I was a sophomore in high school the first time I almost died. This would be the only time it was self inflicted. When you are a teenager, filled with hormones, every slightest thing seems like the end of the world. When several things happen that seem to be so drastic you don’t know how you’d survive just one, let alone all, happens; it tends to make life overwhelming.
I met this guy through a friend of mine. He was 19, extremely gorgeous, had a cool car, and just seemed like a total badass. He was what every teenage girl fantasized about. We chatted on the phone a few times before I agreed to go on a date.
This was in the late 90s, dating was a lot simpler back then- talk, like each other, guy picks girl up for a date. See? Simple. I agreed to a date with this guy, and he comes to pick me up. I purposely agreed to one when my mom would be working and my stepdad, may he rest in peace, would be drunk and not paying attention.
I sat outside on my porch until this very cool purple Eclipse pulled up. I’m a total geek when it comes to cars and this one was so cool and slick. I stand up, my heart pounding, as the door opens and this handsome guy gets out. He was a little shorter than my 5’8″ self, well built (he was a boxer), blonde hair, blue eyes, and the most amazing dimples. KVB was the hottest guy I have ever seen.
I fell in love instantly. We got in his car and he took me out to eat. We dated for a year. Looking back, I can see how naive I was, but back then I thought he was God’s gift to women. So naturally I took everything he said to heart.
When he would say things like “You know, you would be perfect if you’d just lose that belly”; I didn’t have a belly really. I had a little pouch that would easily go away if I had done sit-ups. I was only 112lbs at 5’8″, built like a barbie doll.
One of his other “compliments” to me was “I’m a pretty boy and pretty boys don’t date ugly girls”. That was how he told me I was pretty. Looking back I laugh at how I’d hang on to his every word. I believed him when he said the Garter belt that suddenly appeared in his rearview mirror wasn’t anything but a joke. Boy was I dumb.
I lost my virginity to him 5 days before my 15th birthday, January 19th, 1998. You always remember your first time. I told my mom that I had school, even though it was Martin Luther King Jr. Day, and walked towards my bus stop. He was waiting on the side street down my road. We went back to his uncle’s house, where he was living.
I won’t go into all the dirty details but I will say this much: his idea of easing me into my first time was to have me on top, I was surprised it didn’t hurt. But a week later when we did again It really hurt. Guess I was just really relaxed that day. Who knows.
Anyways, back to the original topic, the first time I tried to kill myself. He had just broken up with me the day before, I went to school in a daze, completely heartbroken and feeling like my whole world was gone. My best friend, kept asking what was wrong. I wouldn’t tell him because he wouldn’t have been very nice to the love of my life had he known what he had done.
You see, my best friend, DR, was a “Crip” and I didn’t want to risk him or my ex.
I told my best friend to leave me alone, dumb mistake. He said “Fine! You want left alone, I’ll leave you alone. Don’t speak to me again!” That broke me even more. I somehow made it through the day. I got home that afternoon and found a letter from my mom. It said
“If you don’t change your ways you can go live with your dad”.
This was her way of telling me I needed to clean. I was a relatively good kid: I never went anywhere without her knowing, and when I did leave I would leave a note saying when I left, when I’d be back, who I was with, and a number to reach me at.
This note, on top of everything else, was the cherry on top so to speak. I found a bottle of my stepdad’s heart pills and took about 10 of them. When after a few minutes it didn’t do anything, I ran to our basement and found a bottle of beer that we had hidden from my stepdad (he was an alcoholic Marine from Vietnam- but that’s another story).
My best friend, CC, who lived across the street came over about the time I was drinking the beer. I loved this boy so much, he was always there for me and looked like a famous Rascal. He came over to check on me and found me drunk/drugged. I was dancing around my living room, drinking the beer, and doing “sexy dances” to oldies.
CC grabbed the beer from me and poured it out. He then took the pills when I tried to take more. He made me sit down on the couch and kept an eye on me. He watched over me for hours, being the perfect friend and gentleman, even when I kissed him! He had the softest lips I have ever kissed.
Somehow, he got me to my room and put to bed. I slept like the dead until the next morning. I woke up completely groggy and disoriented. I looked at the clock and I couldn’t read the numbers, they were all bunched together. I knew I couldn’t go to school that day, so I went across the hall.
I knocked on my mom’s bedroom door and made some excuse about missing the bus and not allowed to show up late. I can’t believe she fell for that. I went back to my room and it was all spinning, everything was foggy and distorted. I knew I needed to confess.
I should probably stop this here. Come back next week for the rest of Turning Trauma into Success- A Memoir. It’s already way to long. I hope you have enjoyed everything so far.
Until Next time,
Trista
