The Struggle Is Real

♤nine : walls♤

♤nine : walls♤

The (still) scratchy bed scraped my back as I tossed and turned wondering what the heck why happen next. I heaved a long breath, letting my chest relax as I laid on the hospital bed. I tried to chill out, but miserably failed. Repeating the same thing in my head over and over again, I finally said the words I knew were lies out loud-

"It's okay."

But inside, I honestly knew it wasn't.
I couldn't get the images out of my head.
There should have been a storm. A huge honking storm that would have washed away all of the sorrow, regret, and torture this had caused my family and I. But most of all, it should have washed away the flames. The flames that seared the walls that I had smeared my fingerprints on as a toddler, put my hands on for support for my first steps, crashed into when racing with my dog down the hallway, the walls I had hung pictures of my friends and I, the walls that I had put my awards on. The walls I had sat up against and cried when times were tough, the walls I hung new pictures on, new awards, the walls I had smashed into when I was racing my best friend down the halls. The walls that encased all of my secrets, and kept our whispering voices unheard.

Those walls were now gone.

The laughing pictures on the wall taunted me. With burns on my neck, face, legs, and a blood red cast on my broken arm, I never wanted to go back to my friends and my old school. I was hideous, I didn't think anyone would ever like me again. I asked my aunt if I could stay here forever. She asked me if I meant the hospital or my new home. This caught me completely off guard. I wondered if I should ask what she meant, or play it safe by saying hospital. 'You get nowhere without trying to get somewhere.' My dads wisdom rang in my ears. Risk it is then. I cautiously asked what she meant by my new home. I was bracing for impact. What's it gonna be? Foster home? Orphanage? Living with old Joe, who lived in a shack? She started out slow, but the excitement in her voice grew as she went on. She explained that they made my big brothers closet into my room. I don't have a brother. Or a mom, or a dad.

They were dead now. Constantly I reminded myself day and night of this.

The small group of the Mersleys filled into the room, grinning from ear to ear. Andy did a little shuffle-foward-thing with his feet and came to meet me at the (still) scratchy, nasty hospital bed. He smiled as genuinely as he could.

"We're your new family."