A Portrait of A Tortured You and I

Chapter 1

I was standing on the shore waiting for my time to board the ferry to an island- that for the next three days would be known affectionately as Mars Island.  I had been through the worst eight months of my life and had shocked myself that I managed to pull off this trip.  First, because financially, I was a mess.  Second, because I was now terrified everyday.  And third, because some of the Echelon had been unkind to me, during some of my darkest times.

Eight months prior, I was happy. Not the happiest I've ever been, but I was doing well.  I had always battled depression but it was at bay, even though I had had a falling out with my sisters.  This falling out forced me to need to uproot my life and leave my beloved California for the east coast where majority of my family lived.  Without my sisters as my roommates, I couldn't afford to stay in Cali, as much as it pained me to admit.  Sure, I could have moved out and tried to find a roommate on Craigslist, but I was too cautious and I was barely making ends meet with the two roommates I had.  It seemed easier at the time to move back "home" with my tail between my legs.  Of course, I did it at the worst possible time.  A huge hurricane was barreling through the Atlantic Ocean headed straight for us.  I arrived the night before all hell broke loose. 

Nevertheless, we managed to soldier on.  The house flooded, we had to stay at a temporary shelter, but we made it through.  Still, the depression wasn't rearing it's ugly head.  I was desperately trying to find a job, because there wasn't much out there in a rural southern coastal town.  I had a career, but I left it to pursue writing.  I was hell bent on writing or nothing at all.  Somehow that translated into me getting a job as a waitress.  So much for the "nothing at all."  I have no idea what I was thinking, to be honest.  I guess I felt like it would give me free time to continue to write.  It didn't.

I was lonely, my friends were all married with kids and I was stuck living with my parents.  Not to mention the dating scene here was as abysmal as the job market.  I started working at a local diner, I knew almost everyone who came in, the tips were okay.  What wasn't okay was the questions I got. 

"What are you doing back here?"
— "long story..."
"Weren't you working at a law office?"
— "no, I was a court stenographer."
"Where's your husband?"
— "dunno, but if you find him, can you point him in my direction?"
And my personal favorite was,
"Are you having a mid life crisis? You're much too young and pretty for that."
— "uhh, thanks?"

So instead of working on my novel, or even reading somebody else's, I poured myself into watching documentaries.  My love of true crime led me to watching one about a wrongfully convicted murderer.  I was appalled that the justice system had failed yet again.  I saw it too often when I was working in the courtroom.  But unlike when I was working, I actually could have a voice now.  I started going on these different blogs looking for ways to help people who had been hurt by the legal system.  By early November, I had met a guy who shared my passion.  I wasn't actually helping anyone, so much as just talking about the different cases and once I met Andrew, I didn't go on the blogs anymore.  I became enthralled with him.  Talking to him anytime, I wasn't at the diner.

I truly thought that Andrew would be the guy I had been waiting for.  The man of my dreams.  But on December 26th, out of nowhere, he stopped taking my calls. At first, I was worried. Then worry turned to anger, and anger turned to depression. I never did find out what happened. But, I do know he is alive and well, because he accidentally texted me one morning in January. It was meant for his dad. He didn't text again.

This was the start of my year. It wasn't looking so good so far, for 2019. Worse came to worse when I had to work a double on the day after Valentines Day. Sylvie- the other waitress, myself, and Dan- the cook were discussing going out to a bar, but because I was so tired, I ultimately declined. I ended up regretting my decision when they left and I was still fumbling for my keys. Usually, we all left at the same time. It just wasn't my night. Three rowdy teenagers who had been kicked out of the diner earlier for being too obnoxious came out from the shadows, grabbing me and dragging me to the back of the diner. I fought hard, grabbing and pulling at whatever, I could. It was for naught. They punched and kicked me over and over, spit in my face, tore my uniform half off, and then left me there bleeding and unconscious.