1 Tell Me
(Part 1)
Abby woke up and glanced over at her digital alarm clock with a groan as she tried to untwist her arm from the cast iron headboard at the back of her bed. The only thing that this bed is good for is a pair of handcuffs, she thought with a smirk. Her smirk quickly faded when an image of that man's face, the one with the intense, deep brown eyes immediately filled her daydream. Carter. She had been devastated by the glance over that he had given her and the beer bottle she had in tow. "Just wanted to see if you were settling in." Her heart was in her throat when she answered him, mouse like, "I'm getting there." "Yeah I can see that."
She never wanted to be this way in front of him. She never wanted him to think she had lost control. She helped him with his recovery, he watched her as she came to Maggie's rescue, and as she maneuvered her way around her own life. He thought she was a strong person. She wanted him to believe this about her always. Now she had put all of this in jeopardy. How could he remain strong in his recovery when his sponsor didn't practice what she so preached for him? How could he ever trust her or know that she was capable of running her own life? Why must he infiltrate her waking thoughts as well as her dreams? She sighed audibly as well as deep inside herself. She didn't want to feel this anymore, but just knew that first she had to make things right for herself.
The drinking had to stop. It wasn't out of control yet but it was a game to her, a dangerous game that she could lose at any turn. She got up out of the bed and pulled on her sweater. She tossed her hair around and then pulled it into a twist at the base of her neck, allowing the tendrils to fall where they pleased. She yawned walking into the bathroom to brush her teeth. She felt so relieved to have a day off it felt like it had been so long since she had had any true "lazy" time. Perhaps though, this was due in part to the fact that she had been keeping herself so busy. She didn't want her fear to creep in, about Sobricki's return, or about Brian's violence. All of this violence! She was afraid. This was something she hadn't felt for a long time because she had built up strong walls to prevent herself from feeling this vulnerable. The last time she remembered truly feeling afraid was in childhood, when her mother was in really bad shape, coming after Abby with a knife. She hadn't known then that that would be the scariest thing to happen in her life and harden her for all future endeavors with the factor of fear. When she thought about these things directly she realized she was suffering an acute amount of stress. She had even come across an article that explained what this stress was. Post traumatic stress disorder. She never really knew there was an exact name for her feelings. Occasions that had passed before in her life had too affected her deeply as these but she never knew the extent of the symptoms or their consequences. One of the key symptoms of PTSD that she was particularly wary of was depression. She could feel it creeping up on her very slow-like, it had no mercy on an already tired soul. She found herself craving a beer and tried to shake it off. She decided to get dressed and turned up her stereo system, and as she did so she sang out loud the words that filled her and felt like sweet medicine.
"The phone still rings, the coffee still stinks,
But I'm going out…
I'm not a hummingbird, I'm not a dirty word, but I'm going out.
And I'm lonely looking at pictures of you, cumbersome, and ink on the wall,
And I'm not going anywhere,
But I'm going out.
Don't monitor me, because you won't like what you see,
Don't give me your cigarettes, cause I smoke too many…
We move through this world like angels without wings,
We couldn't use 'em yet, my skin is oiled with sweat,
And I'm going out."
Abby decided it was time to confront her fears and talk about them. She was a strong independent woman. At least that's what she kept trying to remind herself. And no one could take that away from her. Not some lunatic resurfacing in her life who had once tried to murder her dear friend, or another man who thought he could wreck havoc on her life, destroying her resolve with one act of violence that threw her to the floor.
Hell No. She was going to pick herself up and recover. She was going to feel her strength resurface and the old Abby would come back into her life. She would help this new-frightened Abby to resettle in her violated apartment. She would tell her it was okay to relax and reassure her that it was indeed time to feel settled in her own skin. In fact it was way overdue. She had suffered these past months and then proceeded to mess things up further by calling on her old friend Sam Adams. It was time she dumped him, and focused on what was really important. She was beginning to feel feverish with energy and noted the light traces of anticipation dampening her skin. She grabbed up the pamphlet for the PTSD support group and determinedly said out loud to no one in particular, "I'm going out."
(Part 1)
Abby woke up and glanced over at her digital alarm clock with a groan as she tried to untwist her arm from the cast iron headboard at the back of her bed. The only thing that this bed is good for is a pair of handcuffs, she thought with a smirk. Her smirk quickly faded when an image of that man's face, the one with the intense, deep brown eyes immediately filled her daydream. Carter. She had been devastated by the glance over that he had given her and the beer bottle she had in tow. "Just wanted to see if you were settling in." Her heart was in her throat when she answered him, mouse like, "I'm getting there." "Yeah I can see that."
She never wanted to be this way in front of him. She never wanted him to think she had lost control. She helped him with his recovery, he watched her as she came to Maggie's rescue, and as she maneuvered her way around her own life. He thought she was a strong person. She wanted him to believe this about her always. Now she had put all of this in jeopardy. How could he remain strong in his recovery when his sponsor didn't practice what she so preached for him? How could he ever trust her or know that she was capable of running her own life? Why must he infiltrate her waking thoughts as well as her dreams? She sighed audibly as well as deep inside herself. She didn't want to feel this anymore, but just knew that first she had to make things right for herself.
The drinking had to stop. It wasn't out of control yet but it was a game to her, a dangerous game that she could lose at any turn. She got up out of the bed and pulled on her sweater. She tossed her hair around and then pulled it into a twist at the base of her neck, allowing the tendrils to fall where they pleased. She yawned walking into the bathroom to brush her teeth. She felt so relieved to have a day off it felt like it had been so long since she had had any true "lazy" time. Perhaps though, this was due in part to the fact that she had been keeping herself so busy. She didn't want her fear to creep in, about Sobricki's return, or about Brian's violence. All of this violence! She was afraid. This was something she hadn't felt for a long time because she had built up strong walls to prevent herself from feeling this vulnerable. The last time she remembered truly feeling afraid was in childhood, when her mother was in really bad shape, coming after Abby with a knife. She hadn't known then that that would be the scariest thing to happen in her life and harden her for all future endeavors with the factor of fear. When she thought about these things directly she realized she was suffering an acute amount of stress. She had even come across an article that explained what this stress was. Post traumatic stress disorder. She never really knew there was an exact name for her feelings. Occasions that had passed before in her life had too affected her deeply as these but she never knew the extent of the symptoms or their consequences. One of the key symptoms of PTSD that she was particularly wary of was depression. She could feel it creeping up on her very slow-like, it had no mercy on an already tired soul. She found herself craving a beer and tried to shake it off. She decided to get dressed and turned up her stereo system, and as she did so she sang out loud the words that filled her and felt like sweet medicine.
"The phone still rings, the coffee still stinks,
But I'm going out…
I'm not a hummingbird, I'm not a dirty word, but I'm going out.
And I'm lonely looking at pictures of you, cumbersome, and ink on the wall,
And I'm not going anywhere,
But I'm going out.
Don't monitor me, because you won't like what you see,
Don't give me your cigarettes, cause I smoke too many…
We move through this world like angels without wings,
We couldn't use 'em yet, my skin is oiled with sweat,
And I'm going out."
Abby decided it was time to confront her fears and talk about them. She was a strong independent woman. At least that's what she kept trying to remind herself. And no one could take that away from her. Not some lunatic resurfacing in her life who had once tried to murder her dear friend, or another man who thought he could wreck havoc on her life, destroying her resolve with one act of violence that threw her to the floor.
Hell No. She was going to pick herself up and recover. She was going to feel her strength resurface and the old Abby would come back into her life. She would help this new-frightened Abby to resettle in her violated apartment. She would tell her it was okay to relax and reassure her that it was indeed time to feel settled in her own skin. In fact it was way overdue. She had suffered these past months and then proceeded to mess things up further by calling on her old friend Sam Adams. It was time she dumped him, and focused on what was really important. She was beginning to feel feverish with energy and noted the light traces of anticipation dampening her skin. She grabbed up the pamphlet for the PTSD support group and determinedly said out loud to no one in particular, "I'm going out."