Broken People (19 page)

Chapter 20

Trust me

MICHELLE
.
Finding Britney hanging in the garage had become part of who I was. Feelings of finding her haunted my every thought. The recurring thought,
what if I would have
… The
what if
thoughts didn’t necessarily start and stop in the garage that day. What if I would have sent the pictures to Kid earlier? What if I would have identified some of her issues or taken her seriously earlier in life? The guilt and the wonder consume me.

While it
was becoming increasingly difficult to do so, I continued to go to see Britney at the hospital. I felt that I had to go there. It wasn’t a feeling of respect that made me go; it was more out of necessity, and probably a little hope. Sitting there, I would rub her feet, filled with hope that she would wake up. Wake up and make all of this some form of an odd dream. I left, each time, filled with disappointment and guilt. I continued riding this emotional roller coaster, wondering how long it, or I, would last.

My talks with
Kid, after this happened, have been far less frequent and I cannot decide if it is him or me that has made communication seem awkward. He had initially tried to determine how he had become involved, exactly. How Britney could have lived here in East Brunswick

I
have become far more understanding after Britney’s suicide attempt. I began to listen to my brothers, and actually consider what they said. Consideration of my friends’ wants, needs, and general comments regarding life was becoming second nature. In the past, I was quick to judge, and somewhat slow to comment. Everyone is entitled to their opinion. Now, I found myself more apt to actually listen, and have no feelings of condemnation regarding a thought, feeling, or opinion that I may not immediately agree with. Britney’s incident has made me a more diverse and understanding person.

I had developed a better understanding of what Kid has been feeling his entire life.
It was easy for me in the past to try to explain to him that I understood his feelings. I know now that I did not truly understand them before. It was impossible. Experiencing this loss, first hand, has caused me to feel the same types of feelings that others experiencing this level of loss feel. Britney may not be dead, but she wasn’t alive either. As I stand and rub her feet, I am reminded of what I have lost. I have lost her.

Although I
cannot be certain, I expect her parents feel the same way. I would imagine the guilt associated with being a parent and having the same level of loss would be tremendous. For a parent, the feeling of responsibility, following the loss of a child to suicide, would last a lifetime.

If Britney was killed in a car wreck, or by some other natural means, I am quite certain I would be over it by now. Not to sound morbid or lack a degree of compassion, but it’s true. Following the death, I would grieve, accept the death, and recover. If she never wakes up, or if she passes away, I fear I will never actually recover. Suicide, as Kid has said
in the past, cuts to the bone.

In a matter of months, I will be in college, and the process of becomin
g a responsible adult will begin. After college, I will start medical school. The medical school will take approximately seven years. The entire process from beginning to end will take about twelve years. Following that, I will begin my career and practice of being a medical doctor.

At some point in time, I will become marr
ied, and God willing, I will have children. I suppose that all parents believe they are doing what is necessary to provide everything that their child needs and expects throughout the active raising of their children. I pray that my exposure to what life has offered me, and my understanding of what I have experienced, allows me to make decisions that will prevent my children from feeling as if suicide is some form of means to end a pain that they are incapable of resolving.

The feeling of pain never leaves. With every beat of my heart, I am reminded that it remains. It festers within me like an infection. Life’s antibiotic for pain associated with how we
feel
is communication
.
Communication with people that have or have had the same feelings or exposures to life that I have, will allow me to make the necessary repairs to myself. Repairs that may allow me to make it through a day with an understanding of what they may have done to minimize their pain.
Broken people helping broken people.

Chapter 21

Semper Fi

DAVID
.
The time following Britney’s suicide was extremely difficult. The community, as a whole, began to change. Parents were more attentive of their children. It was an odd mixture of being more guarded, yet giving more freedoms. Parents, teachers, bosses, almost everyone, seemed to be a bit more careful of what was said and done. What was requested or recommended. It is difficult to believe that a suicide could bring a community closer, but it sure seemed that it was happening.

I had met with Dr. Baritz once since the
suicide and twice since Michelle and I talked about my heterosexuality. Initially, when I told her I was heterosexual, she didn’t accept it as fact. The more she listened, the more receptive she became. I told her about Michelle’s friend, Fat Kid, and she had reservation about his clairvoyance, but agreed with his diagnosis regarding fear of failure. She seemed somewhat disappointed that she hadn’t caught it earlier, but we had some meaningful discussions about my fear of failure, and we were working on making measurable progress. Knowing, she said, was half the battle to conquering the problem.

In the last six weeks, I have given considerable thought to what I want to do with my adult life. I feel as if I am a new person, and I see changes in myself daily. I am less stressed about day-to-day living, and have been exhibiting far less OCD tendencies. I still tug on my pants, I suppose, but I wonder how much of that is actually habit, and how much is subconscious. The fact that I am now conscious of it is a step in the right direction. Michelle
was instrumental in my realization of some of the things about me that I never would have realized on my own.

Good friends, friends that really care, are a once in a lifetime thing. The thought of this school year
ending and our friends going in different directions is a difficult thing for me to come to terms with. We carry our memories with us for as long as we choose to, and I intend to carry the memory of my friends with me for a lifetime. The realization of me becoming an adult, and needing to make changes in my life to do so has become, or at least is becoming, a reality.

Progression. I learned to walk, I learned to talk, I learned to read, and I began school. Every year, at the end of the year, I feared the coming year. We were going to learn something new. We would be r
equired to do something more; become more intelligent, to be more adult like. Every year, I would ask someone, an upperclassmen, a question like, “
How difficult is fifth grade? I heard it was really tough.”
I would wonder, as the New Year approached, if I would even make it through it. Every year, I felt the same way, and every year I made it to the next. Before long, I needed to learn to drive. I was certain I would be that one kid that never learned. My first time behind the wheel of a car was a scary experience for all of those involved. Again, I was certain that I would not be able to master driving. In time, I did, and now I drive as well as any other senior in high school.

We reach points in time in our lives that require us to make progress toward being re
sponsible; a responsible teen, responsible high school student, responsible adult, responsible college student, responsible employee, and a responsible parent. I feel now, that the change from going to high school and becoming an adult is the first actual step that
we
take, as individuals. We have been walking and making progress all of our lives, but this step is the first that we take,
alone.
Doing something alone scares me, and I doubt that I am alone in this feeling. I may fear it more, because of my fear of failure, but I would guess now, knowing what I know, that we all have a little fear of failure. Some more than others, that’s a given.

I am ready to make decisions that allow me to make progress
in life, decisions that will allow me to be the best person that I can be. I want to accomplish something. I want to feel as if I have done something, and stand proud of myself, regardless of whether or not anyone else is proud of me. I am beginning to believe that I have the ability to accomplish anything, within reason, that I decide that I want to accomplish. I cannot have anyone decide for me, and I won’t make decisions based on what I feel others want me or expect me to do. I must make these decisions solely on my wants and needs. I suppose I am fortunate that I have parents that allow me the freedom to make decisions on my own.

I have three offers from colleges, and my parents are asking me what I am going to do. It
’s about time that I must make a decision, and begin making plans to relocate to the college, as they are all out of state. I am not scared, but there’s a reasonable part of me that has a fear, a fear not of failure, but a fear of change, and a fear of making it through the rest of my life alone. Not that I am going to lose my family, or lose my parents, but that, after this summer, I will be expected to be making my own decisions. Making my own progress. Just like my progress as a child from first to second grade. Third to fourth. The changes as a child that I feared every year. Now, it’s a new version of change. At least as a child, we had the summers to get ready for the change. As an adult, there are no summer vacations. You just do it. As Michelle says,
Time passes, and things change.

My parents were, after Britney’s suicide, very supportive of me, and had indicated that whatever I decided in regard to where I wanted to go to school, they would support me. It was comforting to know wherever I decided, or whatever I decided, they would support me. I just want the decision that I make to be the one that is best for me, not necessarily what is best for them, or what they expect. My new beginning in life, my new realization of who I actually am needs to be considered in this decision. To be quite honest, this decision comes at a difficult time, because in many re
spects, I feel like an infant, as if I am in the infancy stages of understanding the abilities of a new me.

I feel as if my parents made decisions in the manner in which they raised me that weren’t necessarily great ones. They, compared to other parents, had little or no experience when they raised me, as I was an only child. T
hey made decisions with no way of knowing the effect. A trial and error, I suppose. I am not making excuses for them, or justifying any shortcomings, but just considering what is realistic. I sit now with a small degree of fear that I will do the same thing. I do not care to raise children that are raised in the exact same manner that my parents raised me. My bad memories of growing up will not be repeated in raising my children, but the good ones will. I would like to think that we are not a product of our childhood, or of our parents, but a product of the environment that we are exposed to, and our ability to discern right from wrong.

Friday night,
lying in bed I prayed. I asked God for the ability to make decisions regarding his will, and his understanding of what was best for me. I fell asleep after a few hours of reclining, praying, and thinking. Normally, I fall asleep in five minutes. That Friday night was different. When I woke up, I was ready for a new beginning, a step into what would be a new world, a world that would welcome me, and give me the capacity to succeed and measure that success. Just like the life that I have lived to date. I got up, showered, and got dressed. I then went downstairs to talk to my parents.

Walking into the kitchen, I smelled my mother
’s cooking. Although I didn’t normally eat what she cooked for my father, I decided this morning that I would. We could eat together as a family.

“Mom, I will take some of whatever you’re cooking, it smells good,” I said, as
I leaned and kissed her cheek.

“Oh, g
ood morning, David, how did you sleep?” she asked.

“Great, thank you mother,” I responded, as I wal
ked to the table and sat down.

“You
r father will be in soon. He just went to shower. He just got home from his morning run. I will add some eggs in this for you,” she said as she cracked the eggs into the bowl.

I sat quietly as my mother continued to cook. As my father came into the kitchen, I was finishing reading the paper. He sat down about the time my mother started to put the plates on the table. As she placed the plates on the table, my father spoke for the first time of the mo
rning.

“Scrambl
ed eggs, bacon, and wheat toast. Now that’s a man’s meal, son,” he said, looking down at the plate, and back up at me. He drew a long, slow, deep breath in through his nose, smelling the food.

Mentally, I shook my head, knowing now that my father had shortcomings. “Yes
sir, it sure is,” I responded.

We sat and ate, and as we did, I began to talk of my future, and of the decision I had made the night before. It had been a decision I think I made the first time that Dr
. Baritz and I spoke after the suicide, and after my realization that I wasn’t homosexual.

“Mom, Dad, I have been thinking about my future, about my offers from colleges, and about what it is
I am going to do. Can we talk?”

“Let’s hear i
t son, isn’t that right Mary?” my father said, his mouth still half full of eggs.

“Yes, Joseph,” m
y mother said, without looking up from her plate.

“Well, I have considered what I think all of my options are, and what each option offers, and I have made a decision,” I looked at both my mother and my father independently, shifting my gaze back and forth as I spoke. “There’s no disrespect intended in my decision, but I have been told since my eighteenth birthday that I am an adult, and I am expected to act as an adult. My decision, I am afraid, is made.
”

“
Well, Christ, let’s hear it son. Jesus, enough with the production, where are you headed?” my father said as he picked his teeth with his fork.

“I’m going to th
e recruiter’s office after we’re done eating, I am going to be a Marine,” I said, both hands firmly on the table beside my plate.

My mother let out an almost inaudible, “Oh my,” at
the same time my father spoke.

He looked directly in my eyes as he spoke, and spoke very so
ft and stern, “Son, becoming a Marine isn’t something you do for anyone other than yourself. Don’t do this for me. Do you understand?”

I stood from my chair, and as I did, my father began to stand. I looked him in the eyes and spoke, “Sir, t
his is a decision that I made, for me. I am doing this. All alone, with no help from anyone else. It’s what I want, and I feel it’s where I belong. My decision is final, I am doing this.”

At that time, for the first time in my life, my father hugged me and said the following, “
David, son, I am proud of you.”

And, as I hugged him, for the first time in my life that I can recall, I was proud that I was his son.