CHAPTER FIVE
Chpater 4
Trying to move on.
Maggie
By the time I got back home I was a mess. That session with Dr. Sasha had left me feeling all kinds of things. Purpose. Anxiety. Hope. Fear. A never ending winding road of emotions that I was in no way prepared to tackle. I was emotionally and physically drained. Waving dad off when he asked about dinner I went upstairs and decided to decompress.
I needed to clear my head, so I changed into my workout clothes, grabbed my iPod and told dad I was going for a run. Once I started blasting my music and set my pace I felt the tension in my body start to dissipate. I headed to the park down the street from the house that had a jogging trail that led around the neighborhood and then back to the park. Running was what powered me now days. Before I was stuck at Hillcrest I was really athletic. Working out back then was just necessary to stay in shape for volleyball and softball. Now days though, it was freedom.
When I was in the zone there was no anxiety.
No fear.
There was nothing but air.
Freedom.
Back at the hospital it was like the air was weighted. Full of misery and hopelessness, so weighted down by fear that it was like you were constantly fighting to take a breath.
A clean breath.
That first day we moved in I grabbed my iPod and I only made it four blocks before I had to stop and sit down. I was out of breath, I had a pain in my side and was generally not in any kind of shape to be sprinting.
Over the past few months I have worked at building my endurance. I apply the same philosophy I use for running to life. Everyday I get up, even if it is the last thing I want to do.
I push forward.
Every day that I push forward is that much more progress I have made in this never ending journey of healing. I would love to say that everyday is a little easier. It isn’t. Some days I can get out of bed and make it through most of the day before I feel that never ending weariness seeping into my bones.
Then there are the dark days.
The days that before I even open my eyes I know without a shadow of a doubt every minute is going to be a struggle. I would love to say that I have more bearable days than I do dark days, but I don’t. At least it feels that way. It’s like it taints my soul. The thing that keeps me going is knowing that the dark days gradually become less frequent. Used to be every day was unbelievably dark. No light in sight. Now those days are fewer and farther between. I wonder if there will ever come a time when my life isn’t focused on how much darkness my soul can hold before it falters again.
Making my way back towards the house I slow down to walk the last block for my cool down. I think about Charolette and surprisingly thinking about her makes me smile. I have to admit that if she does call, which I have subconsciously convinced myself she won’t, then I might just have to get together with her. If for no other reason than to find out what the hell all that stuff in her bag was for. Shaking my head I make my way into the house and am just about to head upstairs to go shower when my dad comes out of the kitchen with my cell phone in his hand and an amused look on his face.
“So… your phone rang.”
I stop at the base of the stairs and look at him for a second before saying, “Ooookaay. ”
He shakes his head and then lets out a little laugh before walking over to me and handing it to me. I look down and turn beat red.
I have a missed call from “Vibrator Girl”. I’m sure she never expected my father to see that and if I knew thats what she assigned herself in my contact list I defiantly would have changed it. Like ASAP. When I look back up at him he raises a single eyebrow.
Shaking my head I look back down at my phone and then back up at my dad.
“I sort of met this girl in the waiting room at Dr. Sashas office building.”
My dad crosses his harms and leans agains the wall by the stares looking at me. He looks far too amused at how embarrassed I am by this. Now I’m starting to see how Charolette felt.
“She um… dropped her purse and I was helping her pick stuff up. She had a lot of … um… interesting things in there.”
My dad presses his lips together like he is trying to keep from laughing and all this is doing is making me turn more red by the minute. I really need to get out of here.
“Anyways, she seemed nice and we exchanged numbers. I think… maybe… um we might meet up for coffee… or … something”.
I say the last part while looking at my phone. I’m still uncomfortable around people. The last friends I had turned on me when I was going through a very dark time in my life. I lost all my so called friends and… this is opening myself up for that rejection again.
I feel my dad step forward.
“Mags.”
He only calls me that when he is trying to be gentle with me, like a fragile flower, I have gotten very used to that tone over the past year. I take a deep breath and look up at my dad. He steps forward and his face softens when he sees how anxious this makes me. To other people this might be a piece of cake, to me it’s the equivalent of walking a mine field.
When you live with intense anxiety you think about the worst possible scenario all the time. You never think things will turn out for the best. You over analyze ever single little thing thinking that you will do something that will just destroy your life or someone else’s. Anxiety is like a weight that sits on your chest permanently. It never leaves and depending on the situation it presses down harder by the minute. It’s this pressure that is unrelenting.
That patient dad look has come over his face.
“It’s okay to have friends Mags. It’s okay to meet new people. I’m not saying this will work out or this… person will become your best friend. But just getting out of this house and doing something with someone else is huge for you. Just trying is a big step.”
He reaches up and places his hands on my shoulders and looks me in the eye. I can tell he really wants me to pay attention to what he is saying.
“Don’t get weighed down by what happened at Yale or what could go wrong here Mags. Not everyone is going to turn out to be a disappointment, kiddo. Sometimes, people might just surprise you.”
With that he leans down and kisses my forehead before he leaves me standing there at the bottom of the stairs holding my phone feeling like I have been sucker punched.
When you’ve been betrayed and hurt and abandoned by people before, you expect it from everyone else you meet. Even if you don’t realize it. Glancing back down at my phone I decide to head upstairs and take a shower. Then I’ll decide what to do about Charlotte.
Walking into my room I toss my phone on the bed and walk over to my dresser pulling out my pjs. My room is painted a light sky blue with dark hardwood floors. The only furniture in the room is my big white dresser, mirror, nightstand and my white iron queen size bed. It has all these fancy iron details in the headboard and footboard that look like partially finished flowers and swirls. It looks really girly with my patchwork quilt thats got a kaleidoscope of pinks, blues, purples and greens on it.
When we moved into this house I wanted a clean slate. I told myself I would decorate, add color, even repaint once I just figured out what all I wanted in here and had time to settle in. The truth is over the past few months every time I have though about changing it I freeze. The old me wouldn’t have had any problem decorating this blank canvas. I loved color, bright color and lots of it. I would have painted it something really funky like bright purple and put up a bunch of different colored posters or pictures. My room would be littered with clothes, nicknacks and most importantly books. I had books galore in every room I ever had, but when we moved I donated almost all of them.
They belonged to someone who didn’t exist anymore. Someone who believed in the kind of love found in those books or the magical places they represented. You can’t make a room your own when you have no idea who you are anymore.
Stepping into the bathroom I strip quickly, trying to avoid looking at myself in the mirror, and jump in the shower. I still have issues with myself. Self esteem, self- image and self- confidence. If I’m honest with myself I probably always will.
Thats what happens when someone beats into your head that your worthless.
Pitiful.
Disgusting.
Unattractive. T
hats what happens when someone takes your body and uses it against you.
Closing my eyes I start shampooing my hair thinking about the cluster fuck that has become my life in the past couple of years.
I hadn’t been at Yale for more than a month before I met Dustin Avery. The pretentious asshole name should have been my first clue he was a total dick. He was your typically frat boy from a wealthy family. He was only going to Yale to get a degree in finance and business so he could go work at his daddy’s company. When we first met I hated him. He was arrogant and cynical. He took every opportunity to put me down.
Then we got paired up for history assignment. So cliche, but during the course of the project we hung out. Talked. Got to know each other. I found out he was funny. He loved old 80’s movies, even ones like Sixteen Candles and the Breakfast Club, he divulged to me he had a huge crush on Molly Ringwald. I found out he was an ass because he didn’t think he was very smart. His father convinced him he was stupid so he acted out to keep people from recognizing that, even though he was smart as a whip. He held open doors and pulled out chairs even when we weren’t exactly on friendly terms yet. Next thing I know we were friends. He didn’t act differently after the project was over, we hung out and I even went to a couple of his frats parties.
By Thanksgiving break we were dating.
By summer break of the next year I was being admitted into a mental institution for trying to kill myself.
Within the span of about seven months Destin systematically destroyed me. It started off just like you see in every Hollywood movie ever made about domestic violence. It was little things like what I wore, where I went or who I hung out with. The constant texts and phone calls wanting to know where I was and who I was with .
The jealousy.
The emotional beat downs.
Then.
They physical beatings.
The first time he hit me I left him. I had seen this movie. I got the talk in high school. My father had even taken me to a weekend class in high school on self- defense and domestic violence awareness. I knew it was wrong. I knew your boyfriend wasn’t supposed to hit you. I knew, but then he did what they all do. He apologized. He showed up at my dorm looking wrecked. Like he hadn’t slept in days. He called. Texted. E-mailed. Finally, he told me he was going to anger management classes. A week after he hit me we were back together. Two weeks later he hit me again.
That time he made it clear what would happen if I tried to leave him again.
Rinsing out the last of the soap from my hair I slide to the bottom of the shower and just let the water rain down on me. Trying to wash away the shame.
That I stayed.
That I trusted that asshole in the first place. That I didn’t trust that voice inside my head telling me I was making a mistake.
Over the next couple of months the hits turned into beatings. Then he started using sex to hurt me. We started having sex a few weeks before the first time he hit me. I was a virgin and I didn’t think I was in love with Destin, but I liked him. A lot. But now that I look back I recognize how much he was pressuring me into it. Even at the time I thought it was my choice but now I see it was more of me just giving into something he wanted. Right before spring break was the first time he raped me.
Closing my eyes I try not to think about Destin. What he did to me. How he broke me. I try to think about the future and my up coming self defense class. I try to think of my dad and how far I have come from being that girl. That beaten, broken girl who couldn’t see past the pain. Which is hard since I know that I’m still that girl. She still lives inside of me. Whispering how dirty I am. How ashamed I should be for letting someone like that into my life. For letting it go on so long. How right he was about me being nothing.
Then there is that new part of me that just wants to tell that bitch to shut the fuck up.
I want to live, but some days I honestly struggle to remember why and that bitch whispering in my ear doesn’t help.
Just when I think I’m about to drift off to sleep my phone rights again. I honestly don’t want to look at it let alone answer it, but I force myself to. Looking down I see “Vibrator Girl” flashing across the screen. If I had the strength I would smile at that, but considering the emotional roller coaster I have been on in the past couple of hours lifting my head to look at the screen almost did me in. Before I can think about it too much and chicken out I answer the phone. Before I can even choke out a “hello” she’s already talking.
““Hey Maggie, its me. Charlotte. Char. We met today when you helped me pick up all my crap.”
I feel the edges of my mouth tip up slightly when I hear her nervous ramblings. Looks like I wasn’t the only one overthinking things.
“I remember you. The girl who likes Catnip and vibrators.”
“ Ha. Yeah. Catnip vibrator. So hey I was wondering if your free tomorrow?”
I lay there for a second thinking about the last time I hung out with a friend. The lat time I went out and talked to someone who wasn’t a shrink, a victim or my father. Taking a deep breath I do the same thing I have been doing for the past two days. I say something that scares the shit out of me.
“Sure. Yeah I’m free.”
“ Yeah? Coffee?”
“I’m not a coffee drinker, but as long as they have tea I’m good. Does noon work?”
“Noon works for me. We can meet at the coffee shop by Mike’s gym? That sound good?”
“Yeah perfect. I actually have an appointment at the gym in the afternoon so that works out great.”
“Okay cool. Then I guess I will see you tomorrow.”
“ See you tomorrow. ”
“Bye.”
“Bye”
Just as I am about to hang up the phone I hear, “Hey Maggie”.
“Yeah”.
There is a beat of silence before she speaks again sounding vulnerable.
“I’m really looking forward to hanging out with you. I just… I just wanted you to know that. “
I sit there for a second and for the first time realize that maybe, just maybe, there might be someone else out there who needs a friend as much as I do. This girl is the definition of the word ‘bubbly”, but here in this moment I hear the vulnerability. That unsure feeling of not knowing what some else will think of you.
God I can relate to that.
Shaking my head I remember what she said about her friends calling her Char. Taking a breath and letting it out I choose my next words carefully hoping she understands my meaning.
“Hey Char. My fiends call me Mags”.
There is silence for what feels like minutes, but is probably only seconds before she replies. When she does I can hear the smile in her voice which makes me want to smile too. I don’t, but I want to.
“See you tomorrow Mags”.
“See you tomorrow Char”.
Hanging up I plug my phone into the charger, set my alarm for in the morning and turn off my lamp. The sun isn’t even down yet before I fall asleep thinking that maybe, just maybe, this friendship thing might not be such a bad idea after all.