Regression Part One

I have a folder from eigth grade english, one that Mrs. Okamoto gave me, I keep it because my memory is so bad, so I won't forget that time when everything was so clear, when my future wasn't worrying me. I don't think it was because I knew what to do, but because I didn't care, that time that I lived in hilo was the safest and happiest times of my adolescence, I had good teachers and good friends and people I looked up to. I had a family, regardless of how uncomfortable or frustrating my home situation was there it was nothing compared to here, I wonder what would have happened if I had chosen to live in hilo after the hospital. I'm glad I didn't, I never would have discovered filmmaking and I never would have met Glen. Everyone thinks I fooled Glen, but I never lied to him, I lied to everyone else but I just didn't feel like I needed to lie to him. I lie to everyone who has contact with my family, I'm amazed that their opinions have so much influence over me, I remember saying once that I care what people think but not enough to change myself. I guess my hypocrisy is showing.

I keep so many things from the past, each with a little good memory attached to them. I need these little things to help me remember the good times, though I've never had any trouble remembering the bad. I can't remember what day it was that I went to the hospital, I can't remember whether or not it was sunny, I remember it felt warm and I remember Mrs. Okamoto hugging me. Apparantly I scored high on the suicide test, and I was actually being honest when I answered, although it took a little lying to get the guy to come and test me. He asked me whether or not I wanted to go now or after school was over, in retrospect I should have waited until school was over, it would have saved my friends alot of worry. I remember the ride to the hospital and the twelve hours I sat in the emergency room vaugely, the most I remember from that time was the uncomfortable feeling, maybe from the presence of my father, maybe the double breezer gowns, or maybe because they refused to shut the doors. Strangely, the plane ride is what sticks out most in my head, it was one of those little emergeny planes, the engine was so loud I couldn't hear myself humming, Steely Dan's Deacon Blues. The ambulance ride was uneventful and when we got to the hospital I didn't want them pushing me on that ridiculous stretcher, so wearing my camoflauge pants and double hospital gowns I walked the corridors with my head held high, flaunting my false dignity. Thankfully, it was one in the morning so the halls were fairly empty. Inside the locked psychiatric ward I was submitted to a search, which relieved me of whatever dignity I thought I had left, and to add insult to injury I had to give some wierd nurse my bra in order for her totake the underwire out of it. To this day I haven't any idea how someone could hurt themself with an underwire but I guess they didn't believe I wasn't that desparate. While she was destoying my poor innocent bra I was interviewed, during the course of which I learned what a pap smear was, it sounded horrible, all the while my arms were folded tightly over my chest. Perhaps I'm just not a free spirit but I've never been comfortable without a bra. I was given scrubs, at least they went with my pants, and shown into a room where a strange girl was sleeping. They left me lying on an unfamilar bed, staring at the ceiling and wondering what the fuck I was doing there. I didn't cry.