When I was a teenager I thought I knew everything.. I guess most teenagers feel this way. I have a teenage daughter, and I see a lot of myself in her.
Remember when we were fourteen or fifteen and we thought our parents were idiots, totally uncool and basically, had no idea what they were talking about? Yeah, that’s where I am now. I find myself repeating a lot of the ideals that were told to me at that fork in the road age.
I remember my first heartbreak. Ugh. I was so devastated! I was totally head over heels in love with a boy that lived around the corner.. he was kind of cocky, super cute and really wanted nothing to do with me.. I am not sure why it was this last quality that attracted me most to this boy. Perhaps it was the fact that my father ignored me for most of my childhood and since I couldn’t get his attention, I could try to get a boy’s attention.
Needless to say, he wanted nothing to do with me. So I decided to date his older brother. Yeah, not the best idea. He was a really nice guy (ack!) and I just didn’t pine for him like I pined for his brother. Strike one. I dated the older brother for about three weeks and then the kid I crushed on decided to test my loyalties to his older brother. He told his brother (I came to find out later) that he was going to flirt with me and that I would ditch older brother. Younger brother nailed it. He was pretty smart for a sixteen year old, and I was devastated when he said to me, “I knew you didn’t like my brother, so I tricked you.” Nice, eh? However, I did like his older brother. He was tall and he made me laugh with his Peter Gabriel and Kinks impressions. But his brother liked me too.
I was so crushed by the “trick” played on me (which was one of a few different boys played on me) that I had enough and decided that it was time to get on with it. It was time to die.
I went into my room, I put on some Pink Floyd, took the razor blade I got from my dad’s top drawer and slit my wrists. Extreme, I know. But no one knew who I was. No one understood me. No one got what I was going through. Certainly not my parents. They were never really around at that crucial teen stage and it didn’t matter anyway. I felt it was too late for me. I was screwed.
I still have those scars on my wrists. They are a haunting reminder of how unhappy I was. The pictures of me around that time (none of which I am smiling in) are haunting reminders as well. I now use those scars to remind people about depression and suicidal thoughts should they ask. Not many do.
If I could go back and talk to myself, I would tell me that it was all going to be okay. That I was going to grow up and be a beautiful woman so smart and too wise. I would tell myself that everyone goes through a heartbreak or two and that it is the heartbreaks, failures and things that don’t work out that make us wiser and keep us strong. It is those things that help us to grow into strong, resilient individuals. I would tell me to have faith, it will all work out.
It always does.
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