She stops in front of the mirror, she stares and spins around. She frowns and starts to cry. It’s a routine that could never be broken; she sees her face and is blinded by that night. She laughs and hears her piercing cries. How can she get pass this? They see her moving along and think she has it all together, but if they ever found out what she’s hiding beneath the smiles and the glitter; if one of them ever decided to stop and ask her that simple question, they would open Pandora’s box.
Hot breath scorching her neck, hands that seem to burn straight through her skin. She feels the tears, she feels the aching. She hears her whimpers but she is not there, she doesn’t know the girl that she hears. How can she ever get passed this?
“Hey!” She tries not to be afraid as she slowly turns to greet the voice that crept up behind her, she catches a glimpse of her best friend and breathes a sigh of relief. “Hi” she says, trying to be normal but she knows, she sees the look. Soon everyone will know, soon they will figure out what she has been trying too hard to hide. They will see it as if it were a mark on her face, a stain no detergent can ever remove or even fade. How much longer can she pretend? Will they ever figure it out? Will you?
“I have woken up yet another morning, drowning in my tears; the pain that’s in my heart is enough to bring the storms and crack the earth. When you try to hold close to an idea that keeps slipping away, you start to wonder what’s the point in fighting through the landslide? I can’t stop the feeling, I can’t seem to get out of this skin that holds me to this devastating place. I can’t seem to fix this loop that has been going for far too long. I can’t seem to forgive my heart for this feeling and my mind for its inability to mend.”
I run to the bathroom to expel and pray one day I may able to rid myself of the misery inside me that never seems to end. I hope, but it’s never enough because I don’t feel I can ever truly believe again.
I try to stay alive by breathing, struggling and muddling through. Will I be able to put my skin on right side today? Will they see what I have to cover up? Will someone look into my eyes and see the hurt beneath the curtains that only the rain can reveal?
Since the day it happened, I have been going to therapy to work through the pain. But how can I really explain the feeling of such a deep loss? How can I explain the emptiness within me, a place that once held so much life? When I think of that day and the days that have followed, I see nothing but blurred lines with no direction or sign of purpose. I have not been able to stop my sessions, like a bad habit I can’t break, I continue to come here.
I take a step forward and turns the knob… Today marks the fourth month since I started seeing Dr. Watkins, of course no one knows where I go each week… I have never been able to say out loud my reason for being here, not since the first day I came in with my husband. But we continue to pay for these sessions not because I get to talk about the horrible truth I carry on my back each day, but because I get a safe space to cry, sigh and simply scream without judgement.
Today was different somehow, I could feel it.
As I sit on the couch, Dr. Watkins pulls out a picture. I can’t stop staring; “How did you get that?” She says nothing. “Oh my God! Answer me! Where did you GET THAT PICTURE?” -no answer-
Looking at the brightness in my eyes, the smile on my face and the curve of my stomach, I try to muster up all my strength to quiet the storm inside me. All the pain seems to have turned the walls gray and the sky opens up. Today is different. The wind howls, the trees start to shed and, even the birds seem to be mute around me.
“Let’s talk about your baby.”
And just like that….I CRACK!