For the first time in my life, I have a plan. A feasible, realistic, grow-up kind of plan. I am committed to it, whatever the personal cost. And I realized, suddenly, why I've never done this before. I didn't make plans because I didn't think I'd live to see them through. I was pretty sure I'd be dead by now.
There was no need to think of suicide, because the world was sure to kill me soon enough. Each trauma I went through was more violent and soul-shattering than the last. Surely the next would bring about my inevitable demise.
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While I was driving I would often take a mental inventory of my finances and possessions, thinking: if today is the day, what will my friends and family have to deal with?
Sometimes, especially on the freeway, I would feel the urge to drive into the median at full speed. Just so I wouldn't have to wait anymore. It was the waiting that made me crazy. How was it going to happen? Who would come after me, this time? A car crash sounded preferable to being violated again.
Bridges, too, seemed a likely place for someone to run me off the road. I could see it, like a movie in slow motion, and my face peaceful, because at last I knew what was going to kill me, and thank goodness it didn't involve an alley or a gun. To anyone who has driven with me across a narrow bridge, or in the lane that runs next to a concrete wall or a median: now you know why I wanted to close my eyes.
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I threw myself a party when I turned 25, not just because it's a recognized milestone, but because it's one I never thought I'd reach. I crept toward the date on the calendar confused, frightened, astonished. I joked about it, with my friends -- my dear, oblivious friends. I poked fun at my own clumsiness, my sensitivity, my allergies. Can you believe I'm still here?! Can you believe it?
But there were darker voices muttering in my head, and if my friends knew then what they know now, I'd have let myself cry instead of laughing that night. Can you believe I'm still here?! Can you believe it?
I can believe you are still here. Know why? Because, you are a fighter. You are a FIGHTER! Us survivors fight to thrive. Many times I have stood near a window, with a voice telling me how much I should jump. I know what you mean.
ReplyDeleteVK, you keep fighting, you hear? I am so proud of you for making it this far. Happy birthday again for living a quarter of a century and for surviving to thrive one day.
((YOU)) ang