Thursday, September 3, 2015

nine lives and lies


As a teenager I stepped out of a moving car that was going pretty slow on residential street. I was fighting with my teenage boyfriend and I wanted to get away because I could not stand the “na na na” bickering that was going on and on and I had no other tools or examples of how to stop like, “lets take a break and talk tomorrow,” or “I guess we will just have to agree to disagree,” or “hmmmm,” letting him have the last word.

I was on the pill as a teen and at that time it contained an insane amount of hormones and it made me rabid. I could not stop my brain and my mouth. I was the incarnation of the beastie boys “because you can’t, you won’t, and you don’t stop.” I recognized the effects much later in life when I was off the pill for years and then had a single dose of hormones in a medication. I felt myself go insane and recognized that I had had that feeling for five years straight as a teen.

Anyway, I stepped out of the car to make the horror end. It was a healthy impulse. I just wanted to run down the street, move my body, change my brain, get clear. What happened instead was that the street came unexpectedly slamming up into my head and I fractured my skull and got a concussion most likely, as I was throwing up all night. I went to sleep not knowing that I was not supposed to and luckily did not die.  

The next day I went home and my mother took me to the emergency room and eventually I was admitted and such. I lied to my mother about what happened because I was embarrassed about the fight, so I told her that I got caught in a fight at this club the World on 3rd Street, that a bouncer was throwing someone out and I got pushed and fell. My parents got an attorney to sue the club for my medical bills and I had to come clean and tell my mother that I had lied. My parents were pretty mad.

Ah, teenage kicks.


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