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    To Scream at the Sky: A Memoir
    To Scream at the Sky: A Memoir
    To Scream at the Sky: A Memoir
    Ebook140 pages1 hour

    To Scream at the Sky: A Memoir

    By Cathy Germay

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    About this ebook

    At some point, everyone thinks they have suddenly gone crazy, but, at seventeen, Cathy's life will be changed forever when she is sent to a mental institution for depression and psychosis. With the help of new friends, she has the chance to find her way back into the outside world. This memoir is for anyone who has ever felt torn between the border of madness and sanity.
    LanguageEnglish
    PublisheriUniverse
    Release dateJun 12, 2002
    ISBN9781469768588
    To Scream at the Sky: A Memoir
    Author

    Cathy Germay

    Cathy Germay was born in 1982 and she now resides in Portage, MI, where she lives with her two parents, and sister. This is her first book and is a memoir of her struggle with mental illness. You can email Cathy at JustSlayer@aol.com

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      Book preview

      To Scream at the Sky - Cathy Germay

      Prologue

      I think there is a time in everyone’s life when he suddenly thinks he may be going crazy. The thought is fleeting, over within a moment. It’s like a scent on the morning air, a scent that you can barely smell, but it is there. Most people forget about it, others don’t.

      I became trapped in the lingering scent. I welcomed the scent of craziness. I embraced it. I followed it, I may still be following it. That’s the point—you don’t know that you are following it until it already has you within its grasp. Once you have tasted it, it’s hard to let it go.

      Insanity is a black panther, it crouches, watches, waits, and then pounces unexpectedly upon its victim. The scary thing about insanity is that it doesn’t discriminate. It may even devour the most clever person among us.

      My descent into madness began in the seventh grade. I remember it well. No matter how hard I try to forget, it is still etched within my heart. It was the last time I saw reality for what it was. For me, time ended in that moment; whatever I could have been was erased and in its place was left a living shell of a person; breathing, yet somehow not alive.

      The day I lost reality started like any other day. I woke up; I went to school. I trudged to my classes, oblivious of the chaos that would enter my world.

      In art class, Mrs. Mcphilamy was handing back students’ watercolors. I had hated doing the watercolor unit because all I was allowed to paint were vines; tangled vines; vines that would hold me into my dark, new world.

      On the back of my watercolor the teacher printed my grade: C. it was at that moment that I began my descent into madness.

      How could I get a C in art?

      Art was one of my passions, and yet I had gotten a C.

      Only the dumbest of students get C’s in art.

      I thought about the C for the rest of the day. When I came home I threw my backpack on the floor as usual. For a reason that I could not understand, I opened the kitchen drawer and pulled out an exacto knife. Calmly and deliberately I walked down the long hallway to my bedroom where I shut the door. In shutting the door I was also shutting out the world and, at the same time, shutting in my madness.

      I looked at the knife resting in the palm of my hand. In a short, quick movement I dragged the blade across the inside of my wrist, slashing it. It wasn’t deep enough to kill me. My intent was not to kill. I wanted to feel pain. I wanted to stop the feeling of emptiness, of darkness. I didn’t want to feel numb anymore.

      As I watched the blood pool on my wrist a calm came over me. I was alive because I was bleeding. It proved my existence.

      Since that fateful day, the day I chose darkness, I have cut myself many times. The cuts heal, sometimes they leave a trace behind, a scar. Oddly, the scars comfort me. They let me know that time has passed. For me, life stopped the moment the blade was dragged across my skin the first time.

      I have since then painted with watercolors, not tangled vines, but people, people looking out at something, wishing someone would see they are trapped within their self contained hell. I can paint with watercolors, but every time I pick up a brush and dip it into color, I am reminded of the terrible journey that I took into madness.

      This is my story.

      The Importance of Stones and Magick

      The darkness enveloped me, and I crouched in the night. The only light was a tall, white, tapered candle, whose flickering light cast eerie shadows on the walls. I held a talisman, in the form of a stone, pinched between my index finger and thumb. It’s green cast shone golden in the warm light. I swung the talisman through the chaotic flame, whispering, With this sacred fire I cleanse and purify this talisman. May it protect my boyfriend from all evil. In the eyes of the Lord and Lady, and with harm to none, so mote it be.

      I proceeded to cleanse and enchant the talisman with blessed water for the elemental spirit of water, then incense, for air, and lastly salt, representing earth. Upon finishing my spell, I thanked the elements and God/Goddess, placed the talisman in a black satchel, and snuffed out the candle.

      Upon giving him the talisman he simply laughed and put it in his pocket. He would continue to carry the stone until the day we broke up, when he scurried out of his chair, tripped on his shoelace, and fell.

      I was told that he had decided to abandon the ritual of carrying the stone.

      The Letter

      Eleventh grade.

      The classroom was white, institutional white. I fanned myself, trying to keep awake in the sweltering heat. I listened as Mr. Rayle’s voice drowned on about supply and demand.

      A knock on the door interrupted Mr. Rayle’s boring lecture. A student opened the door and handed Mr. Rayle an official piece of white paper from the Guidance Office. It was no doubt for skipping classes. I looked away, out of the classroom and through the window I saw freedom. Blue sky, sunlight, will the day never end?

      He looked at the paper and then handed it to me.

      Ohhhh, someone got in trouble. You skipped classes yesterday, didn’t you?, Jared taunted from the back of the room.

      Without saying a word, or acknowledging his presence, I gathered my things and stuffed them into my book bag: a pencil with the eraser eroded, a notebook on whose cover was splashed Buffy pictures, and a flimsy, white, dented corner, economics text book. Silently I left the room and headed toward the Guidance Office.

      Walking down the corridor, a feeling of dread entered my heart. What had I done wrong? What was this about? It must be serious to call me out in the middle of my class.

      I entered the Guidance room and handed the pass to the receptionist. I was called down to see Ms. Scott, I mumbled, barely audible.

      She’s in her office. You can go in, second door on the right.

      In short, fast strides I walked down the seemingly endless hallway. Timidly I knocked on the door.

      Come in, Ms. Scott exclaimed as she beamingly smiled up at me. A smile that was almost too cheerful, an almost forced smile.

      Have a seat.

      I sat down in a rush, afraid my legs would give out. I racked my brain, but I still didn’t know what I had done wrong, probably something stupid. I’m always doing stupid things, like locking myself out of my car, or leaving the car lights on all night. It seems that once my brain gets going on an idea I forget whatever it is I’m suppose to be doing, and thus, I get in trouble.

      From beneath the wreckage of her desk she pulled out a letter.

      It was my handwriting.

      She smiled and cleared her throat. One of your friends gave Mr. Hodgin this note that you wrote. We’re concerned. Is there anything you would like us to know about?

      I gulped. That note was suppose to be private. I had written it for my best friend and for only my best friend’s eyes. The contents contained my own version of the Hamlet dilemma.

      No, I said as I unfolded and refolded the Guidance pass in my sweaty palms.

      I’ll tell you what I’m concerned about. I’m concerned about your seeing things that aren’t there. You know, there is medication that can make it all go away.

      I’m fine now, I lied.

      I’m also concerned for your safety. Are you thinking about killing yourself? Do you have a plan?

      The question startled me. How could a person I barely knew ask such personal questions?

      No, I’m fine now.

      It must be scary. It must be scary to go through all this alone. If you would like me to, I could give you the number of a good therapist.

      No, I’m fine. I just want to get back to class.

      We can give you the number of a good therapist, Cassie.

      It’s Cathy. She doesn’t even know my name and yet she is willing to screw up my life.

      I’m sorry, Cathy.

      She isn’t really concerned, she’s just doing this because it’s her job. If I killed myself the school would lose six thousand dollars. That’s all I am, a number.

      Do you want to go back to class?

      I nodded.

      Do you need to go to the bathroom before going back to class?

      No, I mumbled as I wiped off the last traces of tears. I couldn’t go to class looking all cry face.

      We will be letting your parents know.

      I nodded, then I bolted out of the room. At that moment the earth stopped it’s intricate dance with the sun. I had to get to class, but I couldn’t remember where my class was or which class I was suppose to go to. I glanced at the clock: Seventh hour, Spanish class.

      I quickly ascended the stairs and walked quietly into the classroom. I handed the teacher my Guidance pass as the entire class stared at me. I had the weird feeling that they knew what

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