Hey guys, sorry it's been so long since I've updated! A friend of mine died in January, so I needed some time to grieve and process my feelings. Then school got really crazy, and I didn't have much time to write. But now since school is out, I plan to spend a lot of time writing and updating this story!
Thank you all so much for your kind feedback, it really means a lot to me! :)
Also, due to the content of this story, I want you all to know that you are loved and cared for. If you are struggling, please reach out. You are beautiful, perfect, and you deserve to be healthy. On my next chapter I will post some hotlines and other resources if any of you are struggling with self harm or any other mental health issue. Please reach out to a parent, friend's parent, teacher, counselor, church person, or any other trusted adult if you need help. I love you all, and I'm always here to talk if you need it.
Without further delay, here is the next chapter! I hope you guys like it. Please leave constructive criticism, suggestions, or other comments! As usual, I don't own Chasing Life, all rights belong to their respective owners. I am simply a fan who likes to write about the characters.
PS: I'm really behind on Chasing Life episodes, so please bare with me if I accidentally mess something up!
I remember the moment I was told that my Dad was dying in the hospital. I was scared, sad, and angry. I wanted to kill Uncle George for what he had done. I was ravenous with rage. But after I was told that my Dad was dead, numbness spread over me, and I didn't feel anything. I don't know why it happened. It was like my body had shut down. I guess I had reached my emotional capacity. For weeks I could not feel anything. It was like protection, and nothing felt like it was real. I couldn't experience any form of emotion, and it was both a blessing and curse. The first time I felt this sad numbness, I was scared. But now I find the sensation peaceful.
When I cut my skin and drink, I am trying to recreate that empty feeling. Sometimes, I just want to be devoid of any feeling because emotions cause pain. Numbness protects me from the pain and guilt that is always gnawing at me.
Is it better to feel everything, or nothing at all? Is the first thought in my mind when I start to wake up. I have no idea where I am, the ceiling above me is covered in white tiles, and I am wearing a blue, flowered smock. It's almost peaceful, until I notice the IVs dripping medication in my bruised veins. I look at the bandages covering my arms, and then it all comes back to me. My heart almost stops when I see my Mother's tear stained face cupped in her hands.
I open my mouth to say something, but only a groan comes out. My head is pounding, I reach up to touch the bandage on my forehead, but my Mom pulls my arm away.
"Don't touch it. You hit your head on the side of the bathroom counter when you fainted. You had to get some stitches in your scalp, but it was a very minor wound, it'll be healed in no time." She says as she lowers my arm onto the side of the bed. She stares at the scars and bandages on my skin. Leaning back in her chair, I see her biting her lip in an attempt to hold back tears. Neither of us knows what to say.
"Brenna, why would you do this to yourself..." My Mom says quietly as a few tears roll down her cheeks.
I don't know what to say, so I don't say anything. Eventually I am able to mutter "I don't know."
My Mother stares at me hard in the face. "You could seriously hurt yourself. What if you would have cut in the wrong place, or hit a major vein and died?" Would that really be so bad? I think to myself as my Mother wipes the tears from her eyes. I open my mouth, but I close it. I feel embarrassed, and like I'm being interrogated. My Mom blows her nose, and asks me, "Why did you decide to this?"
I don't know what to say again, so I stare at the patchwork covering my body. The deep gash I made on my thigh has stitches in it. I run my fingers over it's bandage, and I can feel the pain radiating through my body. My Mother starts to cry again, and I can't watch. I didn't want to make her cry.
This is your entire fault. If you wouldn't have drunken so much alcohol, then Mom would never have found out about the cuts, and she wouldn't be so upset. Now she has more medical bills to pay, and she's going to be so mad at you. As if she didn't have enough reason to hate you. She should give up on you. You are horrible, and you ruin everything. I stare down at my hospital gown and bite my lip. The doctor comes in.
"Hello, Brenna. I see you are awake… " He is staring at the bandaged wounds up and down my body. I can from his expression that he thinks I am crazy.
"What's the verdict? Is she going to be… admitted?" My Mom gulps as she asks the doctor. I don't see why I would need to be admitted to the hospital. All of my wounds are bandaged; I just need to rest a little at home.
"We're going to talk to Brenna for a few minutes alone, Ms. Carver. Would you mind stepping into the hall?" My Mom takes a long look at me, and then heads to the hallway sniffling. Another man in a suit walks into the room and sits beside my bed. He looks to be in his late thirties. He has stocky brown hair and glasses, and the chain to a pocket watch hanging out of his pocket. I can tell he is trying to smile at me, but I don't want to look at him. The doctor leaves me alone in the room with the man.
"Hi Brenna, my name is Dr. Gerald. I'm a psychologist here at the hospital. I'm going to ask you a few questions, okay?" I nod my head without looking at him.
"Those cuts on your legs and arms, did you make them?" He asks me.
"…Yes." I reply slowly.
"Why did you decide to hurt yourself?"
I stammer. I don't want to answer, but something makes me feel like I should. "I… I just… I feel so horrible… I don't want to feel anything." I say, and I slowly turn to look at him. I expect him to look at me like I am crazy, but he doesn't. He just nods, and gives me a sympathetic look.
"I'm so sorry you feel that way. Is there a reason you feel so horrible?"
"I'm a terrible person. Everything is going wrong; I just want to stop feeling. Sometimes I feel like I need to punish myself for everything I've done wrong recently…" I don't know why I am telling this complete stranger this. I've barely know him and here I am telling him some of my most complicated emotions.
"I see. Why do you feel the need to punish yourself? Surely you're not that bad."
"Yes I am." I say instinctively. "I ruin everything." A tear slides down my cheek. Dr. Gerald hands me a tissue.
"I'm sorry you feel that way, Brenna." He says sincerely as I blow my nose. Once I'm done, he asks another question. "Brenna, do you still feel like you want to hurt yourself?"
"N…. No. Not right now."
"Are you looking to do anything more permanent, like suicide?"
"No, I'm not."
"Your Mom gave us some information about what you are going through right now, I'm really sorry about your sister. It must be really hard. Do you ever feel like what happened to her is your fault?"
Yes, I do, all the time. "Yeah, sometimes."
"Your Mom and I were concerned you might. You do know that it's not your fault though, right? You didn't make April get cancer."
"I-I know but… I wanted something bad to happen to her… I… I was selfish."
"If I had a sister as successful as April, I think I'd feel the same way. But I bet you're pretty successful too."
"I'm not as successful as her, but thanks."
"You're talented in your own way, Brenna, and you're not selfish at all, just human. " Dr. Gerald smiles back to me. "So you feel like you are in a safe place and you aren't going to hurt yourself again tonight?" He asks me as he stands up.
"Yes." I say as I feel the wounds burn beneath the bandages.
"Good. It was nice meeting you, Brenna. I'll see you again soon." Dr. Gerald leaves the room, and I listen to him talk to my Mom and the doctors outside.
"I think she seems safe. I don't think she is going to hurt herself again any time soon, so I don't think she needs to be admitted to the adolescent psychiatric ward. But keep a good eye on her, and don't let her be alone. Encourage her to talk about her feelings with you." I hear Dr. Gerald shift through his coat. "I think Brenna would benefit from weekly therapy sessions with me. Here's my card." I tune out the adults and lean back in my bed. Psychiatric ward!? They wanted to put me in the Looney bin? There's a mirror on the wall across from the bed. I catch sight of myself, and stare at myself hard in the eyes. Am I crazy?
My Mom and the doctors return to the room. "Brenna, we are going to discharge you form the emergency room. But try to find alternates to hurting yourself. You had very severe, deep wounds from cutting. And you developed alcohol poisoning after drinking so much liquor. We had to pump your stomach. This situation could have been much worse." My Mom walks over and stands next to the bed, I can still hear her sniffling. "You will have weekly therapy sessions with Dr. Gerald so you can talk out your feelings and anxieties, and he can teach you healthier coping mechanisms for dealing with your emotions." I nod, and look at my Mom, whose eyes are red and puffy.
"Thank you, doctor." My Mom says. The doctor nods and leaves the room. Once he returns with the discharge paperwork, my Mom helps me into the car and we drive home. We drive in silence It is tense, and neither of us know what to say. I glance at the digital clock in the car, and it is close to midnight. Right now, I am feeling so many things; Hurt, anger, and sorrow. The painkillers the doctors gave me make me drowsy. I fall asleep in the car, watching the wind pick up leaves and carry them. That is how I feel right now, like a small leaf lost in a tornado.