Twenty-Eight: Rants

Twenty-Eight

The sun was shining through the window as I was taking a nap in my room. It had been a long day at kindergarten and I wanted to rest. However, it was short lived. I was abruptly awoken by a female voice hovering over me.

“I’m going to show you what mommies and daddies do,” she said in a stern tone. Confused and afraid, I turned my head and closed my eyes and prayed I went back to sleep….but I didn’t. I couldn’t. I was both scared and mortified.

“Don’t tell Nanny, okay?” She stated as she left the room. I laid there trying to process what happened. I knew something wasn’t right, and I knew somehow I had been treated badly. I couldn’t wrap my mind around it but I had been.

That day, my trust for the world died. I know it sounds dramatic but it’s true. Looking back at pictures of me as a child, there a very few of me smiling. I became depressed and withdrawn from everyone. I was a very quiet child and would often win the citizenship award at the end of the year. I began to indulge myself into writing, reading, and music. A once promising gymnast, I couldn’t push myself socially anymore.

I think sometimes my mother noticed my distance. She would tell me that I was writing too much and threaten to throw away my papers. I would cry and beg her not to, and she wouldn’t. I just needed an escape.

As a teenager, I became obsessed with being perfect and a pageant queen for my mom. I tried to make perfect grades, wear the best clothes, and spend hours on my hair and makeup. I wanted her protection. My sister moved back in with the family after a divorce and I felt myself slipping into darkness. I had no desire to live anymore. My poetry echoed suicide, loneliness, and black.

In high-school, I met my best-friend. It had to be a male of course because at this point, the thought of trusting a female is off the table I never recovered from that. Though he was not depressed, he still understood me. Together, he and I wanted to change the world and make everyone feel as comfortable as possible. He loved poetry and so did I. We shared love of music and clothing. It was as if two worlds collided.

Naturally, we began to fall in love with each-other (as much as you can love someone at 14.) He was my first boy-friend and I was afraid. I began to apologize for anything that went wrong in his day, and it was hard to look at him. I felt so ugly and worthless. He would reassure me I was beautiful but I couldn’t change.

“We’re better off as friends,” the letter said. I still have it somewhere. The words pierced through my heart. I took it way harder than I should have. I didn’t feel good enough for him, or anyone else. My not eating began to surface. I went from wearing size 7 jeans to a 10 in children’s. My hair began to look like straw, and my body lost all its fat. I went from 116 to 88 lbs. in a matter of two months.

“Are you okay?” My 12 year old brother asked one day. I was in the kitchen on the computer and he wrapped my arms around me. “I don’t want you to die!” He yelled as my mother came rushing into the kitchen.

“You’re going to have to gain weight!” My mom said with tears in her eyes. I lied and told his r I wasn’t doing it on purpose. She believed me and took me to so many doctors I can’t count. Some of them even suggested anorexia-nervosa because they couldn’t find a medical cause. I, however, still strategically denied this diagnosis and my mother continued to believe me.

My wrist became a canvas for razor cuts, curling iron burns, and my own fingernail scratches. I hated long sleeves so I began to cover them with makeup or accessories. My best-friend noticed, and I began to panic. He threatened to take me to the counselor on numerous occasions. With this, I began to cut on my thighs instead and eating lunch. This is when I began to purge my food. I hated the thought of it entering my body and sitting in my stomach. I would throw it all away as soon as I ate it and then put a piece of gum in my mouth.

“I don’t want to lose you,” he cried on the phone one day. The next day, he took me to the counselor. Begin 16, they did not call my mother. I was at the age of consent and endured about 3 counseling sessions and had to sign a document saying I wouldn’t kill myself. (Yeah I know…like it would stop someone….) She told me if I ever bad, hold a piece of ice in my hand or flip a rubber band on my wrist. This did not help me and I still leaned on my eating disorder.

In college, I was away from my friend. He decided on a university miles and miles away. I wanted to stay in my hometown for 2 years and pursue an associate’s degree. My confidence was still non-existent. I managed to make a few new friends, however….mostly male as always. I even met a guy that would change my life.

At 19, I began a relationship with someone in April of 2008. It was slow at first. I was still a virgin and put my faith in the Lord above everything. After about 3 months of dating, it became known he had been cheating on me with a girl named Samantha. When confronted with the news, he denied it (of course!). I decided to believe him but when the evidence was in my face, he left me.

When the semester began again, I decided to move on and date again. I wanted a relationship. I felt it was expected of me. I began to become interested in a wonderful Christian

named Jarrod. However, my previous boy-friend apologized to me numerous times of his mistake and I quickly went back to him.

Fast forward to October. I would spend many hours at his grandmother’s house.

“What does a ring symbolize? Because Jesus said this – we can’t show our love?” He says almost every day. He says he’s frustrated, he’s physically hurting from some ‘blue ball syndrome’ and it’s my fault. He loves to be with me but I make him angry.

Naively, I give into this request after a while. I remember lying on my back and staring at the ceiling as I zone out. During my first sexual experience, I just lie on my back and wish I was somewhere else. It hurts. I’m bleeding. I immediately begin to regret.

“Maybe we shouldn’t.” I softly say as I push his thighs away.

“It’s okay. I love you. It’ll only hurt for a minute.” He says as she thrust inside me harder.

Letting out a sigh, I know that I just compromised my morals for a guy. I feel bound to him. I have to marry him now. He says we’ll get married after his father gets released from prison….but three years later when that happened, we never were.

I move in with him about a month later. Things begin to change. He begins to show his drug use, constant lying, selfishness, and leaving me alone. He often calls me crazy, clingy, and don’t understand why I hurt so much. I was working 12 hour shifts at H& R Block and going to school. I would give him an “allowance” and he’d spend it on drugs. He wouldn’t even get off his game to tell me goodnight as I went to bed and crashed.

Two years later, we decided to transfer to a University. Things only get worse from here. He wants to get out but feels trapped and in 2010, he decides to move in with his drug-addict cousin and his girl-friend. There isn’t much I can do about it except accept it.

Feeling my life over, I try and take my own life in my closet. My roommate hears my dog scratching at the door and finds me. I begin going to therapy now.

About 5 months later, my boy-friend wants to move back in with us because his cousin has gotten his girl-friend pregnant and they need to move back to their hometown. He comes crying and begging for our forgiveness, and I give it to him.

Things don’t change. He still indulges into heavy drugs, lying, and alcohol. I drown inside myself for a long time.

In 2012, I take a creative writing class. I noticed every Thursday a blonde guy staring at me but I didn’t think anything of it other than he was a little creepy. On Valentine’s Day, he and I begin to talk outside as I wait on my boy-friend to pick me up for our Valentine dinner. (The origins and beginning of that story can be read in my “Once upon a time,” entry.)

I fall asleep in his dorm room one night and my life is changed forever. My boy-friend and I decided to take a break a weekend before that but it doesn’t matter. I wake up to angry voicemails and text.

“So you’re just going to ignore me? Well, come Monday it’s either your sh**’s out or mine. Oh btw, HAPPY FUCKING BIRTHDAY!” I can hear him yelling on the voicemail. I become frightened and cry.

My creative writing friend consoles me and we retreat into our own little world. We begin to live and thrive for the other….yet again, my naïve nature kicks in. Or maybe it’s just my stupidity.

It is revealed to me how unstable he is; often making suicide attempts and using HEAVY drugs. He follows me to every class and wants me to attend his as well. He wants me to go to with him as he goes to his drug-addict friend’s house and sit there, surrounded by the smoke. If I don’t go, he throws a fit and asked me why I hate him. He doesn’t want me talking to anyone on my phone anymore. He wants me to get my own apartment so he and I can move into it together, and I do.

My apartment quickly becomes a place where he and his friends can use drugs off campus. He is high and drunk all the time, and I never felt so alone. However in the madness, we understand each-other on an emotional level. We drink each-other’s souls and can’t get enough.

We consume ourselves with fights, sex, and alcohol. We love each-other. We live for each-other…..but then the semester ends and he returns home. He gets back with his ex-girl-friend and I don’t see him again until the semester starts.

He has no changed. He begins to sell and use drugs now. The last conversation I had with him was begging me to go with him to pick up heroine.

Two weeks later, his mom text me and says he’s in rehab. Thank God!

I’ll try and edit this later. I’m sorry it’s so long. I didn’t even get out half of what I wanted to say. In fact, I got distracted with other things. *Sighs* Just kill me, please.