The Hole Within

CHAPTER 7

I fully lost myself to the darkness when mom brought home Mike. He was a Mexican-Indian man with a pompadour of thick black hair. I instantly despised him. Despite his congenial manner, he gave off bad vibes. I wanted nothing to do with him and desperately wanted to pull mom away from him. During that first meeting, Mike pulled me aside and told me that he knew I had mom's ear. That if I would convince her to marry him I would never have to worry about money. I would have my own room, brand name clothes and a car to drive. Most of all I would not have to take care of the kids or house. It was an attractive offer. But I knew there was no way in hell I would convince her of any such thing! However, mom saw the offer as a way to provide for her kids. He was her savior. A man with money and possessions willing to take on a ready-made family.

I can see why she married him now. Then, though, it felt like it was a pact with the devil and I begged her not to marry him. I cried all through the backyard wedding. I believe the guests found it touching. No one knew my tears were not tears of happiness but from deep despair. I write:

My face fell off

Stuck to the cold

Sidewalk

Emotionless

A mask – a shell

If just fell

And I refused to

Pick it

Up.

***

Linda began her own experimentation with drugs and alcohol with her boyfriend. Knowing that I often had pills, she began asking me for some of my stash. I had acquired a bottle of Vicodin. Keeping some for myself, I gave the rest of the bottle to her. When I called her later that day her mother answered and told me Linda had overdosed and was at the hospital. I was in fear for her life and in a rage at myself. Sobbing, I went out to the patio and slammed my fist into a wood post. I punched it again but the pain was not enough. Sinking down to my knees, I brought my swollen fist down on the concrete. Fully engulfed in my tantrum, I had no idea how many punches I threw before the raging pain in my hand was all encompassing and I could no longer lift my arm for another blow. It was all my fault. I had given her the pills. If she died I would have been the one that killed her. The skin on my knuckles was now raw, the color having turned blue and red. My hand quickly swelled so that I could no longer close it. I retreated to my bedroom where I downed four Vicodin and lay on my bed weeping. I hated myself with a deep burning passion.

Linda survived her overdose. She had mixed narcotics with alcohol. Her parents threatened to put her in a substance abuse hospital if she did not give up the people who supplied her with the combo. Once they found out that I had given her the pills they forbade her from associating with me. I was heartbroken. I was angry at myself. I was angry with Linda that she stupidly mixed the pills with drink. Angry that she gave up my name instead of lying. That she let them separate us. I write:

The pain of your

Love

Far outweighs the pain

Of your

Rejection.