I woke up with the shits, and then had a mental breakdown in the grocery store. There were people everywhere, with their lives together, and all I could do was hide in my husbands chest and wish I could just fly away. Make the world stop. Make the world stop.
So much for my fantasies of being perfect. I wanted to believe that this has all been worth the fight. Lets cut the bullshit. There isn’t a happy ending. It’s a roller coaster of I’m ok – I’m not ok – I’m great – I’m dying – I’m happy – How am I going to kill myself. Lies. The lies of it all. There is no perfect. There is only one day after another, hoping that the next doesn’t see you crapping your pants and pulling your hair out next to the coconuts and avocados.
I beg my past to be quiet. Hush. You can have your time later. What do you still want with me? And then it hits me. I have to use it. All of the fight, the blood, the drugs, the drinks, the abortion, the fucking up, it has to be used for something. I’m not sixteen anymore. I’m not twenty one anymore. I can’t apologize anymore. I did it. It’s done. But it’s not. It’s the scars on my body, the blood on my arms. It’s the midnght tears, the morning haze. It’s the panic attacks at the grocery store, it’s the stares of normal people who have never bled themselves to near death. It is the look in my eyes when I catch a single star, it is the hope and the fear that my past is not yet done with me.
I wake up, and I kiss my sleeping husband on the forehead. I step into the cold shower and sit on the floor. Why am I so scared? I walked streets alone at midnight in gang territories, I smoked crack with undercover cops, I drowned myself in a bathtub, I was beaten, I was raped, over and over again by so many men, I was dying from pills, I was stealing from stores & money from family, I was soaking with alcohol, I killed my child … i killed my unborn child … I was a child stuck between verbal, sexual, physical, emotional abuse. And I lived. I FUCKING SURVIVED.
So why the hell am I so scared? I have badges of honor! I am a survivor. I have confronted evil, I have been evil, and I am here. I am a good person. I am not a coward. I am a coward. Why am I scared of people surrounding me? Why do I not look men in the eye?
Why do I not believe in myself? That I can walk down the street, that I can live this life, without being afraid. Maybe that’s what this is all about. Maybe it’s the fear that’s killing me. The fear. The terror. The little girl that hears footsteps coming toward her room. The woman drugged, lying on the floor, bleeding from the bad guys. It all comes back in a seconds notice.
That guy, he just looked at me, he’s going to hurt me. That woman, she hates me. The darkness, it’s going to kill me.
I saved myself. Over and over again, with no manual, with no support, I saved myself. And now, now that I am safe, why do I feel that I still have to be ready to save myself again?