I never told anyone this and I never wrote about it. It causes me pure grief to remember. But I am going to remember and tell you, Jaden, because you are pure sunshine.
I spent time in Special Ed, but then my mother got me moved to regular classes, and then she died. Thanks, Mom.
Well, Manhattan Beach is a small fucking town with the same kids all your life. By the time I reached puberty and became well, I don’t care, I am going to say it, attractive, all the boys in the school wanted to fuck me. How do I know? They all tried, like almost every single one of them.
Why did they all try?
Because they thought it would be easy. Because they knew I had been in Special Ed, and remembered I used to ride the short bus.
And I like to think, in my happier days, that I was so “irresistible.” This, the myth of my irresistibility, is something I really bought into and really believed and every time a guy tried to hook up with me I would think, ding! See, I’m irresistible to boys! They are completely powerless over my divine sexiness and beauty. Yay me!”
When I was a junior my best friend Emily got drunk and she spilled the beans.
“They call you The Special, Chrissy,” she said. “And they say to each other, ‘Have you tried The Special?’ And ‘I had The Special tonight,’ after you give them a blow job. You should stop doing that, Chrissy.”
It’s weird. When I heard that I kind of went into shock and smiled or something and I didn’t like run out of there or anything.
I guess since I didn’t get mad or sad, she went on.
“The other day Brendan was like, ‘I enjoyed the Special last night. It was the tastiest Special I’ve ever eaten.’”
I just looked at her, I was so taken aback.
“You shouldn’t let every guy eat your pussy, Chrissy.”
“Ha ha…” I said. “You’re right. Thanks.”
She went on, bless her. “Brendan told everybody, ‘The Special tastes like strawberries.’ And all the other guys were, ‘You’re right! The Special does taste like strawberries!!’ And they were high fiving. You shouldn’t — ”
“OK, Emily, I get it,” I said, and I guess I looked mad then, but it still didn’t sink in, not really.
It was only later when I got home and I was in my bed that it hit me. “Oh my God. They call me The Special.” It wasn’t so much that they talked about using me for sex. It was that I had this name, and I never even knew it. I felt so dumb.
Like The Special, in other words. The one person in the whole damn school who didn’t belong. The only one. Everybody else belonged. There was only one Special! Me!
Like the one person in the school who didn’t belong and didn’t fit in and should therefore…die.
I really couldn’t believe that had happened to me. I really had been just merrily going along, you know. Yes, I had sucked some dicks and let some guys lick my pussy, but I hadn’t really fucked too many of them so I felt…arghhh.
I felt the whole weight of it coming down on me. And I realized in that moment, my destiny, I guess.
I saw my whole future and I didn’t like it.
I was very pretty, that was true. Every time I see a picture of me at 17 I cry because I was SO DAMN CUTE but you can see in my eyes — there was something wrong with me, I had always known that. I really did LOOK crazy in my eyes. And in some ways I wish my dead mother had just let me stay in Special Ed because those kids were so nice.
Compared to normies.
Well, I knew there was a box cutter in that kitchen drawer where they kept all the junk. I didn’t really stop to think that my Dad had already lost his wife and it would be terrible for him to lose his daughter. What I thought at the time was he would be better off without me because his new wife, my stepmother, hated my guts and I would be out of the way.
I didn’t think about it too much. I took all my clothes off and I got in the bath so I wouldn’t make a mess and I cut my wrists the correct way because I had read about it on the internet not to go across but to go lengthwise for whatever reason. Honestly, before that night I had never, ever had suicidal ideation. I really believe I was in a state of shock from hearing that news, from realizing that I was not only the slut of the school, but I was The Special, and I was acting on some sort of automatic reflex. I remember seeing the first stream of blood come out thinking, “Oh, shit, I really did it.” Then I don’t remember anything.
When I woke up I was in the hospital.
And boy did my step-mother REALLY hate my guts then.
“Well, someone wanted attention!” she said, in that sniffy voice. “Are you happy now. Look at your poor father.”
I really wish I could recount that whole scene but if I even think about it for a second, I break down and I go to bed and I don’t come out of bed for days. It was about as painful as you can imagine it, though, trying to explain to my Dad what happened. I mean, what could I say to him, “Uh, gee Dad, your daughter is the school slut and they call her The Special.”
I said I didn’t know why I did it.
That was such a mistake, though. Because that meant I had to go into a hospital for months and months and I never fully returned to high school after that.
The few times I did try to go back I would only last a day because no matter how I prepared, it was so shocking to walk through those loud halls.
Whenever I would show up in the halls, it would go SO DEAD QUIET.
You could hear the egg shells as the students walked down the halls, past the Special, who was not only the School Slut but was now the School Suicide Fail. And who just got out of a Mental Ward!!! Geesh!
Did I want to succeed at my suicide attempt? I really don’t remember. There was no reason for anyone to come into that bathroom. It was my bathroom. And nobody ever came into my bedroom to say good night to me. By some fluke, that bitch my step-mom came in there because she thought I stole her hair brush or some shit. And of all the people to find me in a bathtub full of blood, it was her.
She fucking saved my life, the bitch.
Afterwards, my step-mother, who was born-again, and who had made my Dad get baptized in her church and accept Jesus et cetera, became absolutely RELENTLESS with the Jesus.
She Jesused me right the fuck out of that house. I became a runaway and I’ve written plenty about that part of my life, the stripping and the drugs and the hanging around with criminals.
The part of the story that is really life affirming is that the one person who came and got me off the streets in Los Angeles was the same one who started this whole tsunami of drama in the first place — Emily.
She really did care about me. She proved that when I was overdosed in an alley and somehow, she found me and saved me.
She came all the way up to LA to look for me because I was her best friend and I was missing. Later I found out that this is what my Dad said when they told him I was missing and maybe dead. “Oh well, she died to me a long time ago.”
You wouldn’t believe it!! My Dad and I are really, really close now. I love him so much and he tells me he loves me. So listen, no matter how bad this all sounds, there is a lot of hope here. Stay with me.
With regard to Emily, I really think she told me that stuff because she thought I was strong enough to take it. She thought that I was stronger than I was, and that she was the weak one. And she thought I ought to know.
She has spoken to me about that, and of course she has cried her eyes out and begged me for forgiveness and I gave it and we are the tightest two sisters ever.
It’s strange how the most beautiful person I know set these events off.
Life is perplexing and usually more complicated than we make it out to be.
I know, too, and this is something I am so sorry to write because it causes Emily a great deal of shame, as she has told me. I showed her this draft first and she assured me that it was OK for me to share it.
She confessed to me she was jealous of the attention from the guys that I got. And that’s maybe why she told me that on that horrible night, and revealed to me the secret nickname that apparently every single person in Manhattan Beach had used behind my back for like seven fucking years.
That’s a heavy weight to carry around, after your best friend tried to commit suicide as a result of something you said out of complicated and not entirely generous motivations.
Our destiny is entwined by this tragedy, Emily and me.
I’m godmother to her two children. Before she got married, we often slept in the same bed and held each other all night long, not sexy, but pure love and entwinedness.
She kind of killed me and then she saved me. And by trying to kill myself, I kind of killed her. By forgiving her I kind of saved her.
This is what human beings do to one another — did you know? Not just Special Ed people, but all people. Be very careful with your loved ones. Little things you say might “kill” them. And then be generous with your apologies and your forgiveness, because you can really bring them back to life.
NOTE TO JADEN: Be careful with your comments Jaden. I don’t know if you are a troll or just really hate people, but you put some mean things on your comment to my story here on Medium, about how I was stupid and not intelligent. I am writing this story so you will better understand why I got so hurt. It is very hard for normal people to understand the self-esteem issues of anybody who was in Special Ed. I have struggled SO HARD SO HARD SO HARD not to be stupid. I have ADHD and it takes me forever to read a book. People have taken advantage of me because I do have a mental disability AND a mental illness — bipolar disorder, Type 1, that is the bad one. I wish I was type 2 but I’m not. But I’ve always been funny and when I come into a room pretty soon everybody is laughing. I guess I’m that “nutty” girl that everybody loves. But you know where I got my sense of humor, Jaden? Guess where? Special Ed!! We were all always laughing almost all day every day in there — it was way more fun than regular school, trust me. We laughed at the teachers and the teachers laughed at us, and we laughed at each other. And we never took anything seriously at all.
But the main reason I am writing this story is to forgive you, Jaden. You did the best thing in the world — you apologized to me. That’s why I say you are a pure light. I did have suicidal ideation after you told me my story wasn’t intelligent. Ask my boyfriend. I absolutely fell out of the bottom of the world and went back into that hell that I describe from the night of my suicide attempt.
I have the most loving and understanding and caring boyfriend in the whole world. I also have a great friend here on Medium who makes me feel so loved you wouldn’t believe how great my Medium buddy is. I did think about a lot of people on Medium, actually. I thought about Roz Warren who always makes me smile and my friend from India, Tooth Truth Roopa Vikesh. She is pure love. But like most times, the thing that really saved me from going back down into the cave was my dog. He’s like been trained. When he sees that look in my eye, he knows. He comes right over to me and he licks me and he won’t stop licking me until I’m better. It’s mysterious. I don’t know about reincarnation. But there is something very mysterious about our connection, like we have known each other for a million years and licked each other and consoled each other for eons and eons.
I also called up my sweetest friend Emily and she drove up all the way from Manhattan Beach and she spent the whole night with me. My boyfriend totally understands and he went into the guest room. Most normies can’t understand how someone could cry for like six, seven hours straight, all night long. You cry because there is NOTHING YOU CAN DO. You were born different and NOTHING CAN CHANGE THAT. EVER. It is so final. It makes you sob. You think of all the normal people going about their business and it’s their world, not yours. You feel like you’re not even here. And you regret ever trying to be a part of their world. You want to crawl in a hole.
Emily stroked my hair and she told me I was going to be OK.
And in the morning the sun came back and I gave my friend Emily the biggest hug and I started bawling again and she was worried about me. And I said, “No, Emily, it’s tears of love and joy now. You are the best person in the world.”
You are too, Jaden. Thank you for your apology and for telling me that in the future you were only going to post positive comments.
People that put negative comments online, why do you do it? Don’t you know we are all one? The Specials and the Normals. All the different races, all the different genders. We’re all one. We’re the same in our core.
God bless you Jaden.
Every time I look at the sun today I will think of you. You are pure sunshine.
(From now on…right?)