From Her Point of View

      When Cory starting having problems with her mental health, we decided to document the journey to help other teenagers and parents that might have to go through the same thing.  We would separately write an account of things that happened so it would be valuable to both the person going through the illness, and the person trying to help them.  We were pretty excited about this project, but unfortunately Cory's illness soon became so all-consuming that we weren't able to keep up with it.  Going through her room after the accident, I found she had saved some of our entries, and even designed a cover for the book we hoped to someday publish.  It was to be titled, "In the Birdcage."

      Although many small, nearly imperceptible changes in Cory's behavior had been taking place for some time, it was a fight at school that was the catalyst for seeking help.  I shouldn't really call it a fight, because as Cory wholeheartedly admitted, she had basically attacked the girl.  Granted, the girl she attacked had been bullying her for some time, but that was no excuse.   Cory had been taught since she could remember, violence is never acceptable.  Having been in an abusive relationship, I was perhaps a little more die-hard than the average parent with this viewpoint.  My children would not grow up to hit or push their spouses when the world wasn't going their way.  Neither would they accept that type of behavior from their spouses, no matter how much they loved them.  That lesson was high on my list of life lessons to teach my babies.

      I am trying to get to the point where I can begin to share some of the things that Cory's mental illness brought to her and our family.  I thought it would be most appropriate to start with the key event that spurred us to find out what was wrong, and to seek help.  I also thought it would be meaningful to share the event from her viewpoint.  So the following excerpt is from Cory's own heart and brain, and shares just where she was when things began to really fall apart,  in the spring of her sophomore year in high school.
One thing you will notice about my girl's character and writing style:  she too, believes in telling the truth.  I love you, Cory-Girl. You are my heart.

Suspended. 10 days. Charges being pressed. Possibly probation.  Yeah, I've finally gotten that wake-up call my mother always warned me about, my temper does come with consequences in the "real world".

Let me tell you the story in full, with all the gory details.

 It was actually, April Fool's day (ha, ha) and I'd had a day full of the usual irritations. Hoodlums crowding the halls, and trying to trip the little white girl. The popular crowd still hadn't gotten the memo that "Helloooo! I'm a really cool chick, and YES, I DO exist!". And of course, the day always ends with a not so pleasant visit to Mrs. Jordan's 10th grade History class (i.e. my least favorite period of the day, Mrs. Jordan has trouble accepting my humor, apparently humor doubles as "interruptions" or "over talkative" in her world).

I'd been stressed, and I think adults forget what that kind of stress-load feels like as a teen. I'm not saying that I just bottled up and snapped; that'd be a lie. My temper has  always been an issue.   I have bad temper--a nice little hereditary gift from my lovely father. But, most of the time I keep it at home, where only my mom has to bear it, or suffer it. I thought that the screaming, kicking, violent, hysterics were reserved for behind closed doors, though.   I thought I could keep my Mr. Hyde side on a leash. 

 Eeeeh, not so much. I lost on this girl who rides my bus. There are two girls on my bus that annoy the crap out of me. One is Monica, a freshman, who has a mouth the size of Eurasia. She always has something to say to someone-  a smart comment, a rude comment.   She is always guaranteed to tick off or annoy anyone who crosses her path. The other, is Sam, a white-trash tramp, who smells like salsa, baby powder and pooh all the time. She is grouchy, the kind who is likely to spit in your face if you brush past her on accident and forget to say excuse me (trust me, i know).

The problem on this particular day was Monica.   Looking back, I wish I could've just ignored her but I didn't. She made a remark about my outfit, and my fashion is one of the few things I pride myself on. I asked her kindly, to shut her giant trap, but she persisted to laugh it off. When someone laughs in the face of my anger, it grows from a small little creature to a full beast of badness. And I think I knew right then while listening to her throw her head back and let loose that hackling laugh, that I would probably resort to violence.

In a way my temper is like the book "The Magic Finger" by Ronald Dahl.   I read it once when I was like 9, and I don't remember all the details. But, as I recall (I could be a little off)... it was this little girl and when she got mad, her finger could do stuff to people. I'm not saying I have any mystic powers in my index, but I also remember in the book the girl described it as it happened,  and she always said "I couldn't control it anymore, I saw red".

Well, that's exactly how it was, Monica was across the bus aisle laughing away, and I just couldn't control it anymore-  I saw red. We got off the bus, and I think Monica saw the rage in my eyes;  I know I could feel it all over my red-hot face. I think she really saw it, though, because she started to run. And without any thought of consequence, I ran and just reached out...and grabbed her by her hair. I forced her down to the ground and smacked her in the face as hard as I could, over and over and over. I stopped to ask her in my "super tough angry guy" voice "are we done here?" and she looked up to me and answered, "let goooo of my hairrr!!!".

That made me truly angry, because I thought at this point she'd have enough sense to drop it with the sass-mouth, but nope, there she was screaming for me to let go,  I knew by the look on her face she was really screaming "what in the world is wrong with you, you crazy b****".  So at this point, I started in with the kicking. I kicked her in the stomach repeatedly, at full-force. I probably would've continued, and done as much damage as possible if Sara (who was holding my stuff) hadn't stopped me, by screaming "Cori!! Stop, this is getting out of hand!!".

 I will probably always remember Sara screaming those words-  it was the first time anyone outside of my family had seen me lose my temper, and there she was with that same look Monica had on her face, the face that silently accused me of being completely crazy. So I stopped, but it was far too late by then. What was done was done and there was no undoing it.

When I turned around again Monica was gone, she ran home that fast.  Sara and I walked to the playground, she continued to go on about how she simply could NOT believe I did that. And the next day at school everything sort of crumbled around me, Mr. Todd and Officer Meneuos explained that I would be suspended from school and that the situation would have to go through the courts, it was assault.

I think everyone in my family must be ashamed of me; I'm ashamed of myself. Even though at school I act like I'm Stone Cold Steve Austin and I just won the championship belt, I really am so ashamed. Sometimes I don't even feel like myself anymore, and I worry about who I'll grow up to be-  after all that fairytale land called adulthood is only two years around the corner. If I don't do A LOT of changing in the two years I have to get there, who will I be?

 -Corinne-Nicole.