     Amun | Friday, April 13, 2001 - 10:52 am
The following may be long, but it is worth reading on those useless days.
A year: 12 months; 52 weeks; 365 days; 8760 hours; 525600 minutes; 31536000 seconds. No matter how you count it, a lot can take place in a year.
I went from living large to living with nothing at all.
It may only take a slight mistake before your career is over and your flat on your back. I learned all that the hard way, and it is a miracle I am still here.
For almost five years I was a successful neurologist. I was the youngest in the profession so I guess I hadn’t yet learned life was harsh and cruel. I assisted the top doctors in the world on newly developed treatments for blindness and even cerebral palsy. Even after all I have done, the respect of my associate peers would be diminished within a week.
Perhaps the worst part of all this happened at home. I was in love with him, but I guess he didn’t see...or he didn’t care. We were engaged to be married, but I guess that's not what he wanted. He claimed he left because I was never home, but he perfectly well knew I had an important job. Sure I had to work a lot in the weeks before he left, but it has happened before and he did nothing.
I did not take this easy at all. Sure, you’re saying that it's normal to feel sad or angry at first, but you really don't know anything! No, it didn’t get better as time went on, time just spread the wound further and further apart. 'Till this day I still have not recovered, and this was over a year ago. After he (will remain nameless) left, that’s when things really got bad.
Only a few days after he left, I went into great depression. Everything bad that could come from the situation came out. There I was 29 years old and not married. I can’t say that I didn't expect that to happen, but it did, and I wasn't even close...anymore. I started to think about what will happen and if anything will ever happen again. I definitely didn't take this lightly.
I didn't go to work for three days…and that's a lot if you're a doctor. No one knew what had happened, and almost never did. I finally went back on the fourth day expecting it to ease my pain, but it did just the opposite. I walk into my office and instead of it being empty as I expected, there sat the president of the hospital. I had no expression on my face while walking in so the only thing that changed was that I fixed my eyes on him.
"Well, well, so you finally decided to show up today?"
"Yeah, I know I’ve been gone for a few days, but I’m back now." And odd moment of silence followed "So let me get to my work."
Everyone hated this man. His crafty eyes and slick black hair made you want to punch him every time he came around. Another reason everyone hated him was because he got the job from his father, so he had even smaller respect than you’d expect.
"Sit down." He snapped.
"Yes sir" I mumbled under my breath. Then I went to the chair in front of my desk and took a seat.
After about a minute of nothing being said, he finally spoke up, "You look like ••••!" After seeing I wasn’t amused, he spoke up again, "you've missed three days of work without notice and I will not stand for it. Do you remember that you have and extensive project that was supposed to be started on Monday? It's now Wednesday and nothing has been done. I didn't expect anything like this out of you, what’s going on?"
"I'm sorry, sir, its some personal problems at home...I'll be on the project right away." I said trying to just get him out of my way.
"That won’t be necessary." There was a long pause before he spoke up again. "I'm...I'm sorry to have to tell you this...but from this moment on, you will no longer need to make that those deadlines." He looked down, as if out of shame.
"So what? You just fire me like that? I’ve done more work for you and your twisted father than anyone else around here!" I couldn’t control my rage and I threw a pen towards his head.
Fortunately I had bad aim and it just stuck in the wall behind him. I then stormed out of the room in a fury.
As I was walking down the hall, I was approached by one of the nurses whom I had known since I was about twenty-five. She sensed I was angry and quickly said, "What’s wrong?" I didn’t want to talk to anybody and coarsely responded, "Shove it Karen!" Yes, it was a bit immature, but what would you have done? As I was leaving the hospital, everyone got out of my way after seeing the rage in my motions.
As I was going to my car, I heard someone running up behind me. When the footsteps came to a stop, I heard the sole voice that would make me blow at the time. "What was that show in there!"
"What? You didn’t like the feeling of being hated? Well get this...that’s how everyone feels Kurt."
"You’re a professional, and you put on something like that? To think that you were a dignified employee.2 He shook his head like it even mattered to him.
"You’re a fool. You don’t know what’s going on and you pull something like that. You have no dignity in this whole hospital and you go on like that. As far as I’m concerned, you’re just another sad, pathetic loser that relies on his father to get him places!" I turned around and just slapped him across the face.
As he stood there stunned, I took off.
When I arrived home I completely snapped. I could no longer control my rage and I started to flip. With one swift movement, I punched and broke a window. I ended up breaking two fingers from that incident, but was in too much rage to even notice.
My neighbors may or may not have been concerned, but all I know was that no authority was called. My house was a building being approached by a wreaking ball; it could not escape my wrath.
Hours later, everything was either strewn about or damaged, and I was in the middle thinking about everything.
I broke down, I couldn’t take it anymore, I needed out. In my mind, I started to explore all my options. I didn’t want to start things all over because it took me so long to get where I was. I decided that there was only one way out. I couldn’t endure anymore, so I just decided to try to end it.
After exploring my options. I didn’t like pain so I found the perfect way without much mutilation. At least my years in the medical field had taught me something. I went to the medicine cabinet and found what I was looking for. Within a minute or two, I had downed about thirty aspirin. Now I was ready for my final journey.
I went to kitchen. There I found the exact thing that would carry me out of my mental state. I picked up a serrated knife and carried it into the bathroom. I was already feeling a bit faint so I knew it wouldn’t be long. Quickly, I slashed both my wrists. I wrapped my arms in towels and I laid on the floor.
Within minutes I was unconscious.
I don’t know how long it was, or how, but my brother yusuf came to my rescue. He found me in the bathroom and called an ambulance. I woke up in the hospital where I once worked and saw Aston, Karen, and my long-time friend Casha in the room. I couldn’t believe it didn’t work, I wanted out.
When I woke up, I just laid there. Yusuf, Karen, and Cashawere excited that I was alive, I was the only one who wasn’t. I moaned and started to hit my head on the pillow. I think Casha tried to speak to me, but I just said "no, no, no" over and over.
Yusuf was alerted by this and asked to speak to me alone. Karen and Casha left the room.
"What’s wrong with you? You almost died..."
"You don’t get it! That’s what I was aiming for." I said in a raspy voice.
"Are you mad? What has possessed you to try something like that?"
I just started to laugh. He couldn’t possibly know how I felt and what my motives were. Instantly, I became serious and pulled him close to me. "You have no idea what hell I have been through. No matter how you try, you will never understand."
He rose and looked into my eyes. I felt no pity or remorse, and he could see that. "You’ve changed kid...you’ve changed." With that he walked out the door. When he was out the door I knew he spoke with Karen and Casha, so they didn’t come in. To that I was thankful. As I lie there, I drifted to sleep.
The next morning, to my surprise, yusuf was sitting in the room. "What are you doing here?" I said dully.
"I know you and you’re not like this."
"Well, maybe you don’t know me as well as you thought."
"Bull! You’re a fool. You’re my kid sister and you think I don’t know you? Well, if you think it is that I don’t know you, just think that I care."
I looked at him for a moment and looked out the window. "And for that, I don’t know whether to hate you or be grateful."
We left it at that. Nothing more was to be said and the two of us sat in silence for two hours before I drifted off to sleep again.
In a few hours, I woke to the sound of Yusuf’s voice. "This is who you are kid...this is who you are." He was stroking my hand and wasn’t aware I had even woken. To my surprise, I heard next what I never thought I would never hear. I heard the sound of weeping. Yusuf, my big brave brother, he was weeping.
"Oh Yusuf. My dear brother."
"My god. I don’t know how I could be so uncaring. I couldn’t live with the thought you were no longer on this earth." He put his head on my shoulder and we held each other. I could never imagine Yusuf being weak. Was I his weakness? "You’re no fool kid."
He stood up and walked out of the room. And again, I lied there, alone.
I awaited his return. For hours I waited. If only I had known. If only I had known that day he would never return.
I had no idea where he was going, for I never did. It ended up he was going to the roof of the hospital. He killed himself. How he got up there I still do not know, but that was to be the last sound surface he would step on. At approximately 4:45 on that Friday, he jumped from the fifteen-story hospital.
How could I be so cold towards him? My brother, my big brave brother, how could you do this. Just then it hit me, how could I do that. It never entered my mind at the time, but now, I realize how Yusuf felt. But why did he have to go and do a foolish thing like that?
I did not attend the funeral services two days after it happened. I was out of the hospital, but could not work up the courage to attend. My mother tried to get me there, but I resisted. I’d imagine it was a small service, with only close friends and family.
I’m sure they all understood my absence.
It was about a month after his burial until I finally visited his final resting-place. Wearing black, as this is now my usual wear, I searched the cemetery until I found him. It was a restful place to be, one feels almost at ease even with the deceased below you. Bearing nothing, I cowardly approached his grave. I’ve never felt so scared.
After minutes of reminiscing, I finally spoke.
"Damn you Yusuf!" my anger was present in tears. "You call me foolish, now look at what you’ve done. You say you couldn’t bear me not living on this earth, now I do not have you. You think the feeling isn’t mutual?" In frustration, and anger I walked away, but then I remembered the times when he’d brought me so much love and joy. I could not just simply walk away from him. How could he find it so easy to walk away? I walked back to the grave and knelt at the foot. "I’m sorry Yusuf, I’m so sorry."
That day was a day of tears. I did not leave Yusuf until dusk came upon the cemetery. That day also marked the day when I did not trust anyone who could hurt me. After that day, I put myself into isolation. Not physically, but mentally.
In the months that followed, I bought an apartment and kept a part-time job to pay the rent. My life was simple. I was alone and did not have to worry about anyone but myself. The one thing that made me happy in those months was my loyal cat. His determination and independence reminded me of my brother, so much that I named him Yus, short for Yusuf. It wasn’t until three months after I visited Yusuf’s grave did I go back. I would not have thought to go there if it wasn’t for my cat.
When I came to yusuf’s grave, I sat down on the ground at the foot and let Yus play in my sight. A moment of silence followed before I spoke. "I’m here again. I’ve brought my cat Yus. He’s the one who encouraged me to come back." Yus frolicked around the grave and I couldn’t help but laugh.
Through the day I talked about the past when we were children growing up. That second visit was one that brought more joy into my life; the joy that Yusuf had not walked away from me completely.
I’ve been to Yusuf's grave once or twice every week from that day on. I still visit him. The trips are sort of a spiritual cleansing for me. I tell him my recollections, problems, and thoughts. I don’t expect an answer, just the knowing that he is somewhere; somewhere where he can see my happiness. |
