running out of ink

By Jennifer DeSanctis

"When you're running out of ink, the only person that can refill you with those things is you."

In running out of ink, we are introduced to author Je

• Language: English
• Publisher: New Degree Press
• Release date: Jun 20, 2021
• ISBN: 9781637300862

Book preview

running out of ink

A MEMOIR

jennifer desanctis

new degree press

copyright © 2021 jennifer desanctis

All rights reserved.

running out of ink

ISBN

978-1-63676-357-6 Paperback

978-1-63676-982-0 Kindle Ebook

978-1-63730-086-2 Digital Ebook

for my dad, Vincent. H. DeSanctis—

i am forever proud to be your daughter. you are the reason for everything i have and everything i’ll ever be. i love you beyond words.

for Ari—

you’re the first person that ever gave me any ink. you saved my life until it was time for me to save myself. i don’t know what i would’ve done without you. your influence will always be permanent.

for Liz—

you’ve inspired me to not only use my voice, but to share it with the world. i hope to touch one life like you have touched mine.

for Dr. Moyer—

i took a risk. i am so thankful you were a part of my journey.

contents

---

trigger warning

author’s note

part one:

i was bleeding

racing

DARE

fix it

what does the devil look like?

number two

nobody i hate more

if i screamed would anyone hear me?

escape

impending

institutionalized

i need you here

scars

what do i really remember?

a close call

normalized

you made it easier to breathe

rock

part two:

i was empty

gray

stolen

safe

sympathy

if i only knew

loss

approval

frightening

chasing, but running the wrong way

kill the lights

back to the start

spiraling

colors

layers

running out of ink

part three:

i am replenishing

realizations

demons

burned bridges

stage five

holding on & letting go

false hopes

journey

worth(y)

balance

time / pieces

epilogue

acknowledgements

appendix

trigger warning

---

this memoir contains sensitive material relating to:

addiction

alcoholism

substance abuse

suicide / suicidal thoughts

self-harm

eating disorders

child sexual abuse

sexual assault

anxiety / panic disorders

depression

PTSD

death / grief

heartbreak

trauma

& possibly more

please take care of yourself as you move through my story.

introduction

author’s note

---

what age

the first time

feeling the world would be better off

without me

at least the feeling

of not wanting to be here

started young

at fifteen

i wrote a poem

about a pen

running out of ink

representing a love story

i knew i wanted to write this book

but not a memoir

fictional

instead of fitting my life story

i thought my ending was self-destruction

and now

this entire book

is only my introduction

**

Dear Reader,

There have been a lot of scary moments in my life. For a while, they never seemed to end. The scariest was April 27, 2019. At around one in the morning on my way home from a party, I was convinced I was going to die by suicide that night.

I’d gone through periods of time when I wanted to die, but there was never a moment like that one, having assured myself that I was going to act on it. I woke up the next morning in disbelief that I was alive. Since that day, my life has changed.

According to the National Alliance on Mental Illness, suicide is the tenth leading cause of death in the United States and the second leading cause of death among people ages 10–34. The annual prevalence of serious thoughts of suicide by US demographic group are 4.8 percent of all adults, 11.8 percent of young adults aged 18–25, 18.8 percent of all high school students, and 46.8 percent of lesbian, gay, and bisexual high school students.¹

For many years, I have struggled with self-esteem and mental health, as many people do. It got a lot worse after I lost my dad to addiction in 2017. I didn’t like myself, I went through some traumatizing shit, and I made a lot of mistakes. I thought that’s all I’d ever be. I believed that the things that had happened to me, along with having my own bad nights and making bad choices, were what defined me and that’s all I could be viewed as. I let my past consume me. The lowest moments of my life, what I considered rock bottom, kept getting lower. It’s easy to feel like you can’t escape bad moments, experiences, and decisions—especially when you’re hesitant to face them.

When I woke up that morning, I was thankful to be able to open my eyes, literally and figuratively. I was lying on my floor thinking of the previous night and everything that led up to an almost tragic ending to my story. I realized I needed to make changes because I might not get another chance if I didn’t pull myself out of the mindset I was in.

I had lost myself. I had become someone I couldn’t recognize. I thought there was no coming back, but I’ve learned that you really can find yourself again if you make sure you’re going in the right direction. I am beyond thankful to say I’ve never known who I am more than I do now.

I finally realized that every bad thing that happens is not what defines you. With every bad situation there is still an opportunity to react to it, respond, and rebuild. That’s what defines you. You can’t control what happens around you, but you can choose how you handle it.

Every decision you make is connected to your next one. You can have hundreds of bad moments, bad experiences, and bad decisions you wish you could change, but there are still so many choices that are on your terms in between. Things can get better if you put yourself on the path to getting better, and only if you believe you’ll get better. Every day is a new opportunity to do that.

I am compelled to write this for a few reasons. First, I want to share my story in hopes that it will help others going through similar experiences. I want people to know that they aren’t alone and no matter what happens to you, when things seem like they will never get better, they will, even if it takes a massive amount of time. Hang in there and keep fighting to get to that place. Your pain isn’t for nothing.

Second, I want to share my dad’s story, because he doesn’t have the opportunity to do so himself anymore. I want to draw attention to the stigmas and misconceptions that exist around mental health and addiction. With his story being a part of mine, I hope to open conversations about addiction, substance abuse, suicide, depression, and many other topics. The more we talk about these things, the less controversial they’ll be for people to acknowledge when they need help. The more we talk about these things, the less alone we’ll all feel when we face them. We’re never alone.

This memoir is first and foremost for anyone who needs it. If you picked up this book because you are struggling with mental health, addiction, loss, or anything else you heard was in it, I am so proud of you for continuing your fight. Thank you for giving your time and attention to my journey. I hope I can be a part of yours.

Parents, this is for you too. There are many things in this memoir that my family doesn’t know. In fact, they have no idea that I thought I was going to kill myself, which is what this entire book revolves around. Your children/teens are likely to experience one or many of the things I discuss related to my own experiences. I hope my story can help you navigate through your child’s challenges and initiate important conversations when needed.

Most of all, I want this to reach anyone who identifies as a girl or young woman, just because I feel like maybe they will relate to me more than others. I struggled an overwhelming amount growing up. It’s hard with all the standards women feel we have to reach. I want all of you to know you’re beautiful and no matter what is going on now, you are going to love and be so proud of the you years down the line. If you just thought, There’s no fucking way, so did I, and now you’re reading my book, which has set me free and shown me I’m a lot stronger than I’ve ever given myself credit for.

Life consists of a ton of moments, but life is all about how you refill yourself every time one of those moments is draining you. Welcome to my story: running out of ink.

With love,

Jen

---

1 Mental Health By the Numbers, National Alliance on Mental Illness, last modified March 2021.

part one:

i was bleeding

in the journal

my mamaw gifted to me

for my sixteenth birthday

i wrote

this will be art one day

on the inside cover

page four

"but if you’re trying to kill yourself,

start with the mind

not the body"

dark thoughts in my head

more than one trauma i couldn’t comprehend

assaulted

wounded

hurt and draining

you couldn’t see it on the outside

~i was bleeding

chapter 1 -

racing

---

moments

choices

everything changes.

those kids don’t know

their one decision

destroyed a life

the green paint, still there

a glimpse of a memory

my little sister

bob cut hair, tears down her face

Daddy has been in a car accident

the first time words would haunt me

the first time i saw him on a gurney

but he was still warm

heart still beating

still here

radiating with strength

those kids were racing

if only they knew

their true impact

damage to be done

i went home that night

still having two parents alive

but little did i know

even though he lived

that day

was still the day my dad died.

**

One day has the power to change everything. No matter which day you make it to this page, someone will have become engaged, married, received a promotion, won the lottery, but someone also will have had their heart broken, someone’s pet will have gone missing, and someone will have found their friend dead because of an overdose.

There are many dates that hold a significance in my life. There are more specific moments than there are dates, but the numbers that come to mind will forever sting as each year passes by. They remind me that nothing in life is guaranteed, to never take anything for granted, but most importantly, to live every day to the fullest because each day we wake up, is also someone else’s last. Life races away before our eyes. We never know when someone is about to cross their finish line.

**

November 21, 2005

Ticktock, ticktock, ticktock. All I heard was the constant sound of time passing by. If that wasn’t antagonizing enough, the secretary in the office at my elementary school practically looked through me. Why would they have the waiting area facing the administrators’ desks?

I was seven years old, so I became extremely irritated, quickly, having to sit and wait. Unlike the classrooms, there was a cushion, so it was more comfortable than the chairs I sat in all day, but I was sitting there for at least forty-five minutes.

I wasn’t sure where my dad was, but all day I looked forward to him picking me up from school. Not just because I hated the bus and most of the kids on it, but I couldn’t wait to go home and spend quality time with my dad. He worked a lot, as a CPA (Certified Public Accountant), which sometimes involved traveling, so I didn’t always get to see him.

I started to get worried though. It had been around fifty minutes since my school day ended. We had a half day, since it was almost Thanksgiving. I wondered where he was, but I was sure he was fine and just had to stop at his office or run an errand that took longer than expected.

Ring, ring, ring. The secretary got another phone call. I swear I counted random things such as phone calls the whole time because I was so antsy. I knew it definitely was not in my head anymore. She stared me down. I started to listen to what she said.

"Hello…

Yes, she is…

Okay, I won’t…

Okay, sounds good, goodbye."

I really wondered why she looked at me that entire time. I tried not to stare back, so I began to look around the office.

All of a sudden, through the glass windows, I saw my mom walking into the school with my sister, Lauren, who is two years younger than me. I jumped out of my seat and picked up my backpack.

As I walked towards them, I noticed Lauren was crying. At first, I thought my dad had something pop up that he had to take care of, and my mom was picking me up instead. My mom opened the office door.

Mommy! I yelled, as I ran up to give her a hug. I then vividly saw Lauren was full on sobbing. My mom looked very upset as well.

"Jennifer, Daddy has been in a car accident. We are going to the hospital right now to see him."

Tears immediately filled my eyes. "Is he going to be okay?" I asked.

We think so, she replied. Lauren clung to our mom as we walked out of the building, and I followed them to her car.

While my dad was on his way to get me from school in his green GMC Jimmy, two kids made a reckless decision that forever impacted my family. They decided to drag race down two very busy roads in my town, Tilghman Street and Blue Barn Road. My dad’s car was not only smashed into, but flipped over, and ended up wrapped around a pole. He had to be cut out of the car with a machine called the Jaws of Life. The accident was so terrible a fucking machine was needed to get him out.

My mom was informed about the accident by a police officer. As soon as she heard, she called my school. The secretary answered. My mom told her what had happened and why I was not picked up yet. She also told her not to tell me anything because I would’ve become absolutely hysterical. She told the secretary she’d be there soon. That was the conversation I overheard on the secretary’s side of it, while I sat in the office.

Our car ride to the hospital consisted of crying and what-ifs. My mom really did her best to stay calm for Lauren and me, and she tried to calm us down. We arrived at the hospital in absolute fear.

My dad had just finished getting X-rays, an MRI, and a CT scan. I had no clue what an MRI or a CT scan was in second grade. From down the hallway, I saw my dad on a yellow gurney, hooked up to an IV with EKG pads and wires. I immediately ran, charging towards him. In tears, I gave him the biggest hug I possibly could’ve, without hurting him. I noticed he was in a tremendous amount of pain from how he was sitting and from his facial expressions. He tried to act like he wasn’t in pain, but it was too severe to be concealed. When he tried to sit up taller, move at all on the gurney, or lean to hug Lauren, my mom, or me, I heard sounds that expressed pain.

I remember my dad had a ton of blankets around him, the heated ones that the nurses would bring, not that the heat lasts that long. My mom, Lauren, and I only got to see and talk to him for a short duration of time, but I was so thankful to have been able to hug him again and to see him alive. I couldn’t imagine my life without my dad and finding out that he could have died that day was terrifying, especially for a kid in second grade.

We left the hospital unsure if my dad would be released that night or the next. My mom went back to stay with my dad after she took Lauren and me to see him. My dad was then held for observation for twenty-three and a half hours. At the twenty-fourth hour, they would’ve had to admit him, but he had no broken bones, so they didn’t.

My dad’s lumbar vertebrae came out of alignment due to blunt force trauma from the accident. His knees jammed into his steering wheel, even with his seatbelt on, and the air bags deployed. Nothing in his body was technically broken, but significant damage was caused.

At seven years old, I didn’t comprehend a lot about this accident. When my dad returned home, I thought everything would be okay again, with recovery time of course. I had no clue the long-lasting effects this day, this car accident, would have on so many lives.

My dad was sent home from the hospital with something: an oxycodone prescription for his back pain. This is where my dad’s struggles with addiction started.

**

i complained

about my first car

my ancient Subaru Outback

named her Helga

life is really about what gets you

from point A,

to point B

in my case, point C

beyond my midway point

a set of time-trials

there’s three parts

~not everyone gets three chances

chapter 2 -

DARE

---

i’ve always been someone who needs to help

to inspire change

above all, i want people to be proud of me

i walked to the podium with pride

you felt it too, i could see it in your eyes

this was in front of my elementary school

not yet a church

how naïve i was

to think

this piece of paper

would make a difference

as if somehow

it would change the course of my life

it’s ironic looking back

because at some point down the line

i dared to be reckless

by my own design

drugs and alcohol

at first, i resisted

but that’s just because

i was already unintentionally

given that education

this day is foreshadowing

no matter how heartbreaking

eventually the person who would need this message is me

the difference is

giving a speech is one thing

i didn’t realize it would turn into a eulogy

**

When I was in fifth grade, three years had passed since my dad’s car accident. My dad was always at doctor appointments. His back pain, caused by the accident, was unbearable. As prescribed throughout the years, he took oxycodone. Eventually, he became dependent on it. It wasn’t enough to numb his pain to get through the days. He started mixing it with alcohol because a drink would amplify the effects and take his pain away. He got the relief he needed. My dad never really drank much before this, maybe a beer once in a while, but it became more and more of a regular thing as time went on.

As a kid, I could see what was happening. I could understand to an extent, regardless of my age. I think my parents expected me to not understand. I didn’t fully at that time. I understood what being drunk was. I didn’t understand addiction. I didn’t understand that drinking became more than just a choice for my dad.

When someone is addicted to a substance, their brain chemistry changes. I didn’t understand that it wasn’t about making a decision between drinking and something or someone else, an example being my soccer games. It became much more than that.

The American Addiction Centers say regular drug use actually causes the brain to produce, absorb, or transmit less dopamine, resulting in a chemical imbalance in the brain. When the drugs are not active in the brain, dopamine levels can drop, causing uncomfortable withdrawal symptoms and powerful cravings. Drug dependence sets in, and individuals may feel compelled to keep taking drugs to avoid these negative emotional and physical withdrawal symptoms. Addiction can then occur quickly, leading to a loss of control over the frequency and amount of drugs taken. The brain will no longer function normally without the drugs, and this imbalance can take time to heal.²

My dad was my best friend, and I still idolized him immensely, but things started getting messy as his addiction became worse. One night he was really drunk on our back porch and I went out to try and talk to him about his drinking. He wasn’t happy about being told by a fifth grader that he had a problem. He dumped beer on my head, and I went in the house crying. I forgave him, of course, but I wanted him to stop drinking so badly. Again, at that age, I didn’t understand that sometimes it’s not as simple as just stopping.

My school district had fifth grade students take a D.A.R.E. education program. D.A.R.E. stands for Drug Abuse Resistance Education. The key word there is resistance. They teach you to say no to drugs and alcohol. I kept my D.A.R.E. workbook that I filled in during the program. Looking over it, over a decade later, was quite alarming to me.

I forgot that in addition to the D.A.R.E. acronym for the title of the program, there is a D.A.R.E. model that is used: Define, Assess, Respond, Evaluate. When looking through the workbook, I saw that we had identified choices in hypothetical situations. One example involves a friend suggesting you try a cigarette. Fifth grade me defined the problem as Kevin needs to decide if he wants to smoke. I assessed the choices to be try one, don’t try one, talk to a parent. The response I recorded was Nah, I’m not trying one. The nah had me laughing. I evaluated and wrote I made a good choice.

We’re instructed to say no, no, no, but we don’t talk about why someone might initially choose to say yes. We don’t talk about alternatives other than yes, do a drug, or no, don’t do a drug.

We’re taught to correlate drugs with morals, that it comes down to making a good or bad choice. We’re taught to look at someone who is drinking or using a substance as bad. In reality, they’re struggling.

Why are we not evaluating situations that lead to someone wanting to say yes to using? Why are we not evaluating other options? Talk to a parent, as written in my workbook, isn’t a good enough alternative.

Where are conflict management, coping, and mental health skills? Things that could resolve what led to using a drug? We never talked about that. Fear tactics are used to make very young students want to say no. The D.A.R.E. program tells us to say no and all these things that can happen to our bodies if we use these substances, but they fail to recognize why or how people can get to the point where those consequences don’t matter anymore or are outweighed in their mind.

In college, I took a class titled Addiction: A Biopsychosocial Approach. We looked at the biology, psychology, and social/environmental factors of addiction. In that class, I was introduced to a TED Talk, that I’ve now probably watched three hundred times.

Johann Hari starts off his TED Talk by telling the audience one of his first memories is trying to wake up a relative and not being able to. He was just a kid, so he didn’t understand why. It was because of an overdose. He has drug addiction in his family.

As he got older, he wanted to figure out how to help the addicts in his life so he spoke with many people. Johann Hari mentions Peter Cohen from the Netherlands who referred to addiction as bonding and an adaptation to an environment. Based off of their conversation, Johann Hari says humans have a natural need to bond. When we are happy and healthy, we will bond and connect with each other, but if we can’t do that because we’re traumatized, isolated, or beaten down by life, we will bond and connect with something that will give us relief.

Johann Hari believes the evidence suggests a core part of addiction is not being able to bear to be present in your life. His concluding statement is, the opposite of addiction isn’t sobriety, the opposite of addiction is connection. He also speaks about how we often threaten our connection with an addict when they don’t behave how we want them to.³

My dad’s back pain took a toll on him in different ways. It wasn’t just physical pain he wanted to numb, but due to his pain, he couldn’t do things that he loved anymore, which took enjoyment out of his life. He couldn’t go hunting, do yardwork, or build things in the backyard like he normally would’ve. Looking back, I believe that also contributed to his drinking. Alcohol took away his pain, until it started creating more.

When my fifth-grade class wrapped up our D.A.R.E. program, we were assigned an essay that was referred to as our D.A.R.E. report. It contained a summary of what we learned in the program as well as what we would apply to our lives.

I wanted my report to be great. One student from each class was selected to read their paper in front of our grade and the families of all the students. I really wanted to "win" because I not only wanted to make my mom and dad proud, but I wanted my dad to hear the messages within my paper because I was concerned about him and the incidences that had happened over the previous months, I guess years. Due to that, I really poured my heart into my paper. The following week, I sat restlessly in my chair as I waited to find out whether or not I had been chosen.

I assumed being selected probably meant more to me than most of the other students, unless they had something similar going on at home. The majority of my class was loud and noisy. Kids were moving around through the already crammed rows of desks.

Class settle down please. Take your seats, said my fifth-grade teacher.

Today is our last class before we have our D.A.R.E. ceremony, said the officer in charge of teaching the program. Congratulations to the following student. She will have the opportunity to read her speech next week… Jennifer!

When the class started clapping, the biggest smile filled my face. All I could think of was running off of the bus to tell my parents that my essay was chosen. I kind of knew deep down that it would be, but I felt amazing when it definitely was.

My mom was at the bus stop waiting for my sister and me, as she did every day. I told Lauren on the bus about my paper and she was happy for me. When the bus pulled up to our street corner, I darted towards the door.

I enthusiastically told my mom that my paper was chosen. She was excited for me and told me she knew it would be. I was so excited to tell my dad when he got home a few hours later.

As soon as I heard the garage door, I ran outside. I yelled with joy that my D.A.R.E. paper was chosen and asked him to attend the ceremony the following week to see me read it. "That’s wonderful,