The Convict

Preparations

Is it possible that I've been mentally insane my whole life and have never known it? It must be true. Why else would I agree to house, love, and marry the killer who kidnapped me and tried to kill me not once, but twice? It just doesn't make any sense. I have to be out of my mind.

I think I've always been out of my mind. Even before I was kidnapped. I think the stress of witnessing a murder and being kidnapped is what pushed me over the edge. Dakota brought out a part of my personality that I try to keep hidden. A fundamental piece of who I am. She pulled back the veil and the surface stuff I use to shield myself from reality and exposed the raw and vulnerable side of who I really am.

At the end of the day, I am not a lesbian. I am not the kidnapped girl. I am not a survivor. I am Melony Black, a girl who truly just wants to be loved. Just wants someone to listen to her, to understand her, to worship the ground she walks on. Like all people, I want to feel special. I want that attention, that extra loving that no one else has been able to give to me. And despite her history, Dakota is the only person to ever make me feel special.

She has changed me. Changed the way I see the world. Changed how the world sees me. She has awakened me to the Melony that lives deep within me. Showed me there is more to life than parties and bars and girlfriends and jobs and college and friends. She showed me what life is truly about, it's about the relationships we make. It's about love. A sister's love for her dead sibling. A dead girl's lack of love toward the world. At the end of the day, we are just looking for someone to love us for who we truly are.

Everyone on this earth is just looking for love, connection, and a sense of belonging. To feel important, cared for, and special.

The moment I witnessed that murder, nothing could ever be the same again. All that superficial stuff no longer mattered. My breakup with BB didn't matter. My best friend leaving me at the bar didn't matter. My inner homophobic crisis didn't matter. Nothing mattered anymore. Reality was a spray of hot blood on my face.

When you are stripped of everything you thought was what made you, you, it does something to you. Dakota stripped me of my superficial identity. She cut my hair, which at the end of the day, didn't matter. She isolated me from the world and forced me to face the coward I really am. She showed me the girl in the mirror and all the things I thought made Melony, Melony, weren't there anymore. They didn't matter. I was looking into the eyes of a stranger. She forced me to realize I had no idea who I was or what I was doing with my life, I was simply going through the motions, doing what everyone expected me to do. But that wasn't who I was, or what I wanted.

And Dakota was the same. To everyone else, she was the girl who volunteered at soup kitchens and advocated for those seen as mentally challenged. She went camping and hosted potlucks and food drives. She was a saint, a girl who lost her sister to something tragic. But I got to see the real Dakota.

A girl so angry at the world that she could kill someone. I got to see her true pain she tries desperately to hide. Got to see that behind closed doors, she was alone, and just as scared as I was. Dakota wasn't the saint the world saw her as. She wasn't the sister who survived a tragedy. She was a girl, wounded, bleeding out, looking for a way to end her pain.

I think that's why I love her. She sees me for me, knows me, for me. Just as I know her for her. No need for superficial labels or arbitrary and obscure words we use as identities when in reality they tell you nothing about who you truly are.

Am I a lesbian? Yes. Am I a victim? Also yes. Do either of those things tell you what kind of person I truly am? No. And not a lot of people get that, most people pick one thing and make that their whole personality. But it's superficial, not who you truly are.