When we were living in Grenada, I developed the bad habit of cutting myself on a regular basis. It was interesting how I got to that point. I was doing things that any other normal 13 or 14 year old girl would be doing, having crushes, kissing boys, cussing at school, listening to ''objectional music''....I know now that those were all normal things, but at the time I was sure I was doing wrong and needed to be punished for Jehovah to forgive me. I didn't want to tell my mother or my family, lest I upset them and they lose faith in me as being the good sweet baby they loved, so I found ways to punish myself. I'd deprive myself of food for days, eating just a plain salad and water, or nothing at all, pinching myself till I left a bruise, or slapping myself in the face over and over. Then one day I was reading a book in the library about a girl who would burn herself w/ cigarette butts...seemed logical enough to me. I couldn't get cigarretes, but we did have matches in the house. So one evening while my mother was out, I shut myself up in the bathroom, lit a match, blew out the flame so that nothing was left but a red glowing end...I shut my eyes and shoved it onto my inner arm. At first the pain was unbearable, but I wouldn't let myself pull it away. And then the pain left as soon as it came, and I was left with the biggest sense of inner calm and peace. I finally had to stop when my mother started asking where all the matches were going...and I was left empty again.
My brother-in-law was redoing the wallpaper in our kitchen and one day I stumbled across a box of razor blades he had left in a drawer in the kitchen. So I took one and went in my room. I studied it for a few minutes...then drew it over the skin on my inner arm. It was better than the matches! I sat there in awe as I watched the blood ooze out onto my arm...it was like watching all of the anger and pain that I had bottled up inside for so many years just seep out of me. Then I wondered how I was going to explain this mark on my arm...so I arranged the cuts so that they looked like my cat had scratched me. I must say I did a pretty damn good job b/c when my mother did end up seeing it...she said just that...''Did the cat freak out on you?'' I was invincible.
Then the shit hit the fan. When I joined the drama club that next school year, I stole one of the boxcutters that they used to cut out props. So then the school went on high alert upon discovering a deadly weapon was missing and began an immediate search and seizure. So of course I was found out. They called me into the principals office, and dumped the contents of my purse out. It was all harmless stuff...my journal, a few love notes, lipgloss, money....and a big giant boxcutter. So they began grilling me and I just sat there staring at the floor...I couldn't tell them. Then they threatened to call my mother and the cops. I became hysterical. I started sobbing and begging...''PLEASE DON'T CALL MY MOTHER! YOU DON'T UNDERSTAND! ANYTHING BUT THAT! PLEASE!'' I didn't give a damn about the cops...but I was terrified of my mother. I think I shocked the principal when I was more willing to meet w/ the law instead of my own mother...he asked why. I told him that I couldn't explain it...just please don't call her. He gave me one more chance to tell them the truth...so I pulled up the sleeve on my sweater and layed it on his desk. He said one word, ''Jesus!''.................Then they called my mother. It was all downhill from there. My mother went apeshit and I was suspended indefinetely. After another grilling by my mother and father in which I gave them nothing, they finally gave up and decided to call the elders.
These elders were those that were few and far between. They actually believed in doing the right thing and actually wanted to help people. One had known me since birth, Brother Barnes...he called my his Mexican china doll. The other was a good young man who had only been an elder for a month, Brother Harris. They came over and tried to talk to me...I just sat there and cried. So they asked me to step outside for a minute while they talked to my mother. They must have calmed her down considerably, b/c when I came back inside, the hateful look that had been etched in her face since she arrived at school, had softened into a look of despair and wanting to help. They asked me if they could help me...told me they wanted to help me...I just whimpered, ''I don't think you can.'' Then Brother Harris wrote something on a piece of paper and handed it to me. It said, ''Is it because you feel so alone and helpless? Do you have feelings that you can't explain and it's the only way to let them out?'' I broke down in heaving sobs and cried yes! I didn't know how he knew, but somehow he did. I found out later that he had been somewhat of a mentor in his previous congregation and had dealt with a young girl who also cut. They then suggested something to my mother which shocked the hell out of me...''Put her in counseling with a therapist. They could help her more than any of us.'' It was ironic b/c my wordly father had begged my mother for years to send me to someone (I think he could see something was wrong before she did), but she would say that all I needed was more personal study and field service. And then come 2 of Jehovahs servants and they're on the same page as my father...ironic huh?
It just so happened that one of the teachers that my mother worked with, her husband was a therapist. So she called them and arranged a meeting for that very evening.
I'll get to that next time. Time for a break.
luv, jojo