Y’know I watched this movie at my school the other day. One that the student government was showing. I guess I am trying to get more involved with extracurricular activities. Meet new people.
Anyways, the movie was called The Bridge. Most of the people (perhaps all) there were there because 1.) they were involved in the student gov or 2.) they wanted extra credit for some class. So, maybe I was alone in wanting to see this movie, hoping that it would say something about suicide, besides how bad it is. Of course it was a bit over dramatic at times (drama in these sorts of movies is subjective….most movies) but it gave me some things to think about. I wanted to see it in a group setting because I don’t think I would be able to watch it on my own. They shoot many scenes from the land. Seeing the people walk back and forth on the bridge, specifically Gene Sprague. He paces back and forth throughout the entire documentary. They film it. They see him. They do nothing. A part of me got really angry about this. But upon interviewing Gene’s friends, he lived in so much pain and was so alone, so “not of this world”. That you have to question if it wasn’t for the best or not. He had been looking for a job for a long time, and the day he jumped was the day a job offer was on his answering machine.
Seeing this movie also makes me a little grossed out. A little disgusted with myself. Not necessarily seeing death that bothers me, but reveling in it. It should be recognized, surely, to not is to be foolish. The film wasn’t reveling in it by any means, but I still feel kind of dirty watching it. It is a person. That moment that moment when they lose their life. Should it be seen on a screen? Should it be viewed on TV? I don’t know. I kind of had the same thing about 9/11. It isn’t glorifying death, but…I dunno. I don’t know how to accurately describe what I feel. I think that mostly I am a fucking hypocrite. Suicide is sometimes the answer. I’d like to think that if I don’t die in an accident or something, that I will die by my own hand when I feel like I have lived a long life. I hope, sometimes, that I will make it that far.
I have thought about suicide more than a few times. Was so close to doing it a few months ago. Wanting to desiring to slash my wrists because I can’t get a hold of a gun easily, much less know where the most efficient way to position said gun. I have tried pills already and I can’t seem to get the correct dosage. Maybe a few bottles would do it, not just one.
I was so close this time, so close because one of the few things always holding me back is inflicting that burden on the people in my life, and because maybe maybe it will get better. That feeling started to slip away. I wanted to kill myself because each day during this previous semester got darker and darker I woke up angry, so angry I could just burn up, like I could tear this world apart. The thoughts of how I have wasted my few years on bullshit and how much I really should just give up on trying to fight myself.
It’s not like I haven’t been at this fucking school for the past FIVE fucking years.
Two weeks after my high school graduation I started here and have been trying to figure out how to be a fucking student ever since.
…
I wasn’t exactly a stellar student whilst in high school. I was more interested in getting as far away as I could from…this town. I found high school incredibly boring because it was just the same shit that they taught me in junior high and the same shit they taught me in grade school just more facts to remember, I reasoned to myself. I passed the aptitude test in my sophomore year and felt a sense of dread of realizing that the bar was set so low. At the beginning of each year, I was always placed in the college prep courses. It all felt like busy work, the same shit the regular classes were doing, just with more stuff to do. I was probably mistaken in all of these assumptions.
I spent my high school years ditching class, getting B’s in the classes I liked and failing at all the others because I didn’t show. Being told over and over again that I was smart, how I could get into a good college I could just apply myself. I saw the other kids zoom ahead of me in their “road to college”. Every semester, the guidance teachers got quieter and quieter as my chances of getting into ANY college dwindled. As I failed more and more.
When I could convince my best friend to ditch with me, we smoked in the boys’ bathroom that was next to the football field. If I failed at coercing, I whipped out whatever book I was reading at the time (have a weak spot for the treacherously titled “classics”) and found one of the many places to hide on campus. The only thing that mattered, reading. My home was miles away.
I always convinced myself that if I could just make it to college, if I could just graduate, everything would be ok. I would be better. It would make sense.
I am still the same shitty old person I always was.
JESUS CHRIST THIS IS LONG AND USELESS.
It is slowly getting better, I guess. It is slowly making sense. I am slowly figuring out how to study. Still doesn’t reduce the shame. Doesn’t reduce the sting of looking at my mile long transcripts, absolutely covered in W’s.
I can’t give up, though.
It’s all I’ve got.
