March 18, 1999
Echoes
Well at least I can't say that I've not gotten anything accomplished. I revised Jake's story finally. It's not quite how I had envisioned it, but I'm proud of it. Oh. I suppose I should mention. The link above goes to the original, unrevised version. I'm still trying to decide how to post the revised version, as it has turned into sort of an ongoing history of the character. Also, I sent it to my editors (hee) and I'm still waiting to hear from them. I may post some other things this afternoon. I've written some things lately that I'm proud of. All gaming related, of course. In the same section, I may also include awesome gaming-type things that others have written as well. Possibly scene logs as well, but that might be a bit more obscure for non-gamers.
[Note added March 19,1999: The revised version has been posted, as has the writing page.]
I'm in a rather odd mood today, all things considered. A friend of mine is in the process of getting divorced, and a few days ago her husband tried to kill himself. I'm getting stuck in the past again... I hadn't thought of this in so long. November 15th, 1991. Nashville, Tennessee. I had been married to my ex for almost four months. Things were bad, even then. Not that I realized it, of course. Both of us were unemployed and trying to go to school. The Ex was trying to get a job in what was essentially a pyramid marketing scheme. Although skeptical, I went along. That was one of the themes of my marriage, actually: Lisa Ignores Her Better Judgement and Goes Along With The Ex. What the hell, I was nineteen and he was twenty-two. At any rate, he came home from his first day on that 'job', and we got into a fight over it. Neither of us was very good at fighting fair back then. Things got ugly, and he stormed from the bedroom, saying that he was going to get something to eat.
Several minutes passed, and I had gone back to trying to read my book. Eventually I realized that I was hearing no sounds from the kitchen at all. No pots and pans, no water running, just... silence. I got a little worried, and got up to see what the matter was. There in the living room was Gary, hanging from an extension cord wrapped around his neck. He was unconscious, as far as I could tell. I have absolutely no clear recollection of the next five or ten minutes. Vague images. Screaming and crying. Our cocker spaniel puppy trying to get in my lap as I lowered Gary to the ground. Trying to remember how the hell to do CPR. Gary waking up. We argued again, oddly enough, about whether or not he was going to go to the hospital. I won. By calling the cops. They told me that either I could take him in willingly, or they would come and get him. I drove him to the hospital.
Tennessee, in 1991 at least, had a law that required the psychiatric hospitalization of anyone who attempted suicide. Once the emergency room doctors had ascertained that there was no physical harm to him, I followed Gary to the state psych hospital. Followed, because they had to take him in a police car. There I found out that he was being involuntarily committed for an unspecified length of time. State psych hospitals should be avoided at all costs. That's the conclusion I reached then, and I've seen nothing to change my mind since. It was dirty, dismal and depressing. Just the thing to make a suicidal patient want to get better - so they could get the hell out of there.
My friend has it better than I do, in a lot of ways. She's older, she's employed, she has family and friends near her. I remember being completely alone in Nashville. No friends, because between the two of us, Gary and I pushed them all away. His parents were hours away, and mine were here in Michigan. I went home from the hospital without Gary and cried for the next several days, off and on. I was hurt and afraid and angry. A lot of the latter. Still a lot of the latter. Otherwise I wouldn't be thinking about this so much.
No resolution for this entry. God sometimes the past is so close...
