Read Online Impulse by Ellen Hopkins - Free Book Online
Authors: Ellen Hopkins
Tags: Fiction, General, Family, Juvenile Fiction, Psychology, Suicide, Social Issues, Interpersonal relations, Psychiatric hospitals, Friendship, Parents, Values & Virtues, Mental Illness, Self-Esteem & Self-Reliance, Diseases, Health & Daily Living, Depression & Mental Illness, Novels in Verse, Illnesses & Injuries
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hey, if I'm wrong, nothing lost.
It does comfort me to think there might be something after we close our eyes for the final time-- a light to walk toward.
I hope Phillip took that walk. According to the Book, all that's required is faith. He believed, so he should be There, waiting for me.
"But what about being gay?" I asked Phillip once.
"Some say that dooms you." 193
198
I think God cares more about how you treat others than who you sleep with.
Which worries me some. I did once mistreat a man about as bad as you could do someone. Though I asked Him for forgiveness, maybe
I don't deserve it, because I don't feel even a little bit bad about what I did. I know He knows why. I only hope it matters. 194
199
He understands why I tried to kill myself and that He doesn't turn His back if I one day succeed. Surely that's better than taking up room on this dying planet, when so little room is left. The hardest part about this religion thing is that every "believer" believes something different.
Anyway, I don't really believe like this visiting chaplain does. He's pure hellfire and brimstone--
too Baptist for my taste. Oh yeah, I know Baptists, 195
200
Catholics, too. I sampled both along the way, in deference to the two sides of my family. Ma wasn't a churchgoer, obviously, but her ma was a Texas Southern Baptist who took me to a revival or two when we went to visit once. Holy rollers! Who could qualify for their Heaven?
Pa's people were Pope lovers, and the Vatican view of right or wrong leaves me reeling too. I bet Pa's at mass right now, spouting Hail Marys for me. 196
201
I'm Told Level One
Means Sunday services, an hour or more being scared silly by some volunteer preacher. They even make the little kids go. Church didn't used to scare me. But that was before Mama introduced me to her angel. He was so real to her, I used to wonder why I couldn't see or hear him, when Mama could.
Plain as day. And if you can ' t hear
him, little girl, it means
you haven ' t qualified to enter the pearly gates.
You ' d better ask for forgiveness.
She never said what for, but she sat me at the table with a dog-eared King James, made me read for hours. Out loud. 197
202
There's that other thing, too. Most women in that situation move on with their lives. No second thoughts. No guilt. Most other women aren't me. I did ask for forgiveness then. Still don't know His answer.
My bad wrist throbs, and my good one pulses pleasant memories of a paper clip.
One more little poke couldn't hurt.
I tiptoe to the door, listen for movement in the hall. No footsteps. Out comes my little friend. This time I insert it just behind my knee, where a long skirt will cover it so no one but God can see. 198
203
A Long Flowing Skirt
And a long-sleeved blouse disguise all signs of SI--no, not Sports Illustrated. SI stands for self-injury; another term I learned surfing the Web. The best thing about those boards and blogs is knowing I'm not alone.
I cut to focus when my brain is racing. I cut to make physical what I feel inside. I cut to see blood because I like it. I don ' t like to cut, but I can ' t give it up.
I have felt all those things, cut for all those reasons. But now I cut for another, much more substantial reason. 199
204
I cut when I think I hear a baby crying. When I think
I hear Mama calling. Knowing those things are impossible but hearing
them just the same. And that's something I'll never break down and admit to anyone but myself. Bipolar crazy is one thing.
Schizophrenic is another.
Could I have inherited both?
205
I Sit at the Back
Of the dining-room-turned-
chapel. It's the only room big enough to accommodate all of us. And attendance is mandatory. Do they really think they're saving souls? If so, my suggestion would be not to bother. In my admittedly limited knowledge of religion, desire to change is a requirement.
Glancing around the room, I can find only a few who might qualify. Justin, of course. A couple of
It does comfort me to think there might be something after we close our eyes for the final time-- a light to walk toward.
I hope Phillip took that walk. According to the Book, all that's required is faith. He believed, so he should be There, waiting for me.
"But what about being gay?" I asked Phillip once.
"Some say that dooms you." 193
198
I think God cares more about how you treat others than who you sleep with.
Which worries me some. I did once mistreat a man about as bad as you could do someone. Though I asked Him for forgiveness, maybe
I don't deserve it, because I don't feel even a little bit bad about what I did. I know He knows why. I only hope it matters. 194
199
He understands why I tried to kill myself and that He doesn't turn His back if I one day succeed. Surely that's better than taking up room on this dying planet, when so little room is left. The hardest part about this religion thing is that every "believer" believes something different.
Anyway, I don't really believe like this visiting chaplain does. He's pure hellfire and brimstone--
too Baptist for my taste. Oh yeah, I know Baptists, 195
200
Catholics, too. I sampled both along the way, in deference to the two sides of my family. Ma wasn't a churchgoer, obviously, but her ma was a Texas Southern Baptist who took me to a revival or two when we went to visit once. Holy rollers! Who could qualify for their Heaven?
Pa's people were Pope lovers, and the Vatican view of right or wrong leaves me reeling too. I bet Pa's at mass right now, spouting Hail Marys for me. 196
201
I'm Told Level One
Means Sunday services, an hour or more being scared silly by some volunteer preacher. They even make the little kids go. Church didn't used to scare me. But that was before Mama introduced me to her angel. He was so real to her, I used to wonder why I couldn't see or hear him, when Mama could.
Plain as day. And if you can ' t hear
him, little girl, it means
you haven ' t qualified to enter the pearly gates.
You ' d better ask for forgiveness.
She never said what for, but she sat me at the table with a dog-eared King James, made me read for hours. Out loud. 197
202
There's that other thing, too. Most women in that situation move on with their lives. No second thoughts. No guilt. Most other women aren't me. I did ask for forgiveness then. Still don't know His answer.
My bad wrist throbs, and my good one pulses pleasant memories of a paper clip.
One more little poke couldn't hurt.
I tiptoe to the door, listen for movement in the hall. No footsteps. Out comes my little friend. This time I insert it just behind my knee, where a long skirt will cover it so no one but God can see. 198
203
A Long Flowing Skirt
And a long-sleeved blouse disguise all signs of SI--no, not Sports Illustrated. SI stands for self-injury; another term I learned surfing the Web. The best thing about those boards and blogs is knowing I'm not alone.
I cut to focus when my brain is racing. I cut to make physical what I feel inside. I cut to see blood because I like it. I don ' t like to cut, but I can ' t give it up.
I have felt all those things, cut for all those reasons. But now I cut for another, much more substantial reason. 199
204
I cut when I think I hear a baby crying. When I think
I hear Mama calling. Knowing those things are impossible but hearing
them just the same. And that's something I'll never break down and admit to anyone but myself. Bipolar crazy is one thing.
Schizophrenic is another.
Could I have inherited both?
205
I Sit at the Back
Of the dining-room-turned-
chapel. It's the only room big enough to accommodate all of us. And attendance is mandatory. Do they really think they're saving souls? If so, my suggestion would be not to bother. In my admittedly limited knowledge of religion, desire to change is a requirement.
Glancing around the room, I can find only a few who might qualify. Justin, of course. A couple of
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