in a heartbeat.
While I’m counting with the Count, I list the reasons why I wish the pills had worked.
1. I wouldn’t have to face going back to school.
2. I wouldn’t spend the rest of my life being known as the girl who tried to kill herself and failed at that, too.
3. I wouldn’t have to remember, and so, because of that, and here’s the biggie:
4. I wouldn’t have to feel. Anything. Ever again.
But what I’m doing is putting me on Dr. Hospital Shrink’s Naughty List, because I’m not supposed to be engaging in “destructive negative thought patterns” like this. Instead, I’m supposed to be making a Gratitude List of three things I’m grateful for every day.
I was like, “How am I supposed to do that? My life sucks. That’s why I’m here in the first place.”
Dr. Hospital Shrink just smiled and nodded, like yeah, yeah, he’d heard it all before.
“It doesn’t have to be a big thing, Lara. It can be something as small as being grateful that you got the right flavor Jell-O on your dinner tray.”
“If I liked Jell-O, which I don’t.”
“But you get the idea,” he persisted. Dr. Hospital Shrink was annoyingly persistent.
As much as I pretended not to, I did. This was my list for the first day:
1. I’m grateful for water. I’m thirsty.
2. I’m grateful that Mom and Dad went home to shower and change so I had a break from them sitting by my bedside, sighing and making me feel like I’m their Problem Child.
3. I’m seriously grateful for toilet paper. That activated charcoal they gave me to help get the drugs out of my system is making me poop a lot, and it’s making my poop beyond gross. Like, I mean, even more beyond gross than poop usually is. It’s totally black, like coal.
This episode of Sesame Street is brought to you by the letter W for Waste of time .
Making the list hasn’t been getting easier, even after being out of the hospital for a week. I’m still stuck on number one for today’s list.
Oh wait:
1. I’m grateful for Sesame Street so I don’t have to watch “Mothers who sleep with their son’s girlfriend’s brothers” on The Jerry Springer Show .
One down. Only two more to think about in the endless hours that stretch between now and when I go to sleep and this all starts over again.
2. I’m grateful for naps, because they help pass the time and let me forget.
Except when they don’t. Except when I dream about Christian.
Last night I dreamed that he did ask me to his dance and I bought that ivory dress I loved on Wanelo. He looked hot in his tux, and he told me I was beautiful when he slipped a pretty corsage of tiny pink roses with a small spray of baby’s breath onto my wrist — the touch of his hands on my wrist sending shivers up my spine.
In my dream limo, he put his arm around me and rested his hand on my bare shoulder, gently touching my skin with his fingertips. He whispered in my ear that he loved me and this was going to be the best night ever. In my dream, I believed him, my heart beating faster in excitement and anticipation, because just by being there with him and having his arm around me, it already was.
But when the limo pulled up at the dance, it wasn’t at his high school; it was at my middle school. And all these people outside dressed in tuxes and beautiful dresses were holding big signs that said Lardo and Lardosaurus . I was scared Christian would see them and change his mind, so I tried to kiss him to distract him from the signs. But instead of leaning in to kiss me with his perfect, warm lips, he pulled away from me in horror.
“Why would I want to kiss you ?” he asked, his handsome face distorted almost beyond recognition by disgust and loathing. “ Lardo . You repulse me. I would never want to be seen with you in public anywhere , let alone a dance .”
“But … why ?” I pleaded, reaching for him, still feeling the warmth of his fingers on my skin. “A few minutes ago, you said …”
“The world would be a better
While I’m counting with the Count, I list the reasons why I wish the pills had worked.
1. I wouldn’t have to face going back to school.
2. I wouldn’t spend the rest of my life being known as the girl who tried to kill herself and failed at that, too.
3. I wouldn’t have to remember, and so, because of that, and here’s the biggie:
4. I wouldn’t have to feel. Anything. Ever again.
But what I’m doing is putting me on Dr. Hospital Shrink’s Naughty List, because I’m not supposed to be engaging in “destructive negative thought patterns” like this. Instead, I’m supposed to be making a Gratitude List of three things I’m grateful for every day.
I was like, “How am I supposed to do that? My life sucks. That’s why I’m here in the first place.”
Dr. Hospital Shrink just smiled and nodded, like yeah, yeah, he’d heard it all before.
“It doesn’t have to be a big thing, Lara. It can be something as small as being grateful that you got the right flavor Jell-O on your dinner tray.”
“If I liked Jell-O, which I don’t.”
“But you get the idea,” he persisted. Dr. Hospital Shrink was annoyingly persistent.
As much as I pretended not to, I did. This was my list for the first day:
1. I’m grateful for water. I’m thirsty.
2. I’m grateful that Mom and Dad went home to shower and change so I had a break from them sitting by my bedside, sighing and making me feel like I’m their Problem Child.
3. I’m seriously grateful for toilet paper. That activated charcoal they gave me to help get the drugs out of my system is making me poop a lot, and it’s making my poop beyond gross. Like, I mean, even more beyond gross than poop usually is. It’s totally black, like coal.
This episode of Sesame Street is brought to you by the letter W for Waste of time .
Making the list hasn’t been getting easier, even after being out of the hospital for a week. I’m still stuck on number one for today’s list.
Oh wait:
1. I’m grateful for Sesame Street so I don’t have to watch “Mothers who sleep with their son’s girlfriend’s brothers” on The Jerry Springer Show .
One down. Only two more to think about in the endless hours that stretch between now and when I go to sleep and this all starts over again.
2. I’m grateful for naps, because they help pass the time and let me forget.
Except when they don’t. Except when I dream about Christian.
Last night I dreamed that he did ask me to his dance and I bought that ivory dress I loved on Wanelo. He looked hot in his tux, and he told me I was beautiful when he slipped a pretty corsage of tiny pink roses with a small spray of baby’s breath onto my wrist — the touch of his hands on my wrist sending shivers up my spine.
In my dream limo, he put his arm around me and rested his hand on my bare shoulder, gently touching my skin with his fingertips. He whispered in my ear that he loved me and this was going to be the best night ever. In my dream, I believed him, my heart beating faster in excitement and anticipation, because just by being there with him and having his arm around me, it already was.
But when the limo pulled up at the dance, it wasn’t at his high school; it was at my middle school. And all these people outside dressed in tuxes and beautiful dresses were holding big signs that said Lardo and Lardosaurus . I was scared Christian would see them and change his mind, so I tried to kiss him to distract him from the signs. But instead of leaning in to kiss me with his perfect, warm lips, he pulled away from me in horror.
“Why would I want to kiss you ?” he asked, his handsome face distorted almost beyond recognition by disgust and loathing. “ Lardo . You repulse me. I would never want to be seen with you in public anywhere , let alone a dance .”
“But … why ?” I pleaded, reaching for him, still feeling the warmth of his fingers on my skin. “A few minutes ago, you said …”
“The world would be a better
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