This is a fictional story, but it is based on what I have learned about actual events inside the homes of depressed and suicidal adolescents. It was written in 2002.
S. Hein
Nathalie was talking on the phone when her mother stormed in the house and slammed the door behind her. She yelled "GET OFF THE PHONE... NOW!" Nathalie started to cry. She said, "But mom..."
Her mother screamed "NOW! I have been trying to call you for the last two hours! Hang up the phone this instant or I swear I will pull out the cord!"
Nathalie said to her friend, "I am sorry I have to go. Mom is really upset. Sorry. Bye." Then she said, still in tears, "Don't you even want to know what we were talking about?" Her mother shot back, "NO! I DON'T CARE WHAT YOU WERE TALKING ABOUT! IT DOESN'T MATTER! NOTHING IS WORTH TALKING ABOUT FOR THAT LONG!" Nathalie put her head down on the table and silently cried. She felt so scared when her mother yelled at her like that. But her mother continued the attack.
"Don't go feeling all sorry for yourself, either. Just yesterday you promised me that you would stop spending so much time on the phone. Once again you have betrayed my trust. You disappoint me, you know that? You really disappoint me. I can't believe anything you say. You are nothing but a pathetic liar. I don't even know who would possibly want to listen to your self-pity for two hours. And frankly, I don't care. That is their problem. Not mine. If they are fool enough to waste two hours talking to you then they are just as sick as you are. Look at you. Don't you even have anything to say for yourself? You are a wreck. A complete wreck. You fall apart at the drop of a hat. Pull yourself together. This never would have happened if you would have just kept your word. Why is that so hard Nathalie? Why do you always lie to me? Why, Nathalie? I am waiting for an answer."
Nathalie said nothing. She knew there was no point. Everything she said would be used against her. She had learned it was easier to say nothing.
Her mother continued...
"I knew I couldn't trust you. I was trying to enjoy myself for once today, but I had to keep trying to call you. Then I had to come home and get you off of the phone. Two hours, Nathalie. TWO HOURS! What could possibly be so important that you had to talk about it for two hours?? Nothing is that important. Why couldn't it have waited? You have no self-control, that is what is wrong with you. No self-control whatsoever. You don't think before you do something. You don't think about anyone else. Did it ever occur to you that I might be wanting to call home? No, of course not, because you are too selfish and immature to think of anyone but yourself. Grow up Nathalie. And stop that pathetic whimpering." Her mother went out the door and slammed it behind her.
That night in her room Nathalie lit all her candles. From one, she poured hot wax on her wrist. She could barely feel anything. She thought of holding the flame to her wrist but instead reached for a bottle of pain killers. She read the label. Two hundred. There was a warning never to take more than 8 in one 24 hour period.
She looked at her scars where she had cut herself for past two years. She started to count them again. This time she he counted 187. It was difficult to tell exactly how many there were because some were covered up with fresh cuts.
As she looked her scars, the memories came back, one by one.
Once it was a fight with her mother about her clothes. Once it was after her mother yelled at her for skipping a class at school. Once it was a fight with her mother about her ex-boyfriend. Once it was about her mother not trusting her. Once it was a fight about being grounded for talking back to her mother. Once it was a fight about being on the telephone too long. Once it was an argument about not coming straight home after school. Once it was a fight with her mother over which video to rent. Once it was when her mother yelled at her for telling the school counselor too many family secrets. Once it was after her mother embarrassed and humiliated her in front of her friends. Once it was a fight about her mother always coming in her room without knocking on the door. Once it was because her mother called her a disgrace to the family. Once it was after her mother threatened to send her to a mental hospital. Once it was when her mother called her a bad influence on her little sister and said her little sister would be "scarred for life" because of her. Once it was a fight with her mother about being so depressed all the time. Once it was a fight with her mother about not eating enough. Once it was a fight with her mother about wanting a phone in her room. Once it was after her mother screamed at her and pulled the plug out on the computer while she writing in her online journal. Once it was after her mother told her to stop crying and stop being so melodramatic. Once it was when her mother called her "hopeless" and a complete failure. Once it was when she called her an utter disappointment. Once it was a fight about her mother checking up on her all the time. Once it was after her mother found her private written journal and threw it away. Once it was when her mother laughed at her for crying. Once it was when she wrote a letter to her mother trying to explain her feelings and her mother tore the letter up before she even finsihed reading it. Once it was a fight with her mother about not being believed when she said someone had abused her...
The list went on and on.
Nathalie was tired of fighting. She felt completely defeated. There was no reason to go on anymore. She had no hope for the future left inside her. She used to think she could make it till she was 18 and could leave home, but she saw that she had been wrong. Things were getting worse, not better. The more depressed she felt, the more she got yelled at. She had no strength to keep fighting. She stared at the bottle of pills. It took all the energy she had just to reach out and take the cap off. She poured the contents onto the top of her desk.
Slowly, she started counting out the pills. With each number another memory flashed through her head. She held back the tears. When she got to 187 she stopped. She put the rest back in the bottle and put the lid on. She knew her mother would be upset if she left anything out of place. Her mother hated it when she didn't put things right away when she was finished using them. This time she wouldn't forget. Maybe her mother would be happy, she thought.
Then she wrote a note to her mother. She put the note on her desk and blew out all the candles but one. She wanted to feel comforted by the flicker of at least one warm flame. She stared at it and started taking the pills. As she took each one, she kept having flash backs. She had to stop once and cry. The pain was too much. But she picked up where she left off. She wanted to do this last thing right. When she took the last pill she blew out the last candle. She put her head down on her desk and cried. When her mother came in the next morning she found this note:
Mom,
|
Comments (0)