It's Hard to Say...

1. Ever since the seventh grade, I noticed that there was something peculiar about me that was different from any of the other school children. I had an insatiable hunger for perfection and an undying need for flawlessness. If ever to make a mistake, I would cause myself great anxiety and stress over the slightest fallibilities. Each night, before going to sleep, I would rummage through my book bag to make sure that all six folders, assorted by color and class, and each almost exactly an inch apart, were visible to my hazel eyes as I lay in bed. I would repeatedly check each one for verification that all homework and needed assignments were correctly placed in their according portfolios for the following day. Unable to simply trust my instincts that all papers were in my backpack, like any “normal” child my age, I obsessed over it, oftentimes crying myself to sleep because I couldn’t resist the lingering temptation. As I later learned, I was diagnosed with OCD, Obsessive Compulsive Disorder and ever since, it has, in one form or another, ruled an aspect of my life.

2. Most girls fantasize about their first time having sex. I guess I did too. I always thought that I would be in love, it would be romantic, and it would be the most wonderful night of my life – the night I’d never forget. Well, two out of three isn’t bad, right?

I will never forget the night it happened, but that’s not because it played out like the fantasy I had always hoped for. In fact, it was just the opposite. Everything was wrong: the guy, the place, the setting, the timing – you name it. The morning after, I was so ashamed of myself that I told my parents. Bad idea. I got in a heap of trouble and worst of all, my dad called his dad to talk to him about the whole thing and to get some background information on the kid that took his youngest daughter’s innocence. I don’t know if I was more embarrassed about the fact that our parent’s were talking about the entire mess-of-a-situation or if it was because my parents now knew that I had a sex life.

Now I am a few years older and can look back at that night, and although it is still hard to think about, let alone talk about (and even worse – to put it into words that are visible for the world to see), I don’t think I would change a thing. I used to regret what I did that night and I used to think I was a bad person for doing what I did, but I soon realized that it was because of that moment in my life that helped shape the woman I am today. I am stronger, more sure of myself and my actions, and more aware of the fact that I can make my own decisions.

3. It was during intermission at a high school play my sophomore year. My best friend, at the time – Ashley, and I were eagerly sitting in the auditorium chairs, waiting for the red, velvet curtain to once again rise; but it didn’t – at least not for us. We will never know what happened during the second half of “Zombie Prom”; for we dashed out of the room upon the news that a boy from our school had just killed himself. Ashley knew him, but I didn’t. That didn’t matter. News of his tragic death hit me as hard as it hit her and everyone else who heard about it. At school the following day, people of all grades, and all connections to him – be it acquaintances to best friends or even friends of friends who knew him, were consumed in the sadness of his death.

As I write this, it’s hard for me to even think of the right words to describe the atmosphere on that day in early November, 2004, so I’m not even going to try.

I remember people who wanted to pay their last respects to him wore shirts that displayed his picture – they were told to take them off. Members of the faculty deemed it as publicizing and supporting his suicide – how ridiculous. Yet some kept them on – they became heroes.

At his funeral the following weekend, hundreds of people showed up; people I never thought would be there. But it didn’t matter. All that mattered was a boy, not yet a man being just shy of his 18th birthday took his own life and by doing so, took the lives of his mother, father, and two older brothers as well.
I’ve never cried so hard, so long, so much in my entire life.
To this day, every time I hear the song “Remember Me” by Sarah McLaughlin, I will always think of Josh and how his death impacted my life and the lives of my high school peers.