A cry for help

Dear Anonymous,

                I am writing to you in regards to someone, someone like me. I need someone to listen, to feel, to pain, what I am going through. I need someone to hear my side of the story, to really fully understand what I went through all these years. I can’t be the friend, the mentor, the good person anymore. I need that person, I need you.

As time goes on, I lose myself in the disappointment and utter loneliness of my pathetic and seemingly useless life. I don’t know when this all started or how it even came about honestly, but eventually I did start to slip away, and as I continue to slip and fall down this unnatural darkness, I feel nothing but emptiness from the long wasted feelings and memories of a long lost past that I once knew. I continue to drop deeper into the pit of yesterday’s non-believers, and tomorrow’s corpses of regret.

Although it may seem that some days I have it all together; in my catastrophic and gray mind I find only sadness to fill it with. My head throbs only a daily basis from all of the horrid bottled up feelings that I possess from a life that I once survived. Living in such a manor has caused irrevocable damage to my mind, body, and spirit. There is nothing but desolation left to rattle around and drive through what is left of this damned body that I consume.

My life means nothing to you at this point, and you have not ventured far enough inside of my twisted memories to have any sort of obligation or ties to my trivial existence. Although I must warn you, the following recollections I am about to unload on you might terrify you, it might cause you to have feelings that I don’t mean to evoke out of strangers, and it might cause you to want to be my hero. Rest assured, I am not looking for a hero in my life, perhaps just someone at random that I am not associated with to tell all of my woes. I don’t believe in heroes, I don’t believe that anyone can help me, I don’t venture as to think that you can even understand, but some part of me hopes that I am wrong. Some part of me hopes that someone somewhere out there can relate to my hardships and is drowning in a black hole like me. I could never wish this sort of life upon anyone; however the company would be pleasant. I need to know that I am not alone, because after all, I have always been alone.

Let me start with an early memory, this is sort of a feat for me to do considering everything I suppress seems to get lost in the pool of thoughts that hold my poison mind. I usually leave it at just that and never revisit them, unless it is forced out of me at night with the old fashioned night terrors that I have endured a decent portion of my existence. 

I was encircled by humans, older humans all glancing apprehensively at me as I am poked and prodded by another much larger human who had a look of discomfort all-encompassing his face. He has a shiny object with three parts he keeps putting the two smaller ends in his ears and sticking the other end on my chest and back, it’s cold every time it touches my skin. I giggle at him while he continues to tell me “deep breath” and I do my best to breathe all of the air my tiny little lungs can consume. He tells me ‘Good job’ every time I do, as if I am the best at it there is. This idea causes my little soul to smile and I am pleased that I am being a good girl for the enormous man. I am sitting in my underwear which is blemished in splashes of what appears to be blood and I have scuff marks all over my small torso. My legs are a deep purple and blue, they are pretty colors but they hurt when the big human touches them with his large oversized fingers. When he finally says something to the rest of the room they all let out a loud gasp and I notice their eyes all seem to fall, one of them being my mommy’s eyes as she looks down as if piercing through the floor looking for answers within somewhere deep that I cannot visually see. I slowly turn to the man who then looks into my eyes and says very calmly, “Can you tell me who did this to you?” I fidget in my seat and stare as the entire crowd of humans leans in closer to hear my answer.

Fast forward a few years I am sitting in a dimly lit home office with firm wooden chairs in a line along a wall and off to the side there is a trivial play area for children that hold blocks, books, and other various toys. I clutch my baby doll close to my chest and bend my knees up to rest on the chair with me as I watch my mother vigorously filling out paperwork on a clipboard, her eyes glued to the paper never looking up at me. My doll is my best friend, her name is Chelsea and she always listens to me when I tell her my secrets and never calls me a liar…unlike mommy. I am not allowed to take her to daycare with me, but she is always there when I get home to tell her about my day. An older gray haired woman steps out from behind a door with a sincere smile and speaks my name very softly, calling out to me and motioning for me to come inside the room. I look up at mommy whose eyes don’t even look up from the clipboard as she sternly tells me to follow the lady into her office.  Rising to my feet I bounce into the woman’s unknown room confidently as if I was completely at home with her. She seems really nice and has a face like my Grandma’s, soft and pleasant. She asks me to sit on a big cozy and not to mention fluffy couch and sets herself across from me in a roller chair. I look around and there is even more toys in this room, I am amazed at how many toys there are, almost overwhelmed in the excitement that I could possibly be playing with them while we are spending time in here. The woman begins by asking me different questions, all of which I am used to by now from all of the other people like her that I have seen; counselors, psychiatrists, all of which are doctors that my mommy said I have to talk to. I give the same answers as I have been, it’s so routine that I drift off and start to fiddle with Chelsea’s dress that she is wearing while imagining her if she were a real person, someone to hold on to while I am being grilled by grown-ups who always seem to ask the same things. When I look up the old lady is staring at me, seems she is waiting on an answer of some kind. She then repeats what must have been her last question, “Do you feel safe?” My eyes dart directly to the window and I see a little boy riding a bike speed by with a giant grin plastered all over his face. When I turn back to her I see a frown and her face doesn’t look as soft anymore, it shows signs of something I don’t understand. Do I even know what it feels like to be safe? I feel so guarded and scared most of the time I can’t distinguish between anything else. I am confused and this question isn’t like the others, it makes me grab Chelsea in a tighter grip and shoot my vision back to outside the window where the bike riding boy no longer is within sight. I leave my eyes fixed out the window as the woman writes on a paper she has in her lap wishing that I could be anywhere in the world, anywhere but talking about what all of these people are so eager to find out about me.  

I eventually outgrew the baby doll Chelsea, or so my mother says I did and I moved on to other things. I suppressed any real records of my childhood in spite of my trips to the doctor’s office repeatedly and the fact that my parents always seem to be on edge about letting me go out with friends. I was rarely allowed out unless it was for school functions or supervised events, which grew more boring and tiring to my racing mind as I got older. I don’t remember how old I was but I do remember the day that my decrepit daycare closed its doors and was torn down. The news reported child molestation and gang relations as well as regular drug use within. All of these things being something that I was well acquainted with all throughout my years of growing up, something that no small human should ever have an understanding of. My mother buried this information with everything else that happened to me and we didn’t really discuss the issue that much. Mom liked to hide her emotions too, which in turn caused me to be a giant indestructible wall to anyone who tried to get inside my head. I never let anyone in on the secrets I was holding, it was all I could bear to keep me from falling down into a pit of darkness that I never wanted to reach. I am safe up high, nothing can get me and nobody can ever know what sort of demons are lurking around inside of me. While fidgeting in my desk at my Junior High School, forcing myself to attempt at concentrating on the teacher’s ramblings I see a few of the other kids passing a small bag of substance around between their group. I am stunned at their bravery to attempt such an act in public school but also secretly thrilled to know that there are others out there with that kind of daring attitude. I am inclined to sit with them from now on and get a taste of what sort of demons lurk inside the little bag. I need an escape from here, to somewhere else, somewhere far far away….

Waking to find light slowly creeping its way into the trailer and onto the face of the man sleeping soundly beside me, I turn to face him with his hands tightly holding my hips. He stirs to life at the contact of my movement and gazes up sleepily dazed into my face with a look of concern. His attention is immediately drawn to the bruises and sunken bones on the left side of my face from the night prior where he had used it as his own personal punching bag while under the influence of the white creature.  He runs his fingers lightly over the wounds and anger sweeps over his face; I flinch at his touch while my eyes moves down to the bed out of his sight and out of his stare. He whispers, “I am sorry that you got hurt again, but you need to stop disobeying me and trying to run away from me. I love you too much to let you go, and you’re mine forever. I will always find you. Do you understand?” I raise my eyes so that they are level with the middle of his face and give a slow unsure nod so as not to upset his wishes. He presses his cigarette stained mouth onto mine forcefully and grabs my arms to my sides in a sign of possession not releasing them even when I wiggle in discomfort. When he finally releases me he rolls over and starts to pull out a syringe full of the white creature and fastens his belt to his upper arm. I watch fervently and fidget while he takes a sip from the beautiful needle and then hands it over to me to follow suit. I lick my lips in anticipation as he then leans over and fasten the belt on my skinny arm and I too taste the prick of the needle as I inject the white creature into my veins.  I begin soaring immediately and all of my worries wash away along with the reality that is surrounding me.

Sitting in a florescent white room with a small bed and a desk scanning the room for any sort of recollection as to how I ended up here. My skull throbs and my body is screaming in torture as if it’s longing for something. My heart is rapidly hammering inside of my beaten chest and my eyes are darting around trying to find the first escape that may be plausible. I can’t stop fidgeting nor the tremors that are erupting through my entirety and causing my unsteady hands to shake hysterically as I stand and start to pace. I feel like crying out or screaming but there seems to be no voice inside of me. Everything feels heavy, the air around me seems to be closing in and my lungs gasp for air in deep breathes while I stumble to and fro from one end of the room to the other. Then begins the voices, the sounds, and the noise that is piercing through my ear drums and causing me to collapse in a heap onto the cold ground. My voice suddenly appears and I note that I am actually screaming, high pitched wails as I listen to the sound waves of every high pitch note that consumes my mind. Clasping my ears with my fragile hands and calling for all of the noises to stop a larger figure steps inside the white room and leans in over me, I feel a slight pinch and then nothing but darkness as it washes over my troubled brain.

These memories are all that I can stand to share with you today, new friend. I have yet to travel to profounder parts of my being to find out the truth and the innocence that was once ripped away from me. I needed to show someone a preview of what haunts me every day as I try to become a newly found being in society, as I try to find the good in the world, which is if there is any. I ponder these memories often and try to make sense of some and try to justify others, but in the end it’s all just a patch of gray that I don’t like to think about. I am a slow spirally death trap some days and others I am a crumpled up mess of blue and black emotions that washes through my delicate being. I have been stuck in a dark hole for many years of my life, waiting to be pulled out as I keep hoisting others up to the light. I have been nothing but a savior to those around me, showing them what it means to have a bright and trusting person in their life. I am still waiting on someone to show me, someone to give me a boost and send me sailing off into a sunset as opposed to drowning silently in the shades of blue and gray. I need someone to listen as I spill out the intensity of my troubles and hear my journey so that I too can continue on with less of a heavy weight to hold.

So long for now,

L.