Part 35 (2/2)
Feeling sorry for myself?
A disastrous and complete...
I swear that it was the worst thing I had ever written. However, it had come from somewhere that needed to kick it out. Rocky's face appeared in my mind. I remembered when Cadence had been obsessed with pestering him when he had first come to Bent Creek. I remembered when I had first spoken to him. The very first thing I had said directly to him was, ”How did you do it?” or something like that. I had asked him how he'd tried to kill himself. Why had I asked him that, the exact day I had met him? What had I been thinking? He hadn't answered me.
I read the last four lines of the poem again: Carrying a heavy load upon my chest, Without a helpful trailer.
Feeling sorry for myself?
A disastrous and complete...
Disgusted, I did not want to continue. Nevertheless, I pressed the pencil to the paper again to decorate the rest. Bleed in the gray.
...failure.
I read the poem silently to myself. I read it again. Then I read it once more. That made three times I read that horrible poem before I broke the pencil in half and threw it across the room. Both parts of the pencil hit the metal legs of the table across the way, and it made a loud clang. This made Geoffrey look up at me.
”Kristen!” he exclaimed.
I aggressively pushed the paper away from myself, and it slid off of the table. Geoffrey shook his head and looked away from me. He didn't even ask me what was wrong. He didn't tell me to pick up the broken pencil pieces. He just looked away. For some reason, this made me angrier. I got up from the table and stormed off to my room. I wished the doors had locks on them. I'd keep everyone out, just like at home. I could go in my room and just lock the door. Keep it shut and stay in there for hours. Mom didn't care. I was out of her way. I sat on the edge of my bed and saw the BPD book sitting on the edge of the occasional table. I picked it up without hesitation.
”Tell me! Tell me what's wrong with me! Tell me now!” I screamed at the book.
Of course it didn't answer me back verbally. But Mr. Sharp was sure there. He was s.h.i.+ning through those sharp b.u.t.terfly wings that rested between the pages. I forgot I had left him in there. I shook the book to see what page he would fall out. He fell out of page 136 and landed on my lap. I kept the book open and looked at the page. Oh yes, I thought as I began to read page 136. It was on the chapter of symptoms of Borderline Personality Disorder: The constant feeling and fear of abandonment and being alone.
Frequent and sometimes extreme mood swings.
A changing and unsure sense of ident.i.ty.
Over-sensitivity to criticism and real or imagined rejection.
The constant feelings of worthlessness that quickly alters to belief that one is deserving of better treatment and recognition than what is given.
Do you feel that everyone is ignoring you? Do you feel that no one cares? Do you feel that you are the one who goes out of your way for everyone else, but that no one is there for you? Is that what you feel you deserve? And at times do you feel that you are being wronged?
”This doesn't make sense,” I said to the book. ”What are you talking about?”
The need for attention.
The fear of being alone.
Pus.h.i.+ng family and friends away and avoiding new contact in fear of being abandoned.
”What? I want her attention? But then I push her away? I called her!”
Impulsive behavior.
Depression.
Constant mood changes.
Violent outbursts.
Self injury and other self-destructive behavior such as the abuse of alcohol and drugs.
Suicidal hints and behavior.
Suicidal attempts that may be just to call for attention. Which sometimes leads to accidental suicide without the intention of succeeding.
I had nothing to say back to the book.
When it was time to meet with Dr. Pelchat, I didn't speak about Rocky. Dr. Pelchat didn't seem to be all the way there with me. I knew that it was because of Rocky's death. I wanted to ask him, just to make sure it was true. Dr. Bent wouldn't have said it was true if it actually wasn't. I didn't want to upset Dr. Pelchat anymore.
I told him that I had started to read the book on BPD. He was glad to hear that. He suggested that I read more. There was no talk about medication because he didn't have a diagnosis for me yet. He a.s.sured me that the test results would be back in a few days. I didn't know whether to be glad about that, because I didn't want to worry for a while, or if I should be anxious and upset because I'd be finding out very soon if I did have Borderline Personality Disorder. From what I had read, it seemed like I understood too well some of the words written down in that book.
”How are you feeling today, Kristen?” he asked.
I looked around the room and shook my head. ”I don't know. It's been a weird day. How are you?”
”Is how I'm doing really what concerns you right now?”
”I'm curious.”
”You know, Kristen, I'm curious about something too.”
My heart began to beat fast. I waited to hear what he had to say.
”Did you hear about Rocky's death?”
”Yes, I did,” I responded.
I could feel him staring at me. I still was not looking at him. Instead, I let my eyes roam around the room.
”How did it make you feel to hear that one of your peers actually succeeded in taking his life?”
I couldn't believe he was asking me this. He'd caught me off guard. I didn't say anything in response.
”Is it hard for you to talk about?”
”How did it make you feel, Dr. Pelchat? He was one of your patients.”
”My concern right now is you, Kristen.”
”Why is Rocky's suicide your concern for me? That doesn't make any sense.”
”It makes perfect sense, Kristen.”
463'>
<script>