I realised (With a lot of help from my good friend, for which I am eternally grateful) last night that things need to be let go. Bad childhoods leave a lasting effect on a child well into their adulthood, and probably for the whole of their lives. Some of these mistreated children commit suicide, not being able to handle the pain, some run away, thinking they can leave the pain behind (Which doesn't work, believe me), some clam up, repressing all that happened to them, burying it deep, hoping it will never be found, and a lucky few get out intact (Very, Very few.) My friend told me last night that we all need an outlet, something of which I am devoid. So I decided to borrow her idea, just to see if it worked for me, hence here is my second chapter, written not from my head, but from my heart.
Setting my nearly empty handbag down onto the sideboard, I glanced around my empty living room, searching for something to take my mind off the growing hollow pain in my chest. I tried to convince myself all I needed was time, letting the grief dissipate by itself, but as I sat on the couch and reached for the remote, I knew it wasn't going to be that easy. Instead, I collapsed, burying my head amongst the cushions, sobbing. Try as I might to keep all of my agony, tears and sorrow locked away from the world, it surfaced, and at that moment I couldn't have cared less who was watching.
For those two hours on the beach, I prayed endlessly, pleading that he wouldn't cast me away and reject me. But he did. If I had stayed on that beach any longer than I did, I'd have stayed there all night, reeling in his dismissal, not caring if I got wet, not caring if I drowned. A few times in the past I have thought about ending it all, but there was always something there to stop me, a tiny ray of light no matter how dark my life got. But not this time.
If he did love me, he certainly didn't anymore, or he wouldn't have inflicted the final blow, the final nail in my coffin. Pain wasn't a new thing, but this wasn't pain. This crushing ache was heartbreak, something I hoped I'd never feel. I didn't think I could get any lower, especially after Jake left me for the sake of his career. That little incident seemed to prove all my worst fears; that I am, in fact, worth less than a job, that I am not important enough to merit spending time with. I was past rock bottom. There was rock bottom, fifty feet of crap and then me. Eric was there though. My light at the end of the tunnel. He couldn't make the pain disappear but he could show me life was worth living.
I have felt negative emotions all my life, only ever knowing the joy that life can bring when I was with him and if I couldn't be with him, then I wasn't sure I wanted to continue, live only a half life, an empty life, devoid of positive emotion.
I wrenched myself off the couch, and headed purposefully to the kitchen, only stopping briefly to make sure I looked presentable, not that it mattered much now. I selected the largest knife from the drawer, breathing deeply, preparing for my final act, showing the world that I was weak, that I just couldn't live with the pain and couldn't take living a with a cold heart, a frozen life any longer. So intent on this definitive performance, I didn't notice the sound of a key in the lock. So consumed by the gnawing agony in my heart, I didn't notice the front door slip open. I turned the knife towards my stomach, not hearing my name called out, the pounding and sounds of my own grief-stricken sobs in my ears rendering me deaf. I lifted the knife, only to feel warm arms snake around my middle, forming a barrier between the cold steel and myself. I dropped it as I span around, resting my head on his chest, breathing in his scent, crying, not for sorrow, but for joy, because my love had come back for me, the light at the end of the tunnel had been turned back on, and I was no longer alone in that cruel, dark world.
What I truly needed was him: To protect me, to hold my hand through the ups and downs, to love me. He gave me hope. So engrossed in my thoughts, I hardly noticed him carry me to my bed, wipe away my tears so I could see the warmth of life, the light of life … the positive. As I looked at him, I could see that he too was crying, hot tears drenching his face as he kissed my forehead and covered me with the duvet. He started to move away, but I held his hand, desperate for him to stay, not being able to see him walk out on me again. So he stayed, lying next to me, holding me close, pulling me near, saying the words I needed to hear, the words that confirmed that I was loved, that he had realised just like I did, realised how he needed me. I had a nagging feeling he was just saying those things, the words I wanted to hear, so I didn't make another suicide attempt but for the moment I didn't care. I just enjoyed the safe feeling he was providing because, in this world, we all need the one thing that is in short supply, something that can't be bought or traded or stolen, something that we have to find, deep within your soul…
… Love …
Thank you for reading my drivel. You'll have to tell me if its any better than my normal stuff. Or worse. Whatever.