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Part 1

 

 

 

I've never known what to make of my so-called life. For those of you who don't know me, my name is Mindi Jacobson. I'm in my freshmen year of high school, and I've been doing the whole “get to know yourself” thing. Trust me, it's a lot harder than it sounds. I live in Spokane and it's not a great city for a person like me. Everyone seems like they are living in a time warp and the city has this whole 1950s feel to it. (Not that I would know!) Either way, I have no choice but to hide who I really am.

 

 

Let me tell you a little bit about myself. I'm bisexual, and I suffer from depression. Yeah, I know, doesn't sound like a great combination. It's not as bad as you would think, really. I somehow keep the issues apart. I am not ashamed of the fact that I like both girls and boys. For the record, I prefer girls, and please, don't think of me as some mixed-up girl who likes to sleep around. I have kissed a girl in my life but not a boy. Okay, so maybe I have kissed a few girls, but I've never gone all the way or anything like that. This is one of the many things that make my life, for lack of better words, complicated. As for my depression? Now that's a whole different story.

 

 

I found out that I had depression when I was fourteen. I'm not talking about something where I cried a little and then I was okay. Since I was diagnosed, I've never truly been “okay.” You might think that I'm just some girl going through the motions, but I've been struggling with it for the better part of a year. When I start thinking about bad things, I get scared and cry. I've even thought about suicide, and, yes, I've hurt myself on several occasions. It's never been anything too serious, no more than a simple cut here and there. Everyone thinks I'm just doing it for attention, and they're sorta right. It's never exactly for attention, but I always would love some of that.

 

 

I'm five-five, with medium-length brown hair and hazel eyes. People say I'm pretty but that doesn't seem to be the case these days. (Okay, so the people who are saying I'm pretty are my mom and dad.) I haven't had one date my entire freshman year. I've started to dress different, even, as I've been mashing up some sort of punkish style, and wearing as much makeup as I can get away with. Some girls have checked me out, (some guys have, too,) but none of them have asked me out. It's not that I'm trying to play the “girl” role, but more that I'm very insecure and afraid of rejection. In our school, word spreads pretty fast, and it'll only be a matter of time before people start to make fun of you. Yes, that's right. I'm afraid of being bullied. What girl isn't?

 

 

People tend to judge me pretty fast. When people see my scars and the way I dress, they always seem to draw their conclusions. I have only one friend that I really trust, and her name is Karla. She's a real hot redhead, and although she says she's straight, sometimes, I wonder. She stands out as a real rebel type, and tends to be a prankster. She's not very popular but a lot of guys really admire her. She says that she doesn't want a boyfriend right now, but that only leads me to be even more suspicious of whether she's gay or not. I've always wished she was gay, and maybe I’ve even fantasized about her a few times, but it doesn't get in the way of our friendship at all. We're closer than sisters, and, hey, that's what really counts.

 

 

Our school, which is a contract school, is one where very few people can be described as normal. I was placed in it after I had missed several weeks of my eighth grade year due to my depression. The school counselor had thought it would be a good idea and of course my parents had to go along with it. I haven't told my parents that I'm bi yet. I think my mom can kinda tell but she’s never said anything about it. My mom, I swear at times, really is an angel. When I was diagnosed with depression, all she could do was comfort me and tell me that everything is okay. That night, I had to go to the emergency room after I had cut myself too deep, and they sent me home with a whole bunch of pills and a bill that my parents couldn't really afford. My mom said I didn't have take any of them unless I wanted to. Even though the bill and all of the expenses of my treatment have pulled my family financially under, my mom neve fails to tell me she loves me. She tells me it's not my fault, even though I know it is. Speaking of which, there's one more thing about me that you should know.

 

 

I've used drugs before. Nothing big, just a few pills. I buy them with my lunch money from other kids at school. I don't really eat much, because I think I'm fat, so it works out great. I crush them up and snort them, sometimes taking whole handfuls at once. I like how I feel afterwards. It makes the high you get from weed seem like nothing. After I take a few pain pills, for example, I feel like I'm floating. It's safe to say it makes you feel like you’re invincible. I know it's not good, but I can't get enough of it.

 

 

If you're wondering about me being fat, I weigh 130, and I feel huge. I purge almost every night at home. It's not unusual for me to eat a banana for breakfast and drink some milk at school and call it good for the whole day. Do I get hungry, you might ask? Not when I got killer energy drinks in my room at home, he he. I'm no different than any other girl that way. Most of the female students at North Central Alternative have anorexia. Love it, hate it, that's just who we are. As far as I'm concerned, casting all of my problems aside, we're not generation x, but generation next! We will be the future one day, and I'll be apart of it, too, granted my depression doesn't take me under first.