Becoming

The Hiding Place

                    

I sat there with my book resting and nestled into my lap. I kept rereading the same sentence over and over again. I wasn't at all focused on what I was reading. My mind was else where.

My mind kept thinking about the time that I was completely hopeless of the events happening around me. So many times in my past that has happened to me. I wanted to fight back, but completely lacked the strength to do so. I wanted to scream, but no sound would escape from my voice box and run from my lips. I hated every minute that I felt this way. Every time I felt vulnerable and helpless. I'm sure I will always have mixed emotions about what happened all those times, but more specifically that day.

I sat there with a blank expression on my face. Everyounce of my being screamed to be free of the emotional terminal that it felt. I wanted to just feel as neutral as my face held, but human existence doesn't permit the mind to be completely deprived of emotions unless you were a monster and a psychopath. And that day one of those exact monsters take the thing I valued most.

I am afraid that there will always be conflict inside of me. Once you go into the world and discover its darkness because someone forces you too, you never turn back. You are never the same. You always want to return to your previously lost innocence, but that is always a dream and never a reality.

I still look in the mirror, glancing at my scar and wondering what in the world I could have done so there would have been a different outcome. Or if I just hadn't trusted him in the first place.

I was 15 then. I've already gone through some crap, but was still very much naive...if I just hadn't...

That's the thing. Dealing with what if that sometimes gets me more than anything else.

I picked up my earbuds, plugged them into my phone, and began listening to some music. Something to drown out the thoughts. I didn't want to deal with the emotions right now. Anything to distract me. And currently I was home alone. Well, I suppose I could always walk across the yard and visit my parents, if they were home. I'm sure my mom would be happy to see me. Plus her cookies always hit the spot when I had something on my mind.

I glanced around the house. I was lucky that my parents had bought so many acres when I was little and built a house on it. Then years later, once my siblings and I all grew up, let each of us built our own house on the land, but obviously within a great amount of distance from each other so we wouldn't drive each other crazy. Mine and Will's was mostly paid by my parents, my mom wanted to keep me close especially after everything, you know, being the baby of the family and everything. They said it was an early wedding/baby shower gift, even though there was no wedding or one being currently planned. Still honestly don't know how I got this far.

I stood up off of the couch and walked into my room. My earbuds playing "Thunder" by Imagine Dragons. Walking into the closet, I reached behind my clothes and grabbed the shoe box that sat on the self behind my hanging shirts. My box filled with my letters and my suicide note...

It's been years. I refused to open any of them until now. I don't even know why I was doing this right now. Probably not even wise to do it when I'm alone. But I reasoned that I could always slam the lid shut on the box and put it back in its hiding spot if it ever got too much. I sat down on my knees in the middle of my closet with the box sitting on the ground in front of me.

And of course the first letter on top was the one titled "Goodbye" on the envelope along with the date. Thank you Fates for your twisted sense of humor. I lifted the envelope out of the box and held it in my hands as I placed them in the lap. I had no intention of even opening it. The words were still seared into my brain, but I kept pushing them to the back of my mind as I just sat there staring blankly at the envelope. My emotions were even confused on what to feel exactly.

                    

I was 15 then...so lost and so broken. My world kept shattering. I couldn't trust. My demons screamed louder every day, sometimes even carving their nails into my skin with the cold and relieving blade of a kitchen knife. The same knife I once had hidden under my childhood bed, unable to even look at it. I remember the sharpness and the blood oozing as it waterfalled down my arm, calming my senses; providing some twisted sense of quench to my demons thirst.

            I think the saddest part though was the fact that nobody could really see it. They thought I was just normal. Very few even knowing what happened. They didn't see my battle scars or cared to see the conflict behind my eyes. I think the hardest part was fighting alone for years without someone reaching out and willing to fight with me.

            I remember perfectly the night that I wrote my suicide note. I broke down, pulled out my notebook, and wrapped my blanket around me with my knife in hand. I was fifteen...And I started writing. I stated that I was done and wanted the pain to just stop. For my world to just stop spinning. I hated fighting alone; I hated my broken imperfections and the damage that was inflicted upon me... I just wanted the pain to end. I wrote until I thought I was done. I closed my notebook and laid on my side planning just for a few minutes of quiet before I took my own life.

            I ended up crying myself to sleep. Knife in hand and close to my heart. I woke up the next morning, realizing that I nearly stabbed myself in my sleep.

            But I never did.

            I found another reason to live.

            My reason. I wanted to fight to live. I wanted to prove my inner demons wrong.

Most of all, I wanted to believe and find a reason to live.

                    

I've always said it's the fight that creates the fighter. Even beautiful things have been marked by the brokenness of the world. Sometimes they just have a easier time hiding it then showing it.

I placed the letter back into the box and closed the lid. Then placed the box back in its hiding place. I knew it wasn't wise to dig through those letters today. I knew I wasn't emotionally ready. And I may never be. But my message is still the same. I'm still going to fight, because I did find something beautiful and I am determined to still fight for it.

I walked out into the living room again hoping that Will and Dakota will be home soon. Will took Dakota over to his mom's so I could get some rest. But after tossing and turning for a half hour, I decided that I was just going to read, but obviously that didn't turn out as planned either.

The music was still playing in my ear but wasn't providing much help with stopping the pressing thoughts.

So plan B. Walking outside and sitting under my favorite tree while reading a book and listening to some music. Let's see how well this plays out.