Content Warning: Suicide, Self-Harm
In the Pre-Covid days, Jennifer used to perform in a decent amount of the storytelling shows in the Chicago live lit scene. Write Club, Story Club and Story Club South, the dearly missed That’s All She Wrote, The Stoop, You’re Being Ridiculous, and many more that I have forgotten. Even I told stories at The Stoop with the wonderful Lily Be, and at The Blackout Diaries with the also wonderful Sean Bair Flannery.
Jennifer is amazing at storytelling. In addition to her genius writing, she can really command a crowd, and she has impeccable comic and dramatic timing. Every time I’ve seen her tell a story, she crushes it. For the first few years of our relationship, I was a mere bystander. An enthusiastic audience member. But Jennifer enrolled me in a writing class that the great Brigid Murphy taught in her home. If you don’t know who Brigid Murphy is, she’s an incredible writer, performer, musician, dancer, multiple-time cancer survivor, college instructor, actor, and force of nature. As an actor and screenwriter I was initially skeptical of her autobiographical writing prompts and methods combining writing and performance. For me, those had been separate artistic expressions, but Brigid taught me how to blur those lines. I realize that without that class, I would have never written this blog and I would not have my TikTok diary. I’m not sure that I would have written anything more substantive than tweets and status updates for the past several years. I was well and truly stuck before taking that class. For good or ill, Brigid’s lessons are ingrained into my writing process now. Which brings us to Monday morning in the shower.
I was writing a story out loud to tell at some unnamed future storytelling show. A show that I will perform at when the Covid levels are so low and vaccination rates are so high that I feel safe to be in a crowd of people again. Where a stray cough won’t send me to the exits. I don’t see that happening soon—so the pressure is off for now. I can write just for me.
Yay.
As I talked through this story I was trying to figure out where to begin—it deals with the way a dancer at a Las Vegas strip club reacted to the very bright red scars on my arms from my very recent suicide attempt, while giving me a table dance. It’s a story that is awkward, touching, and hilarious in equal parts. I think one day that it will absolutely crush at a storytelling show. In my writing process, I was trying to decide how far back to go before the events at Olympic Garden Topless Cabaret.
So, I started to go back to the night of the actual attempt. I’m not wanting to trigger myself or anyone else, so I won’t go into details of the night, but know that my suicide attempt traumatized a whole houseful of revelers that were at my house for my twenty-seventh birthday. It was loud, public, and targeted toward my ex-girlfriend. I wanted her to suffer like I was suffering since she broke it off with me. It is the most selfish, violent, loathsome, irredeemable, and vile thing I have ever done. Over twenty-one years later, and I still haven’t forgiven myself.
My ex and I spoke (at her request) over twenty years ago. I apologized to her for what happened that night and for the many terrible things I had said and done during our relationship. I apologized with utter sincerity and without hope for forgiveness. She told me that what I had done had really caused her a lot of pain and trauma, but that she gotten help for it. She said that she knew that I was not in my right mind at the time, and that my apology was sincere. She forgave me. We hugged and cried. We agreed that we should probably not try being friends again, but that we cared very much for one another, and that we wanted only the best for each other. As far as I know, she is healthy and happy. May she live a long and happy life.
While I was reliving this experience, I had a sudden insight into my own psyche that honestly made weak in the knees to the point of almost falling in the shower. I shored myself up and suddenly I felt like this insight was so raw, primal, dark, and shameful that I could not tell anyone, not even my therapist. All day long on Monday and into the night as I lay tossing and turning I could not stop thinking about my shower epiphany. When I woke up I was no longer in awe of the enormity of my shower stall revelation. In the cold light of day, I was just embarrassed. My internal monologue began mocking me immediately. At breakfast, I told Jennifer what had occurred to me, and she did not join in on the mocking or laugh at me; she was supportive and said, “It sounds like you have a lot to talk to Cherie about.” This was just the right response. It short-circuited the self-mocking and made me feel heard. It allowed me to stop ruminating until I could talk to Cherie on Thursday. Marry an advice columnist. They have a way with words, calming and otherwise.
After breakfast we discovered that we had a very serious problem—sorry to be cagey, but it’s still being dealt with, and it’s not my place to spill any more beans. I also found out that my poor Maa had fallen again. This week can kick rocks. Mom is in the hospital now, but not from her fall. It turns out that the fall may have saved her life. When they got her to the hospital, her potassium level was sky-high—to the point that she could have easily gone into cardiac arrest—scary! All of her numbers have leveled out and she is no longer in the ICU, but there does appear to be a kidney injury unrelated to her falling. We do not know more about it yet, but anything kidney-related freaks me out big time. Please keep Mom in your thoughts and prayers.
It turns out that my shower stall oracle was a deep and important insight according to my therapist, and she asked me if I wanted to start working on it, but only if I wanted to because there is a lot of associated trauma that will be exposed. I told her that I did, and so next week we are trying a therapy that is new to me. It is called EMDR or Eye Movement Desensitization and Reprocessing. I don’t know much more about it, but I hear good things from people I know who have gone through the process. A friend who is a therapist says that while she has not used it yet, clients of hers have reported good results. If it helps me to forgive myself for something I did over two decades ago, I’m all for it.
Thank you to everyone who came to last week’s Zoom party. It was a lot of fun, and I would like to have another one next Friday. I have paid for a month of Zoom pro, so I may as well get my use out of it. I will make a post early next week with details. Until then, I love you, and y’all be sweet.
Thank you, as always, for reading.
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This hits hard Jeremy. Stumbled upon your post while researching shower epiphanies (clearly a topic that sparks something in both of us!). Realizing this was a post from a cpl yrs ago, hope you're in a better place!
The internal struggle after your shower insight – that feeling of "maybe this is too dark" – really resonated. On my blog, Shower Epiphanies, I'm hoping to explore ways to embrace those raw thoughts that happen in the shower and turn them into creative fuel, even when they feel uncomfortable.
Powerful stuff, and thanks for sharing your vulnerability.
I did EMDR many years ago and it was very effective for me. And I was very skeptical about it, so was even more delighted when it worked so well!
Also I couldn't make the first Zoom party, so am thrilled that you're having another one. :)