| Un Understandable Pain
Black and blue bruises, deep cuts designing the arms, stern and rigid face, the astray smile, and obstinately pessimistic views, all are characteristics of my friend. She was not always like this, however. When I first met her, she was an outgoing, unique individual who loved life. She was as carefree as a monarch butterfly. What changed this? I wish I knew.
June 12, 2003. She turns sweet sixteen, gets her driver’s license, and begins her own, unique odyssey in the curious world. How was I supposed to know this special day would lead to disasters and separate our friendship forever?
It was after the birthday pool party, when all the guests had departed, leaving her and I to clean up, that I noticed the “change”. She stated stoically, with no expression, “We are moving”, and busted with emotion and ran to the bathroom, crying. Well, I was in shock. We had been there for each other, forever. I could have never thought we would have separated before we turned thirty. Unfortunately, here she was, crying in her bathroom, and I, still standing outside with a plate of cookies in my hand.
I pulled myself together and approached her in the bathroom. Drip, drip, drip. Hovering over the toilet, I saw blood dripping from her left arm, near her brachial artery. It took me a few seconds to grasp the concept. I screamed. She turned around and fainted. What should I do? I was not sure how to handle this situation.
There was no one at home. I called 911 and let the operator know what was going on. In the interim of checking for pulse, stopping her blood, and putting an IV on, the Emergency Technician asked me perplexed questions about this incident. They were not informing me of anything but asking me a lot. Was she okay? I wished they would tell me.
After that, I did not see her for two days. I wondered, however, the reason for the actions. On the third day when I saw her, I went to the room where she had been sleeping. For a while, her parents and uncle surrounded us in silence. In an hour or so, she woke up. She sat up and stared at me. I looked at her parents to make sure she was all right and they left us alone.
I should have asked her how she was feeling. On the contrary, I blamed her. My voice rose and spoke abysmal and harsh words. She just sat there. I noticed she was murmuring, trying to express her thought. So, I calmed down and heard her, “Why did you tell?” I was not sure.
That question felt like a slap on my face, the one that leaves a bright red mark. I looked at her in anger and annoyance. A question ran through my mind, what else am I supposed to do? She looked at me and began speaking in fury. I remember every word of what she said. She told me that she could not help hurting herself, that with her moving to London, her parents on the verge of divorcing, her losing her best friend, and bewildering over her sudden out of control life, the only thing she feels like she can control is her physical pain. How can she think that?
I did not quite understand what she meant. Sure she is moving, but at least not to a new place, she knows exactly what London is like and she loves it there. Her parents always fight, but they will never get a divorce, they love each other too much. Sure, she is losing me, but we can still e-mail, call, and instant message. I did not understand what she meant.
That was all. She told me to get out and I did. This is how our friendship died. She continued to cut herself and cause her pain. Her parents continued to help her resolve her issues. And I continued to figure out what happened that night.
I wonder sometimes what she is up to, twenty years later. I wonder if she married her chemistry substitute teacher back in eighth grade. I wonder if she still lives in London. I wonder if she still remembers me.
How many times do we remind our parents that we are kids? How many times do we argue and make up? How many times do we ask for control? A lot. I wonder how could I be so self- absorbed to not view things from her perspective. I should have walked a mile in her shoes. I should have been there to help her out. I know it would mean a lot to me if I knew someone out there understands the agony I am living through.
I did not understand her perspective then, but now I am fully aware of why she did what she did to herself. She wanted control. Pain was her power to control her life. I am sure she had other harmless options to resolve her issues, but I am also sure that this option seemed the best to her at that time. Sure, she might still have bruises and scars on her but I bet she still has her open- minded, individualistic personality that truly makes her who she is. And I regret not seeing that side through her troubles.
- ZW ( I didint write it , but one of my good frnds did.) |
but i guess i am doing it...myspace has devoured me too.... i am moving to myspace, ive packed my bags just like the others and i am evacuating xanga
