to say about that visit to the mental hospital. I was staying there because of my suicidal ideation. My mind was automatically thinking the place was filled with goblins, gargoyles and ghosts. Or maybe that was my art playing tricks on me. I didn't know what to think except how the staff would treat me. There were about 20 people in the facility, with different illnesses and different reasons. The best I could do was give it a chance.
The nurse said cheerfully, "Welcome to your room." She then walked away.
I was in room 320 and I had the bed by the window. I didn't really know who my roommate was. It was more like I didn't really want to know.
I just lied in bed for a couple of hours before dinner. I was thinking about that jump. What led me to almost end my life. Why did I jump? Because I lost the one person in this world who protected me from the darkest moments, my deepest fears. I already feared my depression would never go away by the end of the week.
At dinnertime, it was as busy as the highway during nighttime. The menu was spaghetti and marinara with green beans and garlic bread. I went vegan six months earlier, so it wasn't half bad. I looked to my right and there was my roommate quietly sipping his tea. His name was Kevin. He was here after he overdosed on his anxiety medication. He was 19. He was more into heavy metal and punk. He was 6' 1", wrote poetry and letters in his spare time and had two dogs at home. I went over to him and talked.
"How are you, dude?" I asked.
"I'm okay," he said, "just a little weary. I've slept most of the day. I'm not really doing well mentally."
"Well, I'm here if you need to chat or vent."
"Thanks. I haven't done much social time since I got here. That's nice to know."
Later that evening, during leisure time, Kevin and I exchanged letters of appreciation and talked about our favorite bands. He told me that he only heard about Linkin Park two years earlier and was in love with the nu metal sound. I told them there were a lot of fans giving the band crap about changing their style through their music. Those several albums proved that they were one of the greatest bands around. It only made them cooler, at least in my mind.
The week went by really quickly. The staff has been watching me from the beginning, noticing my strong participation in all the groups day after day. It was like being in jail but without cages and bars. As far as I was concerned, the staff wasn't on our cases 24 hours a day. But, I did make one friend in the process. The experience was scary yet inspirational. My fellow elders gave me some words of wisdom along the way.
The next day, I was discharged from the facility. Free at last! I hoped I would never go back again. Before I left, I exchanged numbers and email addresses with Kevin. I headed outside and found my mother at the parking lot. She hugged me.
"How are you, love?" she inquired.
"I feel like I can handle anything," I confided.
We headed to the car, beaming like a couple of old friends at a reunion. I was ready to get busy living again. But I knew it would take a while to progress the whole event. It was time to heal.
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