Flowers for Me

4 Years Later

            

4 years later and there are still reminders everywhere.

4 years later and that pain still feels as fresh as it did back then.

4 years later and I still remember that I hit the lowest point that I had ever been at.

It hurts. I'd be lying if it didn't. I fake a smile at those who I ask and say "it's over."

But the panic attacks still comes.

And so do the anxiety attacks.

Fast breathing.

Shaking.

And now? I feel sick to my stomach at times.

4 years later, and I'm developing new symptoms.

PTSS. Post Traumatic Stress Syndrome. Look at my file. Official diagnosis. It's there. At 15 years old.

I don't say it to get attention. I'm not that kind of person. I'm not. But what you have to understand is that this is something I have to live with. This is not going away.

I've left. I'm miles away from where this all happened.

But I see the name. I hear the ringtone from their phone. I see the bats at the club fair and my stomach drops. I pray that they don't see me staring and ask "won't you join our team?"

I love the sport. That's what hurts the most. The following year I tried to play but instead of thinking about the glass and who would see it, I scream inside my head. I became a prisoner in my own mind. And there's nothing you can do about it.

The tears streaming down my face. Having to nod and say "I'll do better" when all you want to do is run off the field as fast as you can and take off your gym clothes. You want to get out of the sport. Not because you hate it, but because you simply can't handle the constant reminders.

The first year anniversary comes up. You're laying on your bed when suddenly, your breathing picks up. You start to shake but you're not even moving. You stayed home from the trip because if playing at school was bad enough, the trigger of playing where this all went down would be even worse.

Yet here you are. Shaking and breathing heavily in bed from doing absolutely nothing.

You think that you are going to have a chance to get this weight off your shoulders when your school asks you to talk about this moment in front of the entire high school. You tell everybody and one of your best friends says she saw the person you went to back up. You told this person what was happening and they said "it's tough love." They made you feel like nothing. But then, when you gave your speech, she backed up. She backed up because she knew what she did caused worse things to happen than she ever imagined.

And after 2 years, she apologized.

And for once in your life, instead of saying "it's okay," you said "thank you for your apology."

Because what she did wasn't okay.

It was not okay.

It wasn't.

"If something happens, tell a teacher."

She destroyed that phrase.

And now that you got to let her know how much you were hurt because she refused to listen, it felt good.

So good.

She finally realized what her mistakes caused.

But 4 years later, I still live with this burden.

4 years later, and I still have panic attacks when I try to retell the story to anyone who doesn't know so they understand that I know what rock bottom is.

I understand what it feels like when you don't want to be here anymore.

To escape the pain.

I understand.

But sometimes, you're the only one who can pick yourself up.

Give flowers to yourself.
You deserve it for all you've been through.