I Never Thought
I never thought that through my moments of weakness I would find the strength I needed to keep moving forward. More importantly, I never thought I would look back and be disappointed in the person I was, the person I left behind. Seven years ago I wouldn't have considered myself a strong person. I was anything but strong, I allowed myself to take the easy way out. I would convince myself that if I could not control the situation, I could at least control the pain I felt from it. So it began...
I was sixteen, and too young to cope with what happened alone but too stubborn and embarrassed to ask for help. I kept reassuring myself that I had survived the toughest part and things would go back to normal. I thought I would go back to normal. I never imagined that I would never be able to get back to the girl I use to be. I never thought that the girl who was voted "best personality" for a school superlative would disappear forever. But I did, and I had no idea how much I would be tested in the years that followed.
The memories from that December night wouldn't go away. I tried suppressing my thoughts, but it was useless. I couldn't control them. Mistakes I had made, moments of struggle, my weaknesses, constantly replaying in my mind, taking over my every thought. Have you ever had a song stuck in your head? One of those really annoying overplayed songs, like Gwen Stefani's "B-a-n-a-n-a-s"? Throughout your day no matter how hard you try to distract yourself or think about something else, somehow "this sh*t is bananas... b-a-n-a-n-a-s" always ends up creeping back into your mind? That's exactly how I felt.
I stopped caring about everything: school, friends, family, and myself. I couldn't look at myself so my appearance became less than unattractive. The only productive thing I did was my poetry and even that never seemed good enough.
After a couple months of hiding out at home on the weekends, my best friend convinced me to go a party with her. I had no desire to go, but I felt guilty constantly blowing her off and shutting her out. On top of that, the past several weeks her concern about my behavior had escalated, and I was running out of excuses. So I agreed to go to the party. I tried to convince myself it would do me good to get out of the house and get my life back; I was wrong. Years later I marked this party as my first public "freak out"; because that's exactly what I did, I freaked out and unfortunately it wouldn't be my last.
At the party I paid particular attention to what was going on around me. Just as I started to feel remotely comfortable, Andy, a boy I grew up with, came from behind and hugged me. I was caught off guard. Sort of like when you're ten and you finally gather the courage to slowly walk onto the diving board. You're standing there on top of it, legs shaking. Is it a result from being cold or scared? Most likely it's a combination of both. You inch closer towards the edge. You've almost convinced yourself to jump. Then out of nowhere your brother pushes you from behind. You catapult through the air and gracefully belly flop into the water.
One step forward two steps back…
With the unexpected comes the unpredictable. It was a harmless hug, regardless, I lost it. I remember yelling "DON'T TOUCH ME!!" As I ripped myself away from his grasp. I will never forget the look on his face when I turned around. His brown eyes looked so hurt and confused. I hated myself for this. I wanted to explain but I couldn't. I knew there was nothing that I could say without giving away my secret. Plus I was incredibly embarrassed for making a scene. So I left. I walked home. To this day I still have no idea why I walked home. I had driven my own car over so I didn't have to rely on someone else for a ride. Plus it was beginning to snow. It was January and I wasn't exactly dressed appropriately to walk a mile home in the cold, but I did.
The closer I walked to my house the more disgusted I was with myself, how I reacted, how I made Andy feel, and the person I was becoming. When I got home my parents questioned why I was back so early and what happened to my car. I felt guilty; I couldn't tell them what happened without justifying my reaction to Andy. I couldn't explain why I didn't want to be touched. Telling the truth just wasn't an option. Instead, I told them I got into a fight with Ashley and my car was blocked in. They didn't question it, so I went upstairs.
I couldn't help but feel dirty in my own skin. I knew taking a shower would not help because I had already tried that over hundred times in the past months. I couldn't sleep; I couldn't look at myself. I blamed myself and that blame quickly turned into self hatred. I went into the bathroom, I don't even know why. There it was, next to my dad's shaving cream. The royal blue color became florescent and the word "Gillette" printed down the side seemed to jump out at me. I picked it up. I was back in control. For a short moment I was not tormented by my thoughts. I only saw red, and for the first night in a long time I fell right to sleep.
Needless to say when I woke up the next morning I was still me. Everything was still the same as the day before. The only difference was the new raw tattooed line that ran across my wrist. I felt even more ashamed. That night I wrote a poem in my diary, I had titled it "this isn't you". That was the thing, I knew who I wasn't, I just didn't know who I was.
I promised myself I would not do it again. At the time I truly believed I wouldn't, that was until the next time something happened. It's similar to starting a diet. Have you ever sworn off all sweets and under no circumstances will you allow yourself to eat another? You've said it enough times to yourself that it's embedded into your head. Now you've completely convinced yourself that you will not straw off of your diet. Then one day you're walking through the food court at the mall. You keep your eyes focused straight in front of you, trying to recall if Macy's is to the left or the right. If that 20% off coupon you shoved somewhere in your purse is for Macy's or JCPenny. Then suddenly there's a woman practically shoving a piece of fudge on a tooth pick into your mouth saying, "free sample, free sample". Maybe you would resist, maybe you would show self control. And that would be the difference between you and me.
Over the next couple years anytime anything happened I resorted back to my easy way out. It became somewhat of a weekly ritual. I wasn't proud of what I was doing, but for reasons that are impossible to explain, it made me feel better. It was easy to conceal my new tattoos because I rarely wore anything that wasn't long sleeve. I thought I could hide behind baggy jeans and big sweatshirts. I wanted to disappear, and for awhile I think I did. Until Derek came along…
I'm not exactly sure what attracted Derek to me. Was it was my oversized wardrobe or my anti social personality? Either way I was grateful. Derek was my rock. He encouraged me to close the chapter of my life that had previously caused me so much suffering. We talked about everything and did everything together. Over time I fell in love. I was slowly piecing my life back together. I learned to control my temper and I was no longer taking the easy way out. For awhile I had my life back.
What I failed to notice was that I had centered my life on him. I never took into consideration the fact that he isn't always going to be there. I depended too much on him and when I lost him, I lost myself. We'd been known to break up on several occasions, we didn't really have the most functional relationship and one break up in particular was the final straw. My heart ached, my stomach was in knots, and my thoughts constantly went back to him. I couldn't eat and tried to sleep as much as I could. I tried going to class but I would break into tears. Once again I felt embarrassed and ashamed. Thoughts of him consumed my mind. Then there were those moments, when my thoughts would drift further back in time. Back to the first time I felt alone and betrayed and those images were even worse. I was back in square one; back in the bathroom, starring into the mirror, into my own eyes. The same feelings from years ago resurfaced. I made the decision to leave the bathroom and lay in bed.
Throughout the night, thoughts flew in and out of my mind. By morning I came to the conclusion that I just couldn't do it anymore. If this was the life I was going to lead, then I was giving up. I didn't think I had the strength to deal with anymore setbacks that would be thrown in my direction. It's almost like the video game Mario Kart. Especially if you keep running over those damn banana peels or are repeatedly struck by turtle shells from behind; both which send you spinning off course. Not to mention that the person you are playing against has already lapped you twice, and you are still so far from the finish line. Wouldn't you feel like giving up, and selecting the "game over" button? Well that's how I felt, and I was about to take the easy way out.
30... 35... 40 then nothing. I woke up to sirens. I was in an ambulance. My face felt hot, I thought it was on fire. My chest ached, as if a ton of bricks had just been released onto it. I don't remember much else until my mom and best friend arrived. The police had concluded that I must have been changing the radio station and swerved into the telephone pole. I didn't say otherwise.
When I got home I forced myself to look in the mirror. "Was it really worth it?" I asked myself. I wish I could go back in time and look into that same mirror into my 18 year old eyes, just to say "everything will be okay". Once again, when it was all over I was still me. I had a totaled car to match my totaled life and for several months my totaled face. I knew I had gone too far this time. I knew that if I didn't stop feeling sorry for myself I would continue to sink. I didn't realize that I couldn't get much lower. Looking back now I realize I had hit rock bottom.
After my car accident I didn't have a revelation or a sudden reality check. It wouldn't be for a few years later that I would realize just how stupid I was, and how lucky I am. Eleanor Roosevelt once said "You gain strength, courage and confidence by every experience in which you really stop to look fear in the face. You are able to say to yourself, I lived through this horror. I can take the next thing that comes along. You must do the thing you think you cannot do." The horrors of my past are behind me, even if the ghosts still reappear every now and then. I've learned from my mistakes and through those mistakes I've made it to where I am today. I am no longer who I use to be, and I do not miss who I was. Life has a unique way of teaching lessons, and every day I continue to learn. I would not know it at the time, but everything happens for a reason. You just have to stick it out long enough for the purpose to surface. I never thought at twenty-three I would consider myself a strong person, but after everything I've overcome, I wouldn't consider myself anything less.
I never thought that through my moments of weakness I would find the strength I needed to keep moving forward. More importantly, I never thought I would look back and be disappointed in the person I was, the person I left behind. Seven years ago I wouldn't have considered myself a strong person. I was anything but strong, I allowed myself to take the easy way out. I would convince myself that if I could not control the situation, I could at least control the pain I felt from it. So it began...
I was sixteen, and too young to cope with what happened alone but too stubborn and embarrassed to ask for help. I kept reassuring myself that I had survived the toughest part and things would go back to normal. I thought I would go back to normal. I never imagined that I would never be able to get back to the girl I use to be. I never thought that the girl who was voted "best personality" for a school superlative would disappear forever. But I did, and I had no idea how much I would be tested in the years that followed.
The memories from that December night wouldn't go away. I tried suppressing my thoughts, but it was useless. I couldn't control them. Mistakes I had made, moments of struggle, my weaknesses, constantly replaying in my mind, taking over my every thought. Have you ever had a song stuck in your head? One of those really annoying overplayed songs, like Gwen Stefani's "B-a-n-a-n-a-s"? Throughout your day no matter how hard you try to distract yourself or think about something else, somehow "this sh*t is bananas... b-a-n-a-n-a-s" always ends up creeping back into your mind? That's exactly how I felt.
I stopped caring about everything: school, friends, family, and myself. I couldn't look at myself so my appearance became less than unattractive. The only productive thing I did was my poetry and even that never seemed good enough.
After a couple months of hiding out at home on the weekends, my best friend convinced me to go a party with her. I had no desire to go, but I felt guilty constantly blowing her off and shutting her out. On top of that, the past several weeks her concern about my behavior had escalated, and I was running out of excuses. So I agreed to go to the party. I tried to convince myself it would do me good to get out of the house and get my life back; I was wrong. Years later I marked this party as my first public "freak out"; because that's exactly what I did, I freaked out and unfortunately it wouldn't be my last.
At the party I paid particular attention to what was going on around me. Just as I started to feel remotely comfortable, Andy, a boy I grew up with, came from behind and hugged me. I was caught off guard. Sort of like when you're ten and you finally gather the courage to slowly walk onto the diving board. You're standing there on top of it, legs shaking. Is it a result from being cold or scared? Most likely it's a combination of both. You inch closer towards the edge. You've almost convinced yourself to jump. Then out of nowhere your brother pushes you from behind. You catapult through the air and gracefully belly flop into the water.
One step forward two steps back…
With the unexpected comes the unpredictable. It was a harmless hug, regardless, I lost it. I remember yelling "DON'T TOUCH ME!!" As I ripped myself away from his grasp. I will never forget the look on his face when I turned around. His brown eyes looked so hurt and confused. I hated myself for this. I wanted to explain but I couldn't. I knew there was nothing that I could say without giving away my secret. Plus I was incredibly embarrassed for making a scene. So I left. I walked home. To this day I still have no idea why I walked home. I had driven my own car over so I didn't have to rely on someone else for a ride. Plus it was beginning to snow. It was January and I wasn't exactly dressed appropriately to walk a mile home in the cold, but I did.
The closer I walked to my house the more disgusted I was with myself, how I reacted, how I made Andy feel, and the person I was becoming. When I got home my parents questioned why I was back so early and what happened to my car. I felt guilty; I couldn't tell them what happened without justifying my reaction to Andy. I couldn't explain why I didn't want to be touched. Telling the truth just wasn't an option. Instead, I told them I got into a fight with Ashley and my car was blocked in. They didn't question it, so I went upstairs.
I couldn't help but feel dirty in my own skin. I knew taking a shower would not help because I had already tried that over hundred times in the past months. I couldn't sleep; I couldn't look at myself. I blamed myself and that blame quickly turned into self hatred. I went into the bathroom, I don't even know why. There it was, next to my dad's shaving cream. The royal blue color became florescent and the word "Gillette" printed down the side seemed to jump out at me. I picked it up. I was back in control. For a short moment I was not tormented by my thoughts. I only saw red, and for the first night in a long time I fell right to sleep.
Needless to say when I woke up the next morning I was still me. Everything was still the same as the day before. The only difference was the new raw tattooed line that ran across my wrist. I felt even more ashamed. That night I wrote a poem in my diary, I had titled it "this isn't you". That was the thing, I knew who I wasn't, I just didn't know who I was.
I promised myself I would not do it again. At the time I truly believed I wouldn't, that was until the next time something happened. It's similar to starting a diet. Have you ever sworn off all sweets and under no circumstances will you allow yourself to eat another? You've said it enough times to yourself that it's embedded into your head. Now you've completely convinced yourself that you will not straw off of your diet. Then one day you're walking through the food court at the mall. You keep your eyes focused straight in front of you, trying to recall if Macy's is to the left or the right. If that 20% off coupon you shoved somewhere in your purse is for Macy's or JCPenny. Then suddenly there's a woman practically shoving a piece of fudge on a tooth pick into your mouth saying, "free sample, free sample". Maybe you would resist, maybe you would show self control. And that would be the difference between you and me.
Over the next couple years anytime anything happened I resorted back to my easy way out. It became somewhat of a weekly ritual. I wasn't proud of what I was doing, but for reasons that are impossible to explain, it made me feel better. It was easy to conceal my new tattoos because I rarely wore anything that wasn't long sleeve. I thought I could hide behind baggy jeans and big sweatshirts. I wanted to disappear, and for awhile I think I did. Until Derek came along…
I'm not exactly sure what attracted Derek to me. Was it was my oversized wardrobe or my anti social personality? Either way I was grateful. Derek was my rock. He encouraged me to close the chapter of my life that had previously caused me so much suffering. We talked about everything and did everything together. Over time I fell in love. I was slowly piecing my life back together. I learned to control my temper and I was no longer taking the easy way out. For awhile I had my life back.
What I failed to notice was that I had centered my life on him. I never took into consideration the fact that he isn't always going to be there. I depended too much on him and when I lost him, I lost myself. We'd been known to break up on several occasions, we didn't really have the most functional relationship and one break up in particular was the final straw. My heart ached, my stomach was in knots, and my thoughts constantly went back to him. I couldn't eat and tried to sleep as much as I could. I tried going to class but I would break into tears. Once again I felt embarrassed and ashamed. Thoughts of him consumed my mind. Then there were those moments, when my thoughts would drift further back in time. Back to the first time I felt alone and betrayed and those images were even worse. I was back in square one; back in the bathroom, starring into the mirror, into my own eyes. The same feelings from years ago resurfaced. I made the decision to leave the bathroom and lay in bed.
Throughout the night, thoughts flew in and out of my mind. By morning I came to the conclusion that I just couldn't do it anymore. If this was the life I was going to lead, then I was giving up. I didn't think I had the strength to deal with anymore setbacks that would be thrown in my direction. It's almost like the video game Mario Kart. Especially if you keep running over those damn banana peels or are repeatedly struck by turtle shells from behind; both which send you spinning off course. Not to mention that the person you are playing against has already lapped you twice, and you are still so far from the finish line. Wouldn't you feel like giving up, and selecting the "game over" button? Well that's how I felt, and I was about to take the easy way out.
30... 35... 40 then nothing. I woke up to sirens. I was in an ambulance. My face felt hot, I thought it was on fire. My chest ached, as if a ton of bricks had just been released onto it. I don't remember much else until my mom and best friend arrived. The police had concluded that I must have been changing the radio station and swerved into the telephone pole. I didn't say otherwise.
When I got home I forced myself to look in the mirror. "Was it really worth it?" I asked myself. I wish I could go back in time and look into that same mirror into my 18 year old eyes, just to say "everything will be okay". Once again, when it was all over I was still me. I had a totaled car to match my totaled life and for several months my totaled face. I knew I had gone too far this time. I knew that if I didn't stop feeling sorry for myself I would continue to sink. I didn't realize that I couldn't get much lower. Looking back now I realize I had hit rock bottom.
After my car accident I didn't have a revelation or a sudden reality check. It wouldn't be for a few years later that I would realize just how stupid I was, and how lucky I am. Eleanor Roosevelt once said "You gain strength, courage and confidence by every experience in which you really stop to look fear in the face. You are able to say to yourself, I lived through this horror. I can take the next thing that comes along. You must do the thing you think you cannot do." The horrors of my past are behind me, even if the ghosts still reappear every now and then. I've learned from my mistakes and through those mistakes I've made it to where I am today. I am no longer who I use to be, and I do not miss who I was. Life has a unique way of teaching lessons, and every day I continue to learn. I would not know it at the time, but everything happens for a reason. You just have to stick it out long enough for the purpose to surface. I never thought at twenty-three I would consider myself a strong person, but after everything I've overcome, I wouldn't consider myself anything less.
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