"Suicide Warning"
That's what it said next to my name on the dry erase board. That's how they rated us. Severe cases were "warning", less severe were "watch"... much like monitoring a tornado. They probably thought
that was cute.
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| Menniger Clinic, Topeka, Kansas |
They take your shoes, they lock the bathroom, your not allowed to leave the ward for any reason. At least the food was good and it was an ego boost because I got to see that there were crazier girls out there than me. So... there was that.
I tell you this because it sets the stage of an endless parade of events pointing out my depression battle that will eventually lead to a point... I think.
For the next 14 years I would constantly be passed around from doctor to doctor being diagnosed with things like "bipolar disorder", "depression", "manic depression". I'd get put on pills, rearranged pills, until finally I would say
"Fuck this, I'm not a lithium Barbie doll!!" ... and just got off everything completely.
For the most part I survived that way for years. Yeah I'd have some good depression slums, or bi polar downswings, or whatever you want to call it but I called it... Being a female teenager and a product of being throw in group homes and handed a lot of bullshit. You'd be a bit wacked too.
Then came August of 2004.
I knew it wasn't going to be good if my aunt was driving all the way up to my college to tell me something.... I was right.
All she had to say was "Do you know about Steve yet?"
I didn't.. but right then and there, minute she said it... I knew.
Steve was my college boyfriend. It was the first time I experienced dating someone who could be my best friend as well as a significant other at the same time. He was good, he was funny, he liked tripping on pills.
It was the only thing we ever fought about. It freaked out seeing him ground up over the counter medication and snorting it. So when my aunt came up I knew.. he had gotten to careless and took to much.
Apparently he mixed pills with tequila partying with his friends, went home, went to bed, never got up.... he was 19 year old.
At that moment every "worst day of my life" became irrelevant. The ground dropped from under me and pretty much anyone trying to talk to me sounded like I was hearing them from underwater.
I snapped. I started drinking heavily, even started hitting the cocaine.
I started toying with the idea of going out the way he did.
I started giving away things at school, not going to classes.
"Tying loose ends" if you will.
I didn't know how to deal so I decided I simply wasn't, I was just going to join him.
Then I saw the ad.
Local tattoo shop had a coupon for $50 off any tattoo. It then clicked. This is what I needed. I didn't know why it seemed like the logical plan but it did. My biggest fear when losing Steve was that I'd forget him. That if I allowed myself to my happy and move on I was forgetting him and he was not longer important.
That day I got a small tear drop on my wrist. It wasn't epic, it wasn't huge. but it was enough. A small reminder that he's always there.
After that I started going to class again, stopped drinking for a while, fell back into my swim team, graduated college with a 3.0 GPA which was a miracle in itself if you knew my academic records.
Queue to September of 2008...
I'd been in love and involved with what to this day I believe to be an angel in black for 3 years. He was everything. He was my best friend, my therapist, my lover, my personal musician, and the first person to ever put my on a motorcycle and know what real freedom is. He pulled me out of a darkness and into a light filled with laughter, music, pool tables, and bikes..
Then the cancer that had been teasing him since he was 16 took him from me at only 24 years old.
There are some assholes out there in this world that I wish death on, but this kind of pain... I wouldn't even wish on any of them.
What do you do when the rock you leaned on rolls away?
You go into a drunken binge for months.
I officially didn't give a fuck.
I hated my friends. I hated his friends. I hated my family. I hated happy people. I hated life. I didn't want life. I wanted him. I wanted to be buried next to him, which may I add, is where Steve was also buried.
I live my life for love. Since love kept ending in death, I just wanted to end in death too because I didn't much see the point to life.
A friend of mine could see the dark path I was going on and knew there was no way of pulling me out, except for one maybe one thing... he suggest I get a tattoo.
A few weeks later I got the money and I got a large one, right on my side, of my favorite pic of Tommy.
It was when he was sick but still well enough to play his guitar, an amazing moment and it was kept on my side forever. I knew then he'd always be there, kicking me in the ass telling me...
"Bitch I wasn't even that great, get it together and move on! I'll be here when it's your time and YOU are NOT the one that get's to decide that"
Since then I have watched good friends, family, and my own mother pass away on me. I know how easy it could be to slip back into my old habits and somehow ink gets me through.
Not only this, tattoos helped me find where I belong.
I have been a fast food service worker, cocktail waitress, lifeguard, telethon operator, teacher's aide, substitute teacher, receptionist, t-shirt kiosk worker, and video graphics intern for the Binghamton Mets. I didn't fit in ANYWHERE. Until I broke into the tattoo industry.
What can I say, ink's in my blood and keeps me going.
Find what you love, and make it your life. Love is life.
-Casey
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