The Fight

46

Curled in that ball in the bathroom. That’s where I sat crying wanting someone, anyone to burst in the front door to save me within that moment. I never thought I’d be one to accept violence into my home. I’m a fighter with a punch I’d only know once, to my future unfriendly gentleman who’d decide to be the fourth person to call me ‘fat.’ I’d simply had enough. Enough turmoil in my own world, I should only be courteous enough to accept so much from others. So, that night I’d stand there eyeing him for a moment, when ‘blam!’ I don’t know what came over me, but I ran like a little girl afterward scared of the police being called. I laughed as I pulled up to the front door and to the safety net of my home. The police would never be called that night, and on this night things were happening so fast yet so slowly I wouldn’t have time to think about calling them either.

I got married young, but felt so old at the time. Twenty one and I was getting hitched. But it all came fast and as I look back it wasn’t all out of love but more convenience I’d come to realize. He was going into the military and I was in college trying to figure out what it was I was meant to be doing. He didn’t get down on one knee, hell he barely even proposed over that phone one night, but either way I said yes, and kept my part of the commitment up. We had to move to a new city about an hour away from Seattle to Tacoma which was something I don’t think I was prepared for either…to not know a soul and start completely over. But we found an apartment in a town where one block would be really nice and then teh next street would be not so nice, even a little scary I’d say. Needless to say we couldn’t afford the nice places, so we had to settle for the latter.

“Maybe the neighbors will hear him yelling and call someone,” I’d thought. I needed help. This situation was new to me, before this all my husband would do would be to come at me really fast and then hurriedly stop, like he would be flinching he was really going to come up to me. Then pull himself back with the same amount of speed. I knew he had a temper. I continually make all of these excuses for him, not realizing I am actually becoming one of those women. One of the ones thrust suddenly into the world of domestic violence and exhibiting all of the signs. If he were showing signs why didn’t I see it, when I know looking back that I did? I still give justifications as to why I stayed. In a world back at home I could’ve been, with all of my friends but still feeling the loneliness we all feel without having someone to love. I think that scared me more, was that loneliness. But as I see now, I was lonelier than I ever could’ve imagined out there with him in a city I knew nothing about. I wasn’t between a rock and a hard place, I was just between a rock and a rock. And rocks aren’t fun. I wanted to be somewhere where I wanted to be, I just couldn’t foresee how to get to the unseen.

“No, no, NO!” I’d scream again as I could feel him burst open the bathroom door. The more he opened it, the more it crunched me into the wall where I was curled up. I tried putting my hand to the door, mustered all of my strength into that one arm to hold it shut, but his anger was fierce and when you mix it with determination you’ve got a lethal combo. I though his yelling at the door before hand might be all of it. Maybe if he knew I was upset, he’d stop, I’d think. But for some reason it was fuel to the fire. “What are you crying in there? Crying like a little baby, Andrea.” “Your just a baby.” “BOOM, BOOM, BOOM,” his pounding fists and they’re echo made me wince. And when he’d make me wince before this day, like when he’d fake coming at me, would leave me so angry that he’d be threatening, I always would come back at him and do the same. He knew I was a fighter and I don’t know what angered him more. That I was in here sobbing, or when I’d fight back. I’ve always believed that no one gets to take you. No one gets the privilege of taking who you are, but I’d lost that when I let the guy that got me pregnant come and go warping my mind as he pleased. Is this a male thing? I’d wonder. I hope it’s not a people thing, because that is when I want out.

 

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Patience

45

Within each moment I walk, I wonder if the value is upon the people so blessed with the days that are good. Am I wondering such a far off sort that I could too walk with these people one day? Do you value your happiness just as I loathe the amount of self soothing I must constantly do? One day I’ve decided that there will be a big lesson in all of this, it’s the waiting I’ve grown so impatient. But that one day, I know will hopefully come when all of this questioning will make sense. Then I wonder if life makes sense to anyone anyhow. Maybe I am among the norm and I just don’t know it. Are you? Are you in the class of people where you feel singled out but really are the most fun at the party? I wonder if there’s others out there like me. Feeling the despairs within each day so prominently so, that all else falls by the wayside. I should find some value in all of this, but I can’t see well enough to the world I live because of all of the pain I trudge in the snowiest of days. I will get through this, I must. Otherwise, what’s the point of fighting? I’ve fought each and every day instead of living one that I cannot die out knowing there may be more in store for me. There just has to be. Has to be life beyond a horizon I fantasy because leaving my house doesn’t happen unless I am forced. I lie within these walls jailed beside of myself because I can’t live within myself anymore. I’ve stopped being my worst enemy but have yet to accept myself all the same. I stand to look in the mirror still to be unrecognizable. I am human, but I am transparent whereas once I was fluently in my own skin. I suffer from something everyone goes through. We all have periods of grief, sadness and loneliness. It’s just that mine is constant. Incessant with each day I’m alive but not living. It never goes away. That’s the best way I can explain to those that don’t understand. It’s like constant grief only the loss is myself, I don’t know where I went. I do know today is better than yesterday, which is more to be said for than most days I still conquer. I’m not dead. That’s the most positive thing I can think of, but is still better than most thoughts spilling into a bleaker mind. With no control of my thoughts, all of the ones that do come are mean. My demonized mind, out to control every fiber I walk, is out to see that I fail. But fail I cannot as I resume little strength, but strength nonetheless. It’s the patience that helps me avail each passing moment. I am patient I will suddenly begin to feel what once was. Patient that one day some of this will make even the most considerable amount of sense in an illogical mindset. One day….one day patience will rule all else out and I will be one.

Breezy

44

If I could feel the coolest breeze on the warmest days i’d be sitting in the shade wondering how the two intersect on a day like today. If we take all of the problems and hardships of life out of the equation all we are left with are the simple things…which is all we need anyway, to be quite honest. If we focus on the simplicity, we lose sight of all the complexities which is where most of the problems started. People may look at simple as being feeble minded but I think it’s the most thought provoking of all. Thinking basic thoughts and living simple ways leaves our minds more open to the necessary breathing room life has to offer. I wish someone could take out the complexities of my mind and throw it right back up like puke in an attempt to detoxify myself. My mind needs to breathe in a way that’s suffocating all in it’s own right. Please take me away. Take me to the never ending time when the simplest things can be relished in the simplest ways all so we can walk with no despair. I found the home of a certain simplicity once and like the wheel, went bankrupt all the same. Does simplicity occur in despair? Or is despair the simplest form of misery in hiding? I just want answers. Answers to the questions and the right questions for unforseen answers before hand. I feel the warmest of the coolest breezes. Now in the night, I look for warm gusts within the cold. Waiting for life to once again intersect.

Green Eyed Girl

43

Liking myself was never the plan. Hating myself wasn’t either. I actually have stopped looking at mirrors because I don’t recognize the person at it’s surface. Everything looks familiar, but it’s not home. It’s not what I have always known, not what I’ve been known to be and is surely the thing I’ve never prepared for. What would you do if you looked in the mirror and didn’t recognize the person before you? It’s like meeting a friend’s twin for the first time. It’s like you can’t put your finger on it, but something’s just not quite right. I stand in my room looking forward to the reflection bestowed. I search within my  eyes to find some familiarity. “You’re green eyes,” I tell myself. “You’ve always loved your green eyes. Hold onto that.” I find I talk to myself much more these days. No one could ever understand the havoc breached within my mind frame, so I let my voice be the one that interrupts it. It’s like an intruder whose come inside to throw off my mind recounting each and everything I do, always to repeat the last failure, or the failure’s I looked to earn. In my mind I deserved each and every bad thing and that was what I was here to own, the faults.
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Doses

42

I started out with seven diagnosis….MDD, ADD, OCD, Anxiety, PTSD, Insomnia, BPD. Im now down to two…MDD and PTSD. But going through seven made me think I was down for the count every singe day. Today I actually have energy. And today like all of my days are full of more life than I ever thought I could see from the dark ones. Today I was supposed to be dead. And looking back I realize I was. At least for all of my yesterdays I was. And all of my days were filled with animosity. Animosity from me, from all of the bad things and from all of the good that I saw, as the bad. It’s like I couldn’t live in the moments because living IN the moment meant living IN the pain. And they can’t prescribe a pill for this pain. Holy crap they tried. Alas, I’d have to wait it out in the timeliest fashion like watching paint dry. The days just got to be so long. I’m almost at the point where I might consider a day to go by fast but not quite yet.

“Well, they make a new medication now that could really help with your symptoms,” doctors would tell me. And I was always the first to know about new meds being tried, something new to prescribe in place of the one that didn’t work or a new one to add on to the other I was already taking because it was supposed to really “be effective.” You’d think they would’ve stopped around seven or so but doctors don’t keep track of how many medications you take. At least mine never did. Even when I’d say 13 was too many…it’s not like anyone was going to listen to the suicidal girl with tons of diagnosis. “Be proactive,” that’s what we get told. But be proactive to who? I’d take anyone that would listen. But no one did. Even after I’d stop taking them and then try to take my life. They just thought it was another reason to add another pill or replace one. I was on upwards of 15 at one point. I’d had about just as many suicide attempts.

Then we have my back. The meds I spoke of before where only my psych meds. I haven’t yet told you about the Percocet I was prescribed for my back problems. As far as I knew it was a herniated disc. That brought on the kind of pain that makes your back feel like it’s breaking in half every day. It was preventing me from doing everything. And I never knew herniations could hurt so badly. So when I took the Percocet too quickly and was quite harshly judged by the first doctor, who was filling in for my regular doctor too. But my regular doctor decided to prescribe me fentanyl. Which I had no idea about at the time. The opiod crisis wasn’t in survival mode quite yet. And it wasn’t that she prescribed me fentanyl, and the strongest dose that they made, it was the doctor after that who prescribed me Vicodin along with it. Even with the fentanyl I would get cramping in my back but it was hardly anjything to scoff at and I just thought the more pills would make it all go away. “That’s the point,” he said.

Far From Home

41

“No, no, NO!” I screamed as he was coming at me. With each step that got firmer and firmer I grew more scared. “Get out of my house!” He screamed. “Don’t ever talk about me like that again!” I’d said something about him being like his father and he didn’t like that all that much I guess. I suppose this was his ‘hot’ button. Chris had many buttons however, and they all seemed to be quite hot.

I’d grown to be afraid of being in my own home which was the first problem I’d had with being in this marriage. But a marriage it was and I was for some reason so determined to see it succeed. I’d only planned on getting married once in life. And that once in a lifetime was my ‘fairy tale,’ supposed to emerge. But if I only knew better. I feel if I only knew myself better, I could’ve also weeded out the assholes much more easily as well. I didn’t know what was in front of me, behind me and to the sides of me because A) I was too young to tell, B) I was too far into my depression and C) just always hoped everything would turn out for the best. But alas the best it was not and the best was only something I have in my inmagination as I would turn into my own worst enemy, and then my husband’s. I don’t think that he loved me and I think also that I could have loved anything that showed me any attention. I was floored when we first started going out, so when he asked me to marry him *ahem, over the phone, I smiled wide and gayedly said ‘Yes’. What was I thinking? You might ask. I did think I was in love with him, and I know now that I was so desperate to be loved that I would’ve gone to any length. I just did’t realize that any length is the road I was headed toward. I don’t know at this point why I said yes, but then I thought it was my ticket. My ticket out, my ticket to a new life away from all that was bad, and my ticket to my fairy tale. I laugh at that kind of thinking now but then, at 21, I had everything to look forward to in a new marriage.

Flipping backwards I could feel my breath deepen as I grunted directly after he’d grabbed my legs from the crossed legged sitting position I was in. I’d been sitting, not to be politically incorrect, but Indian style if you will when I’d made the comment about him seeming like his father. He bolted up from his position, yelling at me until I could feel the grip of his hands on my calves. Deepened was his grip as if he were grasping for life and onto something I never realized until just now. He was grasping with all of his might for everything he lacked as a person…which was a lot. His grip went even tighter into my legs.  I flew into a backwards summersault. I landed and immediately turned into fight or flight. I should’ve picked flight a bit farther away but I flew to the bathroom because all I could think of was getting into a room with a door that would shut. None of ours had locks and we’d recently moved from Seattle to Tacoma where I’d had nervousness about as well. It was nighttime as I slammed the door shut and curled into a ball in the corner of the room, he still outside yelling about how I’d disrespected him. I remember thinking to myself that it’s ironic, I sitting in the bathroom after what had just happened, crying my eyes out because I didn’t know how to show him respect, being I had no idea what he would do next with anything I ever did anyhow. I thought I’d seen hell with my depression but the angels of death looked as I realized I was being taken to a new level in a home I had no idea about, which couldn’t be farther from my family back in my real hometown where my heart of hearts always had been.

Showing Signs

40

Getting an abortion was never something I planned on doing. It’s not like you live your life with that kind of thing on your bucket list. But I did get pregnant, I was 19 and I was scared to death.

I’m such a lover of kids you’d think it natural when I would eventually get pregnant, I’d be so excited and not be able to wait to have a baby. And yes, albeit babies are adorable, you don’t really look that deep into the picture beyond the cuteness until you really get pregnant. In staring at those lines that appeared on the pregnancy test, I remember staring at it for so long you would of thought I was trying some sort of magical mind trick or something. Hell, maybe I was. Maybe in staring at it longer I thought that faded second line would disappear just as fast, or slowly, as it appeared in the first place. What am I going to do? All of the sudden I’m thinking about how much money it’s going to cost, how much time I’d be able to spend with it being I’d have to get another job, and how much would I really be able to give to a child at the age that I’m at. All of the sudden at 19, I felt so aged.

The morning I of the Doctor’s appointment, I went to throw something away in my garbage and noticed it had been rustled through. “Oh, shit,” I thought. What now? I couldn’t imagine why anyone would ever want to rustle through garbage. Geez, I was feeling so low that if anyone needed garbage in their life they could just come and talk to me. In being pregnant I knew I needed to have the abortion early, if I was going to have it. Not that it makes it any better or easier I just couldn’t imagine doing it later in the term. I still can’t believe these words that I write knowing what I was about to do. I’ve always wanted to be a mom, it’s what I thought I was put on this Earth to do. What WAS I put on this Earth to do? Man, I have no idea why anymore. I thought there would be no evidence that I was pregnant to anyone. I thought that it would be my story to tell, if I ever chose to tell it. Well, I wasn’t off to a very good start. For instance, leaving the pregnancy test in the garbage probably wasn’t a good idea if I didn’t want to get caught. But like I said, who rustles through garbage anyway? It turns out, I’d started giving my mom evidence of her own. The reason I thought I might be pregnant was when I lit up a smoke one day. I wasn’t a consistent smoker but liked them from time to time, and all of the sudden when I went to inhale I felt so nauseated I couldn’t believe it. “This isn’t right,” I’d tell myself. “I’m not even feeling sick.” I thought about it for a minute and realized It’d be perfect timing for me to be pregnant. But that was also a distant thought at best. Then I became nauseated all of the time, and my boobs got really sensitive. I never knew what women meant when they’d say they’re boobs got sensitive until mine did. It was like my awful aha moment. Then I was constantly on the verge of puking. And thinking my mother would just think I was sick, was never a second thought. But I didn’t realize she’d put two and two together when I was craving a pickle one day and was vocal about it. You think you have cravings, then realize you never had a craving until you crave something while pregnant. I had to have that pickle, the thoughts of it were all consuming. I never thought she’d put those moments together. To think women before me had been showing these signs all along! Geez, I really didn’t get it. Of course, I was too young to.