Dead on the Verge of Blooming

By Berrocal

A young woman plans to run away from home, but is diagnosed with bipolar disorder which foils her plans. The rest of the book is about her journey through her illness, and what life is like after.

• Language: English
• Publisher: Alexandra Berrocal
• Release date: Aug 19, 2022
• ISBN: 9781088063477

Book preview

1

Dead on the Verge of Blooming

DEAD ON THE VERGE OF BLOOMING

And Other Stories

by Alexandra Berrocal

([e-mail])

www.deadonthevergeofblooming.wordpress.com

2

Suicide

I was in the sixth grade the first time I wanted to kill myself.

I began to have mental problems in fifth grade, and they manifested themselves in the form of developing a terrible anxiety about being raped. You might even call it paranoia. As was typical for me, I tried to hide my anxiety from everyone. It was when I was in St. Louis, in a hotel room, that someone knocked on the door. I was terrified, thinking that whoever was standing outside the door was going to rape me the moment I opened it. Fearful, I opened the door anyway. It turned out to be my mother. Sobbing, I then told her about my anguish.

The moment we got home, Mom made an appointment for me to see my psychologist.  I had been seeing her for the autism since I was a small child.  Kristen (the psychologist) was (and is) a very professional lady, and one of the best in her field.  Kristen managed to talk me out of my anxiety, but also told Mom that she wanted to keep a close eye on me because she hadn’t seen me this anxious in quite some time.

A short while later, I was introduced to the Radical Unschooling Ideology in the form of www.school-survival.net. It said that public schoos are WAY too authoritarian, and that the best thing to do is to leave. They had one page where they listed lots of alternatives to public school, and one of them was unschooling. Although I didn’t seriously look into unschooling at the time, I found out what it was. It appealed to me greatly. However, when I tried to bring up public school’s authoritarianism with some church ladies, they treated me like a joke by starting to loudly discuss how authoritarian public schools were at their age.  I realized then that no one was going to take me seriously because of my youth. So I did the only thing I could: I forced myself to forget.

This doesn’t usually work on people.  I also have no idea how I did it. But for some reason, it worked for a year. Then I remembered, returned to the same damned website, and discovered a book called The Teenage Liberation Handbook.  I read an excerpt, and it got me even further into the whole thing.

The painful thing about reading the Handbook was that it said that if you went to school, you were not free.  It also said that you should and deserved to be free, that there was no good reason to be in captivity.  And knowing that, and being forced to attend school anyway was torture.

I started begging my Mom to unschool me again. When she didn’t accept that, I compromised and started begging Mom to homeschool me. She said no, on the advice of my therapist. So then I began The Therapist Wars. Every time I saw my therapist, she would give me a new objection to my homeschooling.  I would use the week in between sessions to find ways around that flaw, or an argument in favor. When Kristen ran out of objections, I went back to Mom.  Mom still said no.  She said we didn't do homeschooling in our family, which in this case was a lot like refusing to put out a child’s burning hand because one didn't believe in fire extinguishers. So I was trapped in a nightmare that I was powerless to escape.  I was diagnosed at the time with depressive symptoms.  Nobody informed me of my diagnosis (I wouldn't find out until years later).  There were no medications or psychiatrists for me (probably a good thing, as antidepressants tend to cause suicidal thoughts in adolescents).   I probably wouldn’t have accepted meds anyway.  However, I was in therapy.  So you couldn't say I wasn't receiving treatment.

Not that it helped.

This is when the depression started.  I began to be sad almost all of the time.  I felt both hopeless and helpless.  I also began to consider suicide as a way out. This had less to do with a way to escape the pain, as much as it had to do with simply maintaining my honor as a human being. It was also my only way out of my situation, because I knew nothing was going to change until it was too late. The only reason I didn’t kill myself was because none of the suicide methods I dreamed up appealed to me, and an essay told me there was a 0.0000000001% chance that things might get better.  I wanted to stay alive for the sake of that 0.0000000001% chance. This was how I lived.

Until I met Bonnie.

Bonnie was like a ray of sunlight cast into the most hopeless place you can think of. Her sense of humor appealed to me, to put it mildly.  I had never met anyone like Bonnie in real life before. Bonnie loved to draw and was always drawing.  Bonnie would show me her new drawings every time she saw me.  Bonnie was also writing a book called ‘The Tale of Sasha Rat.’  Bonnie showed me that it was possible to write a book. She printed out the first part of the ‘Tale’ and gave it to me shortly after we met. Bonnie gave me Part 2 on Christmas of that year. Bonnie’s story distracted me from my problems. Making jokes about Sasha Rat gave me something to laugh about, a way to get through the day. Bonnie started calling me Sasha, after her character. And best of all, Bonnie’s mother persuaded my mother to homeschool me.

This began my years of happiness.  I was not manic. I was energetic, but not hyperactive. I was more optimistic, and my self confidence improved.  I did not feel invincible, irritable, or aggressive.  I had trouble sleeping, but I had always had that. There were no grandiose delusions, or an inflated sense of self importance. No special connection with God, celebrities, or political leaders.  My speech and thoughts were normal, and I was not impulsive or distractible.  My judgment was fairly good for someone my age.  I was too young to drive, and didn’t spend a lot of money, invest in anything, or have sex. Most significantly,  I did not experience any delusions or hallucinations.

I simply had the sense that I had overcome something enormous, and that I was reaping the fruits of my labor.  There were a few blips here and there, of course, but I meditated and that was adequate to maintain a sense of equilibrium and joy. When I entered high school, Mom put me in a stricter, school-like homeschool program.  I had the feeling that something was being unjustly taken away from me. The depression, if you can call it that, came back. But it was different this time.  And meditating wasn’t enough.

I didn’t feel the sort of burning sadness that I used to feel.  I was definitely sad, but it was accompanied by a sort of numbness.  I did start to feel helpless and hopeless again, and may have started feeling a little worthless as well.  I felt very guilty for feeling this way.  I was very angry at Mom for putting me in this situation all over again, but I didn’t show it much.  Mom and I just had the occasional quarrel.  I became much more pessimistic, too.  I lost my belief in happy endings. I was as energetic as always, but I couldn’t concentrate on most things and became a very indecisive person. Bonnie had moved on to the local arts high school.  Bonnie came out to Alex as transgender, became Jude, and became extremely depressed because he is from a religious family and was concerned about losing all of his family and friends if he was true to whom  he was.  I tried to help as best as I could, but a friend can only do so much.  It frustrated me to no end.  However, it was obvious that he needed help that I could not provide.  One day, I asked Jude, Hey, if I were to start travelling more...would you be ok without me?

Jude replied, I would probably start acting weird.  You know, like use alcohol or drugs.  You leaving would make a big hole in my life.  But yes, I would ultimately be ok.

 One of Jude and my’s best friends, Nikki, had moved to the Desert. And I wanted nothing to do with the fellow students at my school, even though some of them were interesting people. That would have been tantamount to admitting defeat. So I acted as oddly as I could to scare them off; this largely worked.  I had no thoughts of suicide this time around.

My Mom finally took me out of there and put me in a laxer homeschool program.  I wanted to unschool, but I couldn’t and Mom wound up taking control of my education.  The depression did not go away.  However, I did start attending the Youth Group at my local GLBT Center.  This helped a lot.  One day, the group decided to all attend Gay Days together.  That’s how I wound up at that dance.  And that’s how I met Renne.

3

Gay Days

Gay Days, October 2011

The music blared from nearby speakers.  I had come with my core group, but wanted to meet new friends, even though I was shy.  However, I noticed a red-headed boy dancing nearby and was intrigued by his nail polish; consequently I wandered over and we danced together.  We started to synchronize each other’s movements instead of touching, and I realized the boy was a more creative dancer than I was.  I enjoyed trying to mirror his fluid movements.  I also noticed the way the boy was imitating the young man next to him.  After a few songs he told me, I’m going to go get some water.

I admired the way his white t-shirt hung off his slender frame.  So, I followed, interested.

What’s your name?

Alex.  I eyed the pretzels on the nearby table. Observing the boy wasn’t partaking, I didn’t either.

I’m Renne.  Preferred Gender Pronoun?

No one had ever asked me what gender I identified as before.  It was interesting.

She, I replied.

Me too. Renne grinned.   

I felt rather pleasantly surprised, for reasons I still do not understand.

Renne asked, Hey, how old are you?

I just turned seventeen I replied.

Happy birthday!

Thanks!

So, where do you go to school?  I’m nineteen, by the way, stated Renne.

I’m homeschooled.

I go to Cuesta College, in San Luis Obispo.  My new friend paused.  I didn’t know how to respond to her silence.

I play tuba, and compose sometimes, Renne added.

Renne walked back to the dance floor, over to the boy they had been dancing near.  He had brown skin, eyes, and hair, similar to me.

Alex, Star. Star, Alex.  

           Star was about Renne’s height, which was a couple heads taller than me, with brown skin and hair.  It was short, in a sort of bob, and had some blond in it.  I wondered if Star was his legal name.

         I waved my close friend Brandon over.  He was tall, skinny, pale, and blonde with a high-pitched voice.

Star, this is Brandon. Brandon, these are my new friends Star and Renne.

Brandon and Star danced together. A slow song began to play.

I’m single... Renne casually dropped.

           Suddenly, my friend Scott appeared.

Hey, Steven is sick. We have to leave immediately.

I glanced back at Renne, and Renne and I headed out of the dance hall together, through the crowd.  Renne wrote down her phone number on a paper napkin, with the most gorgeous handwriting I’d ever seen.

Text me sometime, okay?

Definitely. I replied with a grin.

I realized I had forgotten my belongings and ran back to the dance hall. The slow song was still playing.

Slow dance! Ryan appeared out of nowhere.  Ryan was one of my closest friends. He proceeded to take me into his arms.  I would have preferred to have been slow-dancing with Renne, but people do not always get what they want in life.  Renne walked by.

Shoot...at least she didn’t see me, I thought.  Then, I gathered my belongings and found the group I came with.  Steven did look slightly weak. We all walked out together.  I added Renne’s number to my contacts and threw the napkin away.  

How I regret that now.

I bought a bag of beef jerky at a stall outside and gave some to Steven.  

Scott had taken off, presumably with a new friend, so me and my friends left on the bus.  Eventually, Steven, Gabe (the driver) and I reached the bus together.

So, what did you think of Renne? I asked Steven.  I had no idea how he knew who Renne was, as I had never introduced them.  I was growing scatterbrained. 

Still, he replied,I didn’t see you two together long enough to get much of an impression, but there was a definite connection between you guys!

Mm-hm? Thing is, I’m a bit paranoid about dating an older person,

Good. Even if she IS a bit older than you though...if you feel safe around her you should definitely act! Plus, she’s only two years older than you so dating her is technically legal!

I have looked this up, and this is not true.  California has a Romeo and Juliet Law, but this law makes sex a misdemeanor, not a felony.  However, a person would still be breaking the law.

***

I texted Renne three times over the next few days,  but,  to my disappointment,  Renne never responded.  I found Renne on Facebook, excited to find any information on her. I sent out a friend request, but she didn’t respond.  I expressed my frustrations to my good friend, Nikki.

-It’s been days now!- I texted to Nikki

-try deleting your request and resending it.- Nikki suggested.  -When you guys are married someday you’ll be laughing at the memory-

A few days later, A Facebook message from Renne appeared.  At last! I thought.  I smiled.

-Hey there. You look familiar, but I’m sorry I can’t remember where I know you from.- Renne typed.  I no longer remember how I felt when I read this.

-Gay Days, Disneyland, Dance-

-*looks through memories* Oh! You! Hey! What happened to sending me a text?-

-I texted you three times, but you never replied! Here, try texting my number.-  A few moments later, I received a text.

-Yo! It’s Renne Morrow!-

-Yay!-  I texted back -And this is Alexandra Berrocal!-

-Facebook stalking me, are you?- Renne asked.  I sort of was.  I found Renne intriguing and beautiful.

***

I told my Mom about Renne.  

Well, she obviously doesn't have a crush on you.  She forgot who you were.

So what? I thought.  I then told my Mom that Renne was male-to-female transgender.

He might consider NOT transitioning, Mom continued.

            Transitioning refers to the gradual process of a person becoming a member of their desired gender.

But I don't mind, I grumbled.

Then you might as well become a man. Mom replied.

I confided in my aunt, who I had a decent relationship with and trusted to a degree. When I told Aunt Jennifer, she had a titanic panic over the age gap and assumed Renne was a boy.  I then proceeded to call Nikki and have a shitfit over the age gap between us.  Nikki told me the age gap was no big deal.  I still felt bad.

Hello there!

•Oct. 11th, 2011 at 6:29 PM

So this is my blog. I've been contemplating starting it for a while, and now I finally have. Isn't it so appropriate that I'm starting this on National Coming Out Day? Yes, ladies, germs, and all you other wonderful people, today, October 11th, is National Coming Out Day. It actually works out pretty well that this is the day I begin the telling of my tale, because my tale, so far as this blog is concerned, starts with my own coming out story.

Today, the Cuesta College GSA convened in a special meeting to celebrate National Coming Out Day. After my music theory class finished, I headed on over to the Cross Cultural Center for the meeting, and to share my own story. There were a few more than ten people at the meeting, which was just fine, as our president remarked, because it created a more intimate setting and allowed those who shared more time to speak. Ryan, our wonderful president, began with his story, which was thankfully a very positive and affirming tale. I'll let him be the one to regale others at his leisure. After Ryan's story, I volunteered to share mine. 

So, I identify as genderqueer. When I first came out last fall, I came out as a trans girl. Since then I've learned that what I think makes me a girl and what society thinks a girl should be don't really match up. My gender doesn't fit neatly in a box, but if I were forced to choose, being a girl would probably be the closest fit. I use female pronouns, and I'm pretty much okay with that. Anyway, to really understand my coming out story, you have to start with a bit of background about how I grew up. I don't mean like family background or any of that, though I suppose that plays a part. What I mean is how I perceived the world.

Growing up, I was what is commonly called gender-blind. That means that I didn't really perceive gender. I didn't think okay, guys do this, and girls do that. No. I saw well this person likes to do this, and this person likes to do that, oh, and I guess I'm supposed to call this one a boy and this one a girl. And, uh, I guess I'm supposed to be called a boy? Growing up like that, a person kinda just learns to identify certain traits in order to identify who is supposed to be called a girl and who's supposed to be called a boy. It wasn't until I got into middle school and high school that things started to get difficult.

In the later years of middle school and through high school, gender roles become much more clearly defined. Boys are this. Girls are that. I flew under the radar for a long time, 'cause I'm pretty butch anyways. So far as the social conception of a butch girl goes, at any rate. Still, I learned to play the role of a boy, 'cause there was punishment if you don't fit in. Not like you have to do detention or whatever, but real, social consequences. So a lot of the time I was kinda distant and not really fully engaged 'cause I was constantly evaluating how people would expect me to act, not how I would act naturally. I think a lot of the time I acted awkwardly as a result, which didn't really help me. As if the social consequences weren't enough, this period of one's life is also when puberty hits.

I mean, I can't really say that I actively thought of myself as a girl at that time, but somewhere, subconsciously, when other girls started developing, I had kinda expected that I would develop the same way. It was a little bit of a let-down when I started developing as a boy. For a long time I hoped and dreamed that I was just a late bloomer, and you know that late bloomers bloom the most beautifully. Well at some point I had to give up on that. 16 is a little late for natural breast development to kick in. For a long time, somewhat before and as I was realizing  that, and after, I thought I was just some kind of freak. I was the only one. I couldn't possibly tell anyone about this. It was with that mindset that I finished high school.

There were other factors that contributed to my the incredibly difficult first quarter of college that I had at UC Davis. I had just lost a full-tuition Army scholarship after my heart surgery had failed, not to mention the stress that every freshman feels when leaving home and being on their own for the first time. But I had an extra burden