Have you ever been trapped in a memory? A feeling of nostalgia brought on by a place or situation that is so strong it pervades the day, night, time?
I really hate the month of September. I've written about that many times. I've written about being thrown out. I've written about Lisa's death. I've written about my hatred of the fact that I was even born.
But there is another September... event... that started my hate and dread of September long before that. I have mentioned it here and there in passing. I think it's time I discussed it further.
Early September for the longest time meant a mental replay of an older Pain- a memory of what could have been, and wasn't. These events led to my first suicide attempt, which I have detailed elsewhere. As the weather subtly shifted from sultry August nights to crisper September days, I found myself trapped by sights, smells, and feelings of a particular September.
In 1990, I was working at TGI Fridays. I was a bartender/server and wore the silly red and white striped uniform required back then. I called it "the Clown suit." (The movie Office Space brilliantly parodies this uniform with "Chotchkie's.")
I was deeply depressed, and had been for over two years. The betrayal by my college girlfriend, and leaving the first place I ever loved (Penn State) due to graduation sent me into a deep tailspin, which wasn't helped by my inability to find a real job. Also, there was the fact that for seven years, I'd denied my Truth- by this point, it was just a dark blot on my rotting soul.
But, in late December 1989, I met someone. I'll call her "Becky" to preserve her anonymity. She was 19, and an English Education student at a prominent local university. Through the winter and spring our romance blossomed. Despite my feeble attempts to stay detached, I fell head over heels in love. She said she had as well. In fact, we talked about getting married someday after she graduated and I found a "real job."
However there was a slight hiccup. You see, she'd accepted a summer job as a Ranger at Philmont Scout Ranch in Cimarron, New Mexico. She's worked there before, but in staff positions. Now was the chance for her to fulfill her dream of being a Ranger!
Of course, that meant we'd be apart from late May until late August. In addition, she wouldn't have much telephone access. Our main form of communication would be letters. I also would sent cassette tapes I'd record- one side of me talking and the other of local radio. I figured I'd be fine. She told me that if I wanted, she would cancel her trip and stay home that summer. I knew that if she did, she'd always regret it, and would blame me for it. Besides, it's something she really wanted. So in late May 1990, she flew to New Mexico.
However, I managed to save enough to visit her for her 20th birthday in late June. It was my first flight since I was five years old. I flew to Denver, rented a car, and drove south to Cimarron. It was a long drive. Maybe someday I'll detail this trip in another blog entry. It was, for a time, one of the most amazing weekends of my life. In any case, we promised each other that we would spend the rest of our lives together- that we would get married.
As July became August, the tone of Becky's letters changed. She didn't share her feelings as much (which she's always done previously.) Then, a rare phone call- there'd been a car accident. She'd been out riding in another ranger's car when it went out of control and crashed. She was hurt, but "not badly." However, it was bad enough that she couldn't hike for the rest of the summer. She spent the remaining month in base camp, recovering. While there, she struck up a romance with that other Ranger- I'll call him "Chaz."
I heard about Chaz on the more infrequent phone calls- and in one letter. (Yes, I still have her letters. They are in a pocket folder in storage.) She didn't SAY that they hooked up or anything, but I knew her well enough to read between the lines. My college girlfriend cheated on me- now Becky was.
With age, I understand a few things I didn't back then. These were young women (Becky and college girlfriend)- too young and yes, immature to really commit to something like marriage. Actually, so was I, but I wouldn't admit it to myself. I HAD to get married- only that would cure me of the Dark Secret I knew was still inside me.
I plunged into a deeper depression, fueled by Fear and Doubt. I counted the days until she was expected home. One of the agreements we had was that I would write a lot while she was gone. I started a story in early summer, but that story took a much darker turn during this time.
In mid-August, a letter arrived from her. Instead of flying home as planned, she was going to drive home- a road trip across the United States. After all, she wrote, when would she ever have another opportunity like this? What could I do? Say no? I was already deep in paranoia and depression, and she knew it. It was scaring her, she wrote.
So it was that she started across the country. She had no idea how long the trip would take- so I had no idea when she would arrive. She called me once during that trip- from Colorado. She'd been to the top of Pikes Peak that day, and was staying at a motel near there. She told me who her travelling companion was: Chaz.
I was back working at Fridays by then, after a short leave of absence to work an editing contract at Boeing Helicopters. The Pain and depression piled onto the stress of that job (and if you've never worked food service: it can be VERY stressful.)
One night, my friend R was home on leave from the Army, so all of our group gathered for a late night poker game. Part of me didn't want to go, as I didn't want to miss a phone call from Becky (we didn't have an answering machine then.) I left a note for my parents saying where I'd be, as well as a phone number.
Around 10:30 that night, the phone rang there- it was for me. Becky was home. She wanted to see me. I cashed out my chips (I was up one whole dollar) and drove at very high speed down 422 to her parent's house. I remember WMMR was playing a block of John Cougar Mellencamp. For years after, I couldn't stand to hear his music.
I arrived at her parent's house. She was waiting outside on the side porch. She's gained weight and walked with a slight limp. Her hair, having not been cut for months, was a shaggy curly chaos. We hugged and kissed. I sensed hesitance.
We talked. She told me everything- about the accident. About Chaz being the driver of that car. About the trip back. About hooking up with Chaz. (They didn't have sex- Becky was adamant that she was waiting until marriage.)
I took it all stoically. I didn't show it, but my spirit was shattered. But I'd be damned if showed her that. Yet, I didn't want to lose her. She was my "last hope at a normal life." Becky told me that I took the news far better than she thought I would. That she thought all along that she was mature than me, but she saw now she was wrong. But she wasn't. I was just hiding the Pain.
I'd become an expert at hiding Pain. I still am.
I told her what was done was done. That if she could stay faithful from then on, I'd forget it ever happened.
Then she told me that Chaz was there- at the house. He hadn't just dropped her off and left. No, he was staying a couple of days before heading home to Pensacola, Florida, where he was stationed. He was a Navy pilot. I remember that news hitting me hard.
At this point, my memory blurs, and my journal entry from that day is vague. Before I left, we agreed to meet for lunch the next day at Fridays: me, her, and Chaz. I remember driving home around 1 AM and hearing a song that was very popular at that time. It was from Don Henley's current album, The End of Innocence.
It was years before I could bear hearing that song again.
The next day, I stopped at Becky's house, as she requested I drive. She was upstairs in her room, she told me. I went upstairs, and there, coming out of the bathroom, was Chaz. He was an inch or two shorter than me, short sandy blond hair parted to the right, and powerfully built. He had a towel wrapped around his waist.
"You must be Lance," he said. I said I was. "I'm Chaz. He held his towel with his left hand and offered his right. He had a firm grip- he was trying that whole male dominance thing. Whatever. He then went into the guest bedroom, and I went into Becky's room. She was in a t-shirt and shorts. We talked briefly. I gave mostly one word answers. By then, the enormity of what was happening set in.
We went to Fridays for lunch. I ordered Wings. I think I ate one- I lost my appetite despite having not eaten at all that day. I took them back to Becky's house, dropped them off, and headed home. Chaz was leaving the next day, but that night, he and Becky were going out somewhere. When I asked her if "anything would happen" she said "probably."
I had to work that night- closing shift. I don't know how I made it through. I wanted to die so badly. the fact that she and Chaz were together, and she was cheating on me tore me apart. But I could not cry. I was incapable of it.
The next day Chaz was gone. I started trying to repair what was left of the relationship. She had already checked out. She told a friend that she wanted to wait until after my birthday to break up with me. I thought I couldn't do it myself.
On my birthday, I worked day shift. As I was leaving, my coworkers bought me a drink: a Russian Quaalude. Becky and I were going to the movies that night. We saw For All Mankind at the Ritz 5 in Philly. She made me a cake- a heart shaped chocolate cake with orange icing. We went back to my place. I walked her to her car. I told her it was over, and went inside. I didn't cry.
I did my best not to contact her over the few weeks, but she kept popping up at my one friend's house. I stopped going there. I tentatively started dating again. One night, I brought a friend/coworker/date to a party at that same friend's house when Becky showed up. She saw me with someone else and became very jealous. She asked to speak with me outside. We talked, argued, and talked more. The next day, we got back together.
One night she came over my house. My parents were away. She made me dinner, and showed me the huge bruise on her hip. It was the size of two fists and still very dark. Months after the accident, she was still badly bruised.
She was flying down to see Chaz in Pensacola. She planned to break up with him there. When she came home, I picked her up at the airport. I asked her if she'd broken up with him. She said 'No." We broke up again- this time for good.
My depression kept swirling until Halloween night, when I saw her. She "wanted to talk." She told me she was in love with Chaz. I snapped. I punched a wall, breaking my right hand. Eventually, I ended up in a Psych Ward after my first suicide attempt. (I've detailed that elsewhere.) What did Becky do when she found out I'd attempted suicide? Went on a date.
The following May, she married Chaz. by then I had just started dating Wife. She helped me through that tough time, and essentially put the pieces of my broken heart back together.
We didn't speak again for eight years. I don't remember who sent the first letter, but we slowly started writing to each other again. Eventually, we had lunch. After more time, we became friends. She and Chaz had divorced. She was back in Pennsylvania. Eventually, she married again.
When I finished the story I started that summer, I called it Disorganized Light. I gave her a copy when she told me she was getting married (she's stopped at Fridays.) She hated it.
I've told this story many times to therapists. After all the repetitions, and the time, I've gotten to the point where I don't feel the Pain of it anymore. But...
But...
Come September, I always had that feeling of dread- the memory of all that Pain and betrayal. Then in 2013, more Pain was heaped upon the old scars. More Pain than I could handle.
28 years after that horrible September, and 5 years after the next horrible September, I am still here. I had my second suicide attempt in September 2016. Obviously, I failed. The worst of the September anniversaries are coming up fast. I've already started writing a blog entry about them.
I hate September. It always takes me back to Pain. Old Pain. I feel things that happened in another life, to a person who is gone.
Trapped in a memory.
[Note: I have a hard copy of Disorganized Light that I'm typing into Word. I'll post it when I finish]
I really hate the month of September. I've written about that many times. I've written about being thrown out. I've written about Lisa's death. I've written about my hatred of the fact that I was even born.
But there is another September... event... that started my hate and dread of September long before that. I have mentioned it here and there in passing. I think it's time I discussed it further.
Early September for the longest time meant a mental replay of an older Pain- a memory of what could have been, and wasn't. These events led to my first suicide attempt, which I have detailed elsewhere. As the weather subtly shifted from sultry August nights to crisper September days, I found myself trapped by sights, smells, and feelings of a particular September.
In 1990, I was working at TGI Fridays. I was a bartender/server and wore the silly red and white striped uniform required back then. I called it "the Clown suit." (The movie Office Space brilliantly parodies this uniform with "Chotchkie's.")
Me. Spring 1990. I still have the hat. And suspenders with "flair."
I was deeply depressed, and had been for over two years. The betrayal by my college girlfriend, and leaving the first place I ever loved (Penn State) due to graduation sent me into a deep tailspin, which wasn't helped by my inability to find a real job. Also, there was the fact that for seven years, I'd denied my Truth- by this point, it was just a dark blot on my rotting soul.
But, in late December 1989, I met someone. I'll call her "Becky" to preserve her anonymity. She was 19, and an English Education student at a prominent local university. Through the winter and spring our romance blossomed. Despite my feeble attempts to stay detached, I fell head over heels in love. She said she had as well. In fact, we talked about getting married someday after she graduated and I found a "real job."
However there was a slight hiccup. You see, she'd accepted a summer job as a Ranger at Philmont Scout Ranch in Cimarron, New Mexico. She's worked there before, but in staff positions. Now was the chance for her to fulfill her dream of being a Ranger!
Of course, that meant we'd be apart from late May until late August. In addition, she wouldn't have much telephone access. Our main form of communication would be letters. I also would sent cassette tapes I'd record- one side of me talking and the other of local radio. I figured I'd be fine. She told me that if I wanted, she would cancel her trip and stay home that summer. I knew that if she did, she'd always regret it, and would blame me for it. Besides, it's something she really wanted. So in late May 1990, she flew to New Mexico.
However, I managed to save enough to visit her for her 20th birthday in late June. It was my first flight since I was five years old. I flew to Denver, rented a car, and drove south to Cimarron. It was a long drive. Maybe someday I'll detail this trip in another blog entry. It was, for a time, one of the most amazing weekends of my life. In any case, we promised each other that we would spend the rest of our lives together- that we would get married.
As July became August, the tone of Becky's letters changed. She didn't share her feelings as much (which she's always done previously.) Then, a rare phone call- there'd been a car accident. She'd been out riding in another ranger's car when it went out of control and crashed. She was hurt, but "not badly." However, it was bad enough that she couldn't hike for the rest of the summer. She spent the remaining month in base camp, recovering. While there, she struck up a romance with that other Ranger- I'll call him "Chaz."
I heard about Chaz on the more infrequent phone calls- and in one letter. (Yes, I still have her letters. They are in a pocket folder in storage.) She didn't SAY that they hooked up or anything, but I knew her well enough to read between the lines. My college girlfriend cheated on me- now Becky was.
With age, I understand a few things I didn't back then. These were young women (Becky and college girlfriend)- too young and yes, immature to really commit to something like marriage. Actually, so was I, but I wouldn't admit it to myself. I HAD to get married- only that would cure me of the Dark Secret I knew was still inside me.
I plunged into a deeper depression, fueled by Fear and Doubt. I counted the days until she was expected home. One of the agreements we had was that I would write a lot while she was gone. I started a story in early summer, but that story took a much darker turn during this time.
In mid-August, a letter arrived from her. Instead of flying home as planned, she was going to drive home- a road trip across the United States. After all, she wrote, when would she ever have another opportunity like this? What could I do? Say no? I was already deep in paranoia and depression, and she knew it. It was scaring her, she wrote.
Fridays placemat, 1990
So it was that she started across the country. She had no idea how long the trip would take- so I had no idea when she would arrive. She called me once during that trip- from Colorado. She'd been to the top of Pikes Peak that day, and was staying at a motel near there. She told me who her travelling companion was: Chaz.
I was back working at Fridays by then, after a short leave of absence to work an editing contract at Boeing Helicopters. The Pain and depression piled onto the stress of that job (and if you've never worked food service: it can be VERY stressful.)
One night, my friend R was home on leave from the Army, so all of our group gathered for a late night poker game. Part of me didn't want to go, as I didn't want to miss a phone call from Becky (we didn't have an answering machine then.) I left a note for my parents saying where I'd be, as well as a phone number.
Typical Card night on R's back porch, July 2010
Around 10:30 that night, the phone rang there- it was for me. Becky was home. She wanted to see me. I cashed out my chips (I was up one whole dollar) and drove at very high speed down 422 to her parent's house. I remember WMMR was playing a block of John Cougar Mellencamp. For years after, I couldn't stand to hear his music.
I arrived at her parent's house. She was waiting outside on the side porch. She's gained weight and walked with a slight limp. Her hair, having not been cut for months, was a shaggy curly chaos. We hugged and kissed. I sensed hesitance.
We talked. She told me everything- about the accident. About Chaz being the driver of that car. About the trip back. About hooking up with Chaz. (They didn't have sex- Becky was adamant that she was waiting until marriage.)
I took it all stoically. I didn't show it, but my spirit was shattered. But I'd be damned if showed her that. Yet, I didn't want to lose her. She was my "last hope at a normal life." Becky told me that I took the news far better than she thought I would. That she thought all along that she was mature than me, but she saw now she was wrong. But she wasn't. I was just hiding the Pain.
I'd become an expert at hiding Pain. I still am.
I told her what was done was done. That if she could stay faithful from then on, I'd forget it ever happened.
Then she told me that Chaz was there- at the house. He hadn't just dropped her off and left. No, he was staying a couple of days before heading home to Pensacola, Florida, where he was stationed. He was a Navy pilot. I remember that news hitting me hard.
At this point, my memory blurs, and my journal entry from that day is vague. Before I left, we agreed to meet for lunch the next day at Fridays: me, her, and Chaz. I remember driving home around 1 AM and hearing a song that was very popular at that time. It was from Don Henley's current album, The End of Innocence.
It was years before I could bear hearing that song again.
The next day, I stopped at Becky's house, as she requested I drive. She was upstairs in her room, she told me. I went upstairs, and there, coming out of the bathroom, was Chaz. He was an inch or two shorter than me, short sandy blond hair parted to the right, and powerfully built. He had a towel wrapped around his waist.
"You must be Lance," he said. I said I was. "I'm Chaz. He held his towel with his left hand and offered his right. He had a firm grip- he was trying that whole male dominance thing. Whatever. He then went into the guest bedroom, and I went into Becky's room. She was in a t-shirt and shorts. We talked briefly. I gave mostly one word answers. By then, the enormity of what was happening set in.
We went to Fridays for lunch. I ordered Wings. I think I ate one- I lost my appetite despite having not eaten at all that day. I took them back to Becky's house, dropped them off, and headed home. Chaz was leaving the next day, but that night, he and Becky were going out somewhere. When I asked her if "anything would happen" she said "probably."
I had to work that night- closing shift. I don't know how I made it through. I wanted to die so badly. the fact that she and Chaz were together, and she was cheating on me tore me apart. But I could not cry. I was incapable of it.
The next day Chaz was gone. I started trying to repair what was left of the relationship. She had already checked out. She told a friend that she wanted to wait until after my birthday to break up with me. I thought I couldn't do it myself.
On my birthday, I worked day shift. As I was leaving, my coworkers bought me a drink: a Russian Quaalude. Becky and I were going to the movies that night. We saw For All Mankind at the Ritz 5 in Philly. She made me a cake- a heart shaped chocolate cake with orange icing. We went back to my place. I walked her to her car. I told her it was over, and went inside. I didn't cry.
Drinking the Russian Quaalude, Sept 13, 1990
I did my best not to contact her over the few weeks, but she kept popping up at my one friend's house. I stopped going there. I tentatively started dating again. One night, I brought a friend/coworker/date to a party at that same friend's house when Becky showed up. She saw me with someone else and became very jealous. She asked to speak with me outside. We talked, argued, and talked more. The next day, we got back together.
One night she came over my house. My parents were away. She made me dinner, and showed me the huge bruise on her hip. It was the size of two fists and still very dark. Months after the accident, she was still badly bruised.
She was flying down to see Chaz in Pensacola. She planned to break up with him there. When she came home, I picked her up at the airport. I asked her if she'd broken up with him. She said 'No." We broke up again- this time for good.
My depression kept swirling until Halloween night, when I saw her. She "wanted to talk." She told me she was in love with Chaz. I snapped. I punched a wall, breaking my right hand. Eventually, I ended up in a Psych Ward after my first suicide attempt. (I've detailed that elsewhere.) What did Becky do when she found out I'd attempted suicide? Went on a date.
The following May, she married Chaz. by then I had just started dating Wife. She helped me through that tough time, and essentially put the pieces of my broken heart back together.
We didn't speak again for eight years. I don't remember who sent the first letter, but we slowly started writing to each other again. Eventually, we had lunch. After more time, we became friends. She and Chaz had divorced. She was back in Pennsylvania. Eventually, she married again.
When I finished the story I started that summer, I called it Disorganized Light. I gave her a copy when she told me she was getting married (she's stopped at Fridays.) She hated it.
I've told this story many times to therapists. After all the repetitions, and the time, I've gotten to the point where I don't feel the Pain of it anymore. But...
But...
Come September, I always had that feeling of dread- the memory of all that Pain and betrayal. Then in 2013, more Pain was heaped upon the old scars. More Pain than I could handle.
September 2018
28 years after that horrible September, and 5 years after the next horrible September, I am still here. I had my second suicide attempt in September 2016. Obviously, I failed. The worst of the September anniversaries are coming up fast. I've already started writing a blog entry about them.
I hate September. It always takes me back to Pain. Old Pain. I feel things that happened in another life, to a person who is gone.
Trapped in a memory.
[Note: I have a hard copy of Disorganized Light that I'm typing into Word. I'll post it when I finish]
I'm sorry, hon. I hope that writing about it helped.
ReplyDeleteHugs,
Cass