Fire Alarms

One memory seems to follow me wherever I go. Surprisingly it is not a bad memory, but more of a bittersweet thing.

After I had been at Western Academy for a while, and after much trouble, turmoil, and students who came and new ones taking their place, I had found myself an unwilling leader.

People looked to me for advice, guidance, and sometimes mischief. I was very good at the last part. In some ways, it was a way to make me feel normal. This particular event took place on a lazy summer afternoon. We started outside, where the sun shone down on our faces and the wind carried the smell of the river up to greet us. On the front lawn we had set up the volleyball net and took turns playing.

I have never been one that enjoyed sports, but volleyball was my love, my passion. I was good at it and it gave me a great way to be aggressive without anyone getting hurt. I could hit that ball as hard as I wanted and it felt good.

So, here we were, enjoying the sunshine, playing volleyball when a fight erupted between several people. I don't remember who or what started it, the only thing I clearly recall was the outcome.

We were immediately ushered inside and placed in our rooms. I was furious. I didn't start the fight, nor did I participate in it and I was being punished. I sat around and sulked, trying to figure out a way to aggravate the staff.

I flopped onto my bed and lay staring at the ceiling, my gaze drifting over the white ceiling, thoughts zipping through my head. My gaze slowly drifted over to the fire alarm set in the middle of the room and for a long time I watched the blinking red light.

Slowly I got up from my bed and moved to stand directly below it. As anyone with epilepsy knows, a blinking light can be our undoing and I have no idea how long I stood there staring at. Tracy pulled me out of my trance by shaking my arm firmly and calling my name rather loudly. I glanced back up and with a grin began to look around.

Spotting what I wanted I moved over and picked up the sturdy wooden nightstand I kept next to my bed. Placing it right under the fire alarm I grinned at Tracy as I reached up and pressed the test button hard, sending a screeching noise throughout the entire building.

Quick as lightning I jumped from my makeshift stool and ran it back over to where it belonged and put everything back on it. As the staff rushed in, both Tracy and I did the best acting of our lives as we stood there wide eyed and innocent looking as they glanced through our room to make sure there was no fire. One by one each of the rooms were checked.

We waited about five minutes after hearing the door shut and we were up under it again, with a gleeful giggle we pressed the button, holding it down longer this time, yet not so long that we didn't have time to rush back and put everything back on it.

Time after time we did this, and each time the staff would come in demanding answers. After about the tenth time, they placed all the girls in one room and all the boys in one room.

It wasn't long before we heard it go off and with surprise we looked at each other. It was not us. We hadn't done it this time. The staff came flying in and we all denied any wrong doing, so off to the boys’ room they went. The minute we heard our dorm room door shut, we were pressing as hard as we could on that button.

As stupid as this all sounds, it was great fun to watch the staff grow frustrated, run back and forth, and demand answers that not a single one of us was willing to give up the fun.

Finally the staff wised up and the man who did maintenance for us came in with a small paintbrush and some red paint which he put over the dot, smirking at us with a knowing look he left the room.

We all knew that it meant whoever touched it would end up with red paint and therefore be caught, and we settled down to brainstorm. Refusing to allow the staff to win this round, we took a piece of toilet paper and cleaned it off before I carefully wrapped my finger in the same paper and pressed the button again. The paper was passed off and into the bathroom it went where the evidence was flushed.

Tired, angry, and frustrated beyond words, the maintenance man came back in and with a glare reached up to remove our precious toy.

We never did do that again, and I'm not sure why. It was great fun and we had finally one upped the staff. Something that would happen more and more as I became comfortable leading the group.

Now, I smile every time a fire alarm goes off.

I have returned.

I have returned. Thank you to every single one of you who has remained faithful in my long absence and those of you who have taken the time out of your lives to email me. Your love and support is overwhelming.

My life has been full of ups and downs, littered with bright days among the dark skies of my heart.

I am nearing the end of my first semester of school and I am averaging an A in all subjects. I am been promoted not once, not twice, but three times at my job since we last spoke. My beautiful daughter is going to be turning 13 in a few weeks. I have become a great aunt for the first time to a healthy baby boy. I have been assured though, by the nephew who is responsible for my new status, that I have always been great.

So why, with so many great things taking place in my life, am I plagued by sadness in my heart? Why must I struggle so hard to beat back the constant nagging fears in my mind? Why is it so easy for me to believe the people in my life would be better off if I were dead?

Yes my faithful and new readers, amidst all my blessings I have contemplated suicide. I sat for hours and cried, debating the pros and cons of what I wanted to do. I asked myself if a letter to my husband and children would ease the guilt that always comes to families of suicide victims. Do I have the right to do that to ease my own pain? While I eventually spoke to Chris about this, I really scared myself. I thought of ways I could do it. I thought of places I could go. I also sat and thought of what I would write to the ones that I loved. I am angry that in the end instead of feeling relief that I wasn't going to, I felt as if I am chained to this life. I can not hurt my family that way no matter how bad my pain is. I can't continue to live the way I have been and I can't end it myself, so I must make more changes.

I have already made so many changes that I barely recognize who I am anymore.

I feel disconnected from my dearest friends. For a while now I have felt disconnected from even my husband. I do not get to spend enough time with my children and that is hard for me. Chris told me the other night when I got home that my daughter wanted to write me a letter, when he asked her why, she said it was because she never sees me and misses me. I was conflicted between good and bad. On one hand, my daughter misses me and that means she loves me and values our relationship, on the other hand it means that I am not here for her enough and as a girl who is struggling to find herself as a young lady, I should be.

My boys received word yesterday that their beautiful teacher had lost her battle with cancer. The older boy did not say anything at all about it to Chris; however the younger boy was very sad. I was not here for him. This is the first time any of my children have had death touch their lives and I could not wrap my arms around him and comfort him.

I think I have missed my writing more then I had realized. I have missed pouring out my heart and letting go of it. I did better when I was blogging about my past then I ever have in my whole life. I need to get back to that. I need to start letting go. See, what happened was that I started to let go. I let go of the more minor things that took place, and while that helped me in many ways, it's also like peeling away carpet and finding out there is something worse underneath. I have not had to face these things in many years and I tremble to think of the daunting task of peeling back those layers too. I am scared. No, I am terrified. All I can do now is pray that I am strong enough to face it. God help me.