May. 22, 2002 - 21:43 MDT

THE WONDERING JEW

Fall Into Thought

Enumeration of scars is a subject under discussion and by chance I ran into that in Charlotte's journal tonight. Later I will go back and read her whole journal. But the few words I read were enough to set my memory wheel spinning.

I have plenty of visible scars on my body and also mental scars in my psyche. But in a few instances a scar on my body shows a heavy scar in my soul.

I was sixteen, we had moved to a new house across town. A fabulous place compared to the two room home where I had existed from my first memory. In the process I lost the small band of friends I had back there. Only the rich kids had cars and for the most part our country hadn't really come out of the depression so carfare on the tramway was not to easy to obtain. We kept in touch for a while by phone but our diverging paths eventually caused us to lose track of each other.

School had always been a struggle for me and going in to a new school was almost enough to sink my schooner. I wasn't making friends there either, at least during that period of life. Mom and Dad by necessity both worked. Dad and Mom would drop me off at school on their way to work but at the end of my school day I had about a three mile walk to a home that had nobody in it.

Summer vacation came and the few kids I knew were off and running leaving me behind. Rightfuly so of course, they had their lives to live and places to go with their parents. I knew no adults in our new neighborhood. Whatever recreational activity I had was by my lonesome self.

I was not a shy, retiring hermit type by nature but by circumstance. I had books for friends, but they couldn't play ball or checkers or respond vocally etc. I desperately needed to rub shoulders with acquaintances --- daily, and I really had none.

Tonight brought a kind of recognition to me of what was wrong with me that summer. I was terribly unhappy with no solution to my problems in sight.

Where would I be ? Down in the basement by the laundry tubs, a drab place for a kid to be. I guess my mood led me there. I was in the double D Doldrums and starving for company. I could see no prospect of finding any. I can't think of a particular moment that brought me to a decision but at some point I could see no use in living anymore. I didn't have the thought in mind that, "They will be sorry when I am gone." Just a feeling of utter, empty hoplessness. I had a Gillette double edge razor blade and was trying to slit my wrist, I was moving the blade in the right direction but not knowing how deep I would have to go, failed in my attempt. There was much blood of course which I finally was able to stop, and having made the decision that I was a failure even in that and had to keep living in spite of how I felt I had to cover my tracks like a teenager typically does.

I had a turtle neck, long sleeved, wool sweater of just the right color to cover and soak up the blood when the cut would open up. I wore that darn thing until I was just about healed. Then I went back to my short sleeved shirts. I didn't get an Oscar for my performance but did manage to keep that scar out of the view of my parents. It was some time after I got married that my Dad noticed it and asked, "What happened there ?" I came up with something he would believe and accept.

Did that fortell my future ? Maybe. I was very depressed at that time and having the angst of a teen ager, suicide seemed to be the only way.

Much later in life I did not realize I was depressed in the grown up world. Working two jobs caused me to stumble along putting one foot in front of the other. That is, until I lost touch with reality and almost succeeded in an attempt.

That scar on my arm is the outward evidence of the wound to my inner self.

Eventually I recovered my good spirits. Back then I don't think there was much my working class family could have done with me if my state had been known.

I keep reading in the papers of teen suicides and have the feeling of kinship with them, the feeling I know where they are at. Not the reason, but their state of mind. There should be a solution for teen kids when they get that bad off but apparently no one can read the mood of the teen. It worries me, but there is nothing I can do. Except pray that someone can devise some means of coping with depressed teenagers.

I think that a military brat is ahead in their development because there are changes of location and situations which are frequent and are common to all kids they associate with.

Did I solve any personal problems ? Not really I guess other than I figured out my state in that new house at that insecure teen time.

Some times a mere hint will cause me to Fall Into Thought . . . . . . . .

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