Almost too small to see
Open only under mighty pines
-----
It was early morning and I was still fuzzy from a needle. And a long talk with a counselor. Shrink. Whatever.
Jarrod, after he signed some school insurance stuff, helped me find the way down a different elevator than I remembered and turned me the right way...
Almost everyone was still there and they came in a crowd when Jarrod opened the doors, Dennis and
Mom and Dad were there. Just got there.
Even after talking to a shrink and a counselor guy almost all night (it felt like, anyway), even numb, I started crying again.
I really didn’t want to tell Mom and Dad what I felt like, ever, or how bad...
Or anything.
-
Mom and Dad came over and hugged me away from Jarrod and they were both crying. Mom more.
It was a long time.
Dad stopped hugging first, or at least part-hugging, because he kept just my hand... and I guess that made Mom stop too, though she kept an arm around me.
I felt really better they were there, but way worse too.
-
Jarrod had called them when we were waiting, really early on, and they drove down, all night.
-
I'd promised the counselor guy, and I guess I wasn’t going to do it, but it was embarrassing, and I still had.
I mean, I was afraid what everyone would think.
Embarrassing was such a stupid word when I was going to kill myself.
And it wasn't even possible to be embarrassed enough about the other stuff.
-
They took us out for breakfast after they made me say it was okay, and that I was awake enough, and everyone else was.
They sat beside me, around me, and Dennis sat on the other side with Patty and Jarrod, and everyone else was at the next table and were all close. The girls and Gary.
They told them more stuff, after Dennis told them stuff, and so on. But he didn’t tell them about what he told me about, about loving his friends, me.
Or kissing me.
But he looked at me like he did, still, even then, after.
He smiled and I knew it was 'cause of the others, not me.
Not even Mom and Dad.
-
“Are you still alright, honey?”
Mom almost whispered it, and I think it was because I was being so quiet. Not everything, just about that. Right then.
I nodded I was, and I was.
Better, anyways. Better than wishing I could hurt more. So I was better. So I tried to smile. I was still drugged, too.
“I’m better, Mom. Thanks.”
She smiled at me for real for the first time.
Dennis smiled, on the other side. Too.
Anne was at the other table, nearly beside Patty, and she was looking at me, or all of us, when I noticed her, and it was different than everyone else.
Patty sat up. Anne looked at her and they'd been talking.
“You’re staying, aren’t you, Bobby?” She thought something before I could.
“In residence, I mean? He can, can’t he?” She switched to Mom and Dad.
“I mean none of this, this weekend, I mean, is because he was in rez, and he has good friends, and Dennis and...”
Dad kinda lifted his hand up an inch and she stopped. Nobody said anything for a few seconds and I tried to think what I should say, if I could. I looked at Dennis, to see if he could say, I think.
And I thought about how I thought he was going, not me...
“Bobby?”
I looked at Dad. He was talking slow, the way he does when it’s important, and Mom really held my arm and hand hard.
“Do you want to stay?”
I don’t know what my face looked like, but Dad looked like it was okay. I tried to think how to say it.
Like, if Dennis wasn’t there. Like if I didn’t have sedatives in me.
They knew I was thinking... that I'd *thought* about hurting myself, and they still weren’t mad at me. But they had to be scared, too. And Dad still asked if I wanted to.
I'd told Dennis about dressing, and he was still really nice. He just teased me, I think. *I* was the one who tried to hurt me.
I looked up at Dennis and he smiled and I remembered that he said he still wanted to be my roomie. That he said that exactly. That he wanted to keep being my roomie. And what his mom said. He was protective of me, she said.
I started to shake, I was so scared.
I figured out what I had to say to Mom and Dad. That I had to.
That I never thought I ever would.
-
I made Mom and Dad sit on Dennis’ bed and Dennis sat beside me on mine and I was almost too scared to start. So I was quiet for a while.
I kept thinking that the doctor guy would tell them anyway... so I could. I had no idea if that was true, but I kept saying it so I could...
But I was still scared beyond belief. Bigger than scared, but I guess that’s the best word. Terrified.
I was too scared to touch Dennis in front of them, afraid they’d laugh at me or hate me. But I moved so his leg was near my knee.
He put his arm around my shoulders.
I wanted to die. But I didn’t want to die. I really didn’t. But it felt like I was going to. See how scared isn’t enough word?
I leaned a little bit over, away, and I knew Dennis understood. I still had to close my eyes.
And he kept his arm there, too.
-
I told them about cutting. Mom got really sad and cried but Dad hugged her and Dennis hugged me.
I told them I had to, or I would’ve been worse. That when I cut, I stopped feeling like I had to die for a while, when it'd been too hard. That the pain in a cut wasn't as bad as the pain in my heart... and put it outside...
I told them I'd wanted to kill myself, before, last night, and even a little bit before breakfast, but I didn’t any more.
But I told them I could still think about it like it was real, too, like it was easier than anything.
That it was really scary, but I couldn’t stop that memory of wanting to.
-
I almost fainted from breathing too hard, and Mom came and whispered that there wasn’t *anything* I could say that would make her not love me, anything. Dad came around and hugged me hard too, after Dennis sat over on the other bed.
-
I talked as loud as I could, which wasn’t very, and told them I used to put on some of Mom’s and Carol’s clothes, and used to have some of my own too. Until I left for there.
I stayed really still then, and waited for them to hate me, or laugh. I don’t even know why I told them that, then. It was way worse than the cuts. In between cutting and death.
But Mom and Dad just hugged me harder and I finally opened my eyes and Dad was sort of smiling at me. I mean, he wasn’t happy-smiling, but he wasn’t mad either?
“We already knew...”
-
They knew about the cutting from Mr. Tarrington, my school counselor who knew, kinda, in my high school...
They all knew I wasn’t happy, and that I wasn’t like a normal guy, and that I cut, and that was why Mr. Tarrington had to tell... and even if he didn't, they knew that I dressed. Mom and Dad knew. Barry and Carol.
Carol told Barry. She had to.
Mom said my sheets and some towels and stuff were blood-stained and she already knew something, even the first time. And Mr. Tarrington had told them about what we talked about, about the cutting, and that I was trying to not get worse and that he would’ve told them if I got worse... and that I shouldn’t go to State.
They called him. He'd kept my secret. He told them it was a borderline thing, but he thought I was safe.
Mom and dad told him about my dressing. My stories.
He'd said that I should go here. That people like Jarrod and Anne were here. And maybe someone like Dennis.
And the Psych study I was in.
-
I didn’t understand all of it. They said so much.
-
The shot they gave me finally made me go to sleep. Or being up all night.
-
When I woke up Dennis was sitting like he does, reading or doing homework or something.
He told me it was late Monday, because I was confused. I thought it was Sunday morning for a long time. It felt like Sunday.
He said Mom and Dad were in a room downstairs and they were going to stay at the school for a few days.
Or I could go home with them. Or other things. I was still fuzzy.
-
He sat and rubbed my arm while I woke up, finally.
I looked at his hand and thought through all the things I could remember from the weekend.
“How can you know?”
He looked at me like I wasn’t very clear. “Know what?”
I thought more.
“Dad said you, and Jarrod, you knew about me, or the school...”
I tried to think more. I was still half-fuzzy. But I really needed to know. “I never told my, my counselor... in high school...”
He put a nice, firm pressure on my arm.
“I mean, about...”
It was too hard to say dressing up. Even though he knew.
He still just touched, held my arm. It was more than holding.
I looked and he was waiting and listening. I tried to get it right.
“Did you know about me? Before? Before I told you?”
He turned a bit more to face me, to sit more facing me, and then kinda rearranged my arm and blanket so he was holding my hand outside the blanket. All like he was trying to not let me go while he did it. Then he looked right in my eyes and was serious, but not mad at all.
“Okay. No, I didn’t know. But I knew that your parents were afraid about you hurting yourself, and that you were maybe gay, or not.” He smiled at me really nice.
“They said you were probably not gay, and maybe bi, and maybe transgendered, and... well, I figured out you were pretty much a girl pretty fast.”
I guess my face was odd.
“When you moved in, Barry hugged you just like your mother did, did you know that?”
I didn’t, and shook my head. I didn’t know what he was talking about either.
“When you were moving in, when you were really sad sometimes that day, that first weekend? You'd kinda sit down or just stand there a few times and your face would be so sad, and a couple of times your mom or Barry hugged you.”
He looked at me and thought. “He did it once, but I noticed he did it the same way she did...”
He really squeezed my hand, and pulled it more into his lap. Then he smiled better.
“It wasn’t really like they were doing it the same, but it was more like it was with a girl, I thought...”
He looked in my eyes.
“I thought it was like you were a girl. To Barry. And then I looked at the way your mom was, and your sister, and even your father, a bit, and they’d already told me you might not be gay, and I thought maybe you were a girl, right then.”
I tried to think and remember and almost had to concentrate just to not wander off in my thoughts.
“How did anyone... I mean, here at rez, or..? Know?”
He nodded a little.
“I think maybe your guidance counselor probably told your parents about here. When I applied here I read... um, the calendar had a pretty big section on counseling and safe campus and rez stuff, and about peer support and students who might be in danger from harrassing, and I knew I wanted to be part of it, because of Justin?
"So anyway, when I applied for rez I checked off all that on the forms and they phoned me right away after I was accepted, and I came here in August for an interview but they didn't have anyone to match with me, or that wasn't already with someone or whatever... I dunno. But I guess when you registered late, or as soon as you were set up to come here, which was pretty last minute, I guess, they called me about you and you sounded nice from what they said, or at least not like a jerk, and I said I’d take you as my roomie.”
He looked at me like I wasn’t looking too good. I wanted to cry.
“And I’m *not* your counselor or you’re my project or anything.” He leaned way down and hugged me up.
“You’re...”
He sat up again and looked at me and he had tears and I did too and I think that was why. He put a hand right on my chest.
“I just got to choose you as my roomie, before we even met, and Jarrod got to choose us, or people like us? for his floor.”
He smiled worse and let go for a second to wipe his face and mine and took my hand again.
“I thought you’d be... like... Justin...”
He started to cry, sniffed and gasped really hard, and hid his face with his arm and I knew he was disappointed I wasn’t and I got sad, like before; and like before I started to feel worse and tried to stop showing it.
When I started to turn so he wouldn’t see me he almost hurt my hand.
I looked.
He still had all the tears and was wasn't trying to pretend he didn’t.
“I *don’t* want you to be like him... I just thought that *then* and you weren’t and I’m not comparing you! I like you just the way you *are*!”
He stopped hurting so much, but he kept holding hard, and put his other hand back.
“I...” He stopped, and his eyes looked like he was still hurting.
“I’m sorry.”
-
Justin only wrote him once, the second week. I knew he’d written him more than a few times, and about ten long e-mails. I remember how much he’d liked me telling him stuff from Barry’s and Carol’s letters that they’d written me in the same envelope from State almost every week. And their pictures. Justin hadn’t even e-mailed. He'd even got calls from Justin’s parents. They hadn't gotten more than a letter or two, either.
All at once I thought about how he was lonelier than I ever was for Barry and how I had him but he didn’t have Justin...
How bad I must've been for a roomie because I was so depressed' so often...
I started to cry again when I figured it all out.
-
We called from Jarrod's room. He had a university-paid phone.
Dad said I should call them and not to worry about the charges and we used Jarrod’s phone in his room and I made Dennis talk to both of them, Barry and Carol, after we got them both on the same line after about fifteen minutes, and I told them about what I... was, I guess.
It was hard, but way easier than before because I knew they knew. And they *were* really good, and not mad, and Carol cried and even said she was happy.
But mostly I wanted Dennis to have them as his friends, like they were to me, like he was. Even if they were all the way at State.
Even if he wasn't really a friend. To me.
I already knew they’d be ok with him. I just knew.
I didn’t say that, but that’s what I meant. It made my chest hurt, it felt so good.
-
When we hung up after more than an hour, it was past eleven.
I hugged him as hard as I could, the way he always seemed to do me, and tried to make up for Justin and the way I was.
Was before.
----
End of Part Nine
Comments
What a precious story
...the parent in me wants to hug both of these kids. And I am appreciating the way you've birthed them; so tender and gentle even through their pain. This is such a special story, and you have blessed me today. Thank you.
She was born for all the wrong reasons but grew up for all the right ones.
Con grande amore e di affetto, Andrea Lena
Love, Andrea Lena
Whispers, Pt. 9
What a great family and friends he has. Too bad that it took so much drama for Bobby to tell the truth about himself. Now I wonder how long it'll be before Bobby decides to be Bobbie?
May Your Light Forever Shine
May Your Light Forever Shine
He does have great friends and family.
But I must take issue with one point. I don't look at this as being drama. This child is in a deep pit of despair. A boy who feels that a stab wound to his leg is less painful than the inner pain he feels is desparate and feels utterly hopeless. Unlike a very few who might seek attention, I believe this boy is really so sad and scared and feeling like he'll never be happy, and that's not drama at all; that's tragicly all too real. Thankfully Dennis has provided him with an unconditional acceptance which requires nothing from either boy except to just be who that are, whatever that is.
She was born for all the wrong reasons but grew up for all the right ones.
Con grande amore e di affetto, Andrea Lena
Love, Andrea Lena
Drama... or: How big a nerd I am
Long before modern theatre and media, back as far as the ancient Greeks, there were only kinds of formal drama: Tragedy and Comedy.
By these definitions, Romeo and Juliet is a tragedy, not a love story, and the Bard labeled it so. He stuck to the classical meanings, almost two thousand years after they were defined. Everyone in Europe did, back then.
When the main characters died: tragedy.
When they all lived (mostly): comedy.
Historical dramas were the exception: the stories were based on "true" events. Boring, happy and sad.
Comedies were often 'real life' stories and not all that funny, but with a good outcome. Happiness and tears, love and hate and fear... but the people live, to love and cry again.
Funny and comedy are very modern (after the middle ages 'modern') associations. Only in *really* modern times have we required our tragedies to have *no* humor. There's a lot of joking around in Hamlet, Macbeth... and in Romeo and Juliet, too.
Bobby and Dennis are characters in a DRAMA. Teetering on the edge of death - and life - does not make this a tragedy. Just a little bit like real life.
Michelle
I would call it more an awakening!
Bobby has bottled his fears to the point where they have become septic.
He finally has the courage to tell all and finds out they all knew anyway or at worse guessed!
He can now live his life without his self inflicted mutilations and inner fear of humiliation - or can he.
Yes - with a little help from his friends!
I thought the story got a little bogged down and now it is moving along a little which is great.
Thanks Michelle for an interesting but heart rending story.
LoL
Rita
Age is an issue of mind over matter.
If you don't mind, it doesn't matter!
(Mark Twain)
LoL
Rita
Rising Above It All
Bobby is back on track. I hope he can finally accept the acceptance. He's got a wonderful family and supportive friends to help get him through this.
Hang in there, Bobby! You can do it!
Thanks for the story.
- Terry
DRAMA ??????????
ALISON
What drama is there in a Transgendered person mutilating
themselves.Part of my PTSD is from the dozens of poor young
kids like 'Bobby' that I saw back in the '70's who did dreadful things to themselves out of sheer frustration and despair.
And when there was no one there to help them they committed suicide.
There is absolutely no drama in that,and to say so is obscene.
I am sorry,but that is how I feel.ALISON
ALISON
I totally agree
Michelle has taken the time to explain what drama is in the context of theatric expression; Tragedy vs. Comedy as Drama. But the phrase, "too bad it took so much drama for Bobby to tell the truth about himself" implies histrionics or attention seeking behavior, which is quite different than Michele's excellent explanation.
I have worked with teens who cut themselves. Their cutting isn't drama; it's a cry, not for attention, but for basic affirmation and love, coupled with a fear that they won't be heard or understood.
And to imply that Bobby was being less than truthful? To a kid who is self-harming, cutting actually helps them establish a sense of control, as odd as that sounds. It is their "truth" in a way, much like a child with an eating disorder. As Michele has so carefully laid out the story, this is a kid who feels rejection and anticipates rejection; he is confused and scared and his self-harm indicates a lack of self worth. And the pain of cutting also acts as a distraction, like Andrea said; a child who finds it comforting in a way for a physical wound to be less painful than the hurt inside. Perhaps the phrase could have been,
"It's a shame that a kid is dealing with so much inner turmoil and self-doubt that he feels hopeless enough to harm himself, but at least he's been able to discover some things about himself and others that lead him to believe he's worth something."