In September last year I started feeling kind of upset. I just assumed that I was still grieving for my mom or my friends or just grieving for my old life. Obviously these losses will never fully heal and I think of them everyday but it could not account for the extreme loss of feeling I suffered last year. At more than a year after the fact I don't think that it can even be considered a trigger. In January, I told you all that I went to Haiti for a few months and volunteered with orphans. That was extremely cowardly of me and I regret lying to you all. I was ashamed that I became depressed and needed to get help or I would have successfully killed myself. That post has been weighing on me and I feel as though I should clear the air, this is what happened instead.
This post will get kind of graphic.
In late September I sat on my roof just above my bedroom window, from there I can see the water of Deep Cove and the marina where the boats leave the dock every morning. I used to sit up there a lot. When I first discovered the place it was exhilarating. Once I had reached the peak I straddled the roof and looked in awe at the perfect view, no screen from a window or railing from a balcony blocking any part of it, for about 5 seconds before my mom saw me as she was eating her breakfast on the back patio. She forcefully controlled her voice, speaking slowly and deliberately while trying not to let it tremble, she ordered me to get off the roof and get into my room. Once I got to the safety of the floor inside my home she yelled at me for so long that I missed the bus for school and she had to drive me in, during which time she yelled some more. Her yelling deterred me for a week but the excitement of being so high and seeing so much overwhelmed the fear of another angry mom. I would wake up early in the mornings to sneak a sit before my mom would wake up and then whenever I became angry with her I would go sit up there to scare her. Before long if I was ever upset or just bored I would go to the roof and wait it out a while. The thrill of the adventure died down and the roof became a peaceful solitude. Every time I returned though, I felt something, starting with excitement until it turned into peace. When I returned to the spot after at least two years I expected the same emotions to return. The roof seemed steeper and the drop to the ground must have doubled, but when I made it to the top I didn't feel excited and I didn't feel peace. I sat up there and the view didn't impress me. I wanted my mom to be eating breakfast on the patio and to see me and yell at me to "get back inside the house immediately young man", or for my brother to wonder where I was and just know that I'd be on the roof and join me even though he was as terrified as my mom of falling. None of that happened, I just sat on the roof in the mild September air.
I slid down the roof and back into the window. I walked down the basement where I relocated to get some space from Izzy and my dad (they have broken up since, and is currently trying out the single life). I put my hair wax and cologne on my bedside table then went into my closet and pulled out my grey suit, white dress shirt, black tie, black dress shoes, socks, boxers, undershirt, watch, and tie clip. I laid them all out on my bed for my dad. I pulled two letters out of my top desk drawer addressed to my dad and to Paul and slipped them into the suit jacket's inside breast pocket. I checked to make sure my room was in order then I hung up the clothes I was wearing and moved to the bathroom. I turned the shower on and got the water warm then moved to the sink to shave. I looked at my brown hair and for a second wished that it was blond again. I turned off the tap, washed the stubble down the drain and straightened the hand towel on the bar. I stood in the shower because the water would stop the blood from clotting.
My dad came down to my room maybe twenty minutes after I got into the shower. He was making waffles and wanted to know if I had breakfast yet. I didn't lock my bedroom door or the bathroom door, they weren't even closed. He must have walked into my room and knocked on the open door calling my name. When he didn't get a response he walked in and saw my clothes laid out on the bed and called my name again, maybe a bit louder. He could already hear the shower going so he peered his head in the door to see if I was there, not seeing anything he walked into the bathroom and moved toward the shower. He couldn't see my silhouette through the fogged up glass door but he tried my name one more time. Getting no response he slowly opened the door and saw my body passed out on the shower floor. He quickly pulled the top half of my body out of the shower and onto him and he reached for the towels beside him while calling for Izzy to hurry and help. My body was already getting cold and pale but he wrapped my forearms tightly in hand towels and called an ambulance.
The paramedics arrived and tried to stabilize me with a saline solution so I was well enough to be moved to the hospital. I spent a few weeks there recovering physically until I was released to a centre in Washington. My dad visited me there every day until December when I was allowed to return home and make the adjustment to everyday life once again.
