Break Free Chapter 18

Posted on 7:10 PM | By Biki Honko | In

Beginning, oh how hard to find the thread to pull, and open up to Dr. Fisher.  Words stumbled out, halting, slow, uncertain words.  Fear crashing over, freezing my tongue, speeding my heart rate to rabbit speed.  Keeping in, holding tight to secrets, the flow only ever before this, going in.  Allowing thoughts and feelings out that are photosensitive, that were huddled in the dark, dark closets in my soul.  Opening those doors and prying small scared feelings out to be examined, caused pain that was searing, burning, and yet, cathartic.

I feel.... lighter....? Is lighter even the right word to use?  Yeah, lighter.  It almost feels as if I have set down a very heavy burden, that I wasn't even aware of carrying about.  Explaining what the last few days were like at....home, ripped me open.  Remembering every detail, every word, every hit, just every....last...detail.  Why would remembering all of that make me feel.....better?  It seems illogical that telling something you just want to bury as deeply as possible, would make you feel better, lighter, new.

Laying in the dark, holding moose, in my new room, trying to adjust to the shifting sands my life now seems to be built on. Each and every day, something that had been solid was replaced by soft sand.  The solid, the rock, was harsh and offered no comfort, nothing to cling to.  But, it was a constant, unchanging in attitude, hated, abhorred would be much more accurate, but constant.  The fear of being beaten, the desire to be beaten, hating the screaming at me, the hurtful words, desiring the painful words.  How else did I know that I truly existed?  Being ignored was just as painful, just as fear inducing as the physical pain of blows.  After a few days of not existing for them, I began to fray at the edges, to slowly dissolve into the ether.  Becoming unable to find my self in the dark, in the light, in crowds, alone.  Being hurt, was who, what I was, without it, I ceased to exist.

No one ever seemed to really notice me, or hardly even remember me.  Why was that?  Why did I seem to match the back ground so effectively?  Wait up a moment though, the boys all noticed me.  Well, Morgan did.  At first Kevin and Dave had a hard time seeing me like usual.  But, then Dave noticed me well enough to realize something was wrong with me.  How did he see me that well?  What did he see that made him worry?  I love Morgan, and yet I fear Morgan.  How long will he want me?  How long until the darkness inside of me chases him from my arms?  I fear him beginning to beat on me, and yet, long for him to hit me.  The waiting, the wondering, the worry is so immensely overwhelming that breathing becomes a chore.  If he hits me, it means he wants me, right?  Could I make him mad enough for him to loose his temper?  How mad would he have to be, before his hand is loosened from his side and flies out to meet my flesh?  Would his punch feel different, leave a different smudge on my soul?  Or are they all the same?

Restless, need to move, need to flee my thoughts, need who knows what in the hell I need.  Out of bed, pacing, pacing, pacing my room like a lion in a zoo.  Without conscious thought, only the need to calm my self with movement, out into the hallway, walk, walking, running down the corridor, around the corner, hands out to push the door open, and then bang!  Stumbling back, arms aching, door locked, locking me in, locking me away from what, I don't know, only knowing that I need out!  Beating the door, yelling, shaking the door, tears, tears, sliding down to the floor, unraveled.

Feet.  I see feet.  Traveling up from the feet, my eyes come to rest on a face.  On his face is a look of, concern?  He is speaking to me, do I want to listen?  Should I make the effort?  No, I just do not care what he is saying.  I am tired of listening, same words over and over and over.  I am sure his are the same.  Sitting, he is sitting beside me, and he is not talking, he understands silence?  Not touching me, not speaking, just sitting.  My rabbit heart slows down, my chest is untying the knots, muscles starting to unclench.  Pulling back from the edge of the cliff, eyes drifting closed, the rivers on my face beginning to run dry.  Ragged breathes in and out, breathes smoothing out, evening out, once again breathing is not noticed by me, my body getting on with it's job.  Pushing up to sit beside him, still not wanting, not willing to listen.  Pushing himself to his feet, he holds a hand out to me, with a question on his face.  Shakily I extend my hand to him, and he gently pulls me to my feet.  Walking beside me in blessed silence, we return to my room.  He turns on the nightlight, and straightens my bedding, waiting for me to climb in.  And this is when I realize that I have had moose in my hand the entire time!  Snuggling him closer to me, I get in the bed, and pull up the covers.  He pulls a chair over to the side of my bed, and sits, still not talking.

Suddenly words explode from me, every ugly thought that had been torturing me the last few hours.  Spilling over my lips, down my chin, pooling on the floor, between us.  Waiting for him to stir it, to scoop it up and throw it back at me, sliming me with my own words.  And then the words gradually trickled to a halt.  Empty of any more words, ran down, ran out, just done.  Leisurely he leans forward and quietly began speaking to me.  His voice so low, so quiet, I had to almost strain to hear him, hear what he was saying, hear what he wanted me to know, to think about.  Fear of the unknown, he said is paralyzing, and I have been living in the unknown the last week or so.  Only knowing one way to live, only knowing how I fit in that one life, and when that is taken from me, I want back what I know, what is safe.  What I truly do not want, but know how to operate in.  How to me, being hit, is the only attention I understand, which is why I crave it.  And that I will need to learn to live without violence, without soul searing words, without needing them, without wanting them, without.

Hugs he went on, make little sense to me, because they had never followed a pattern.  Random hugs, random kisses, were so much worse, bringing to life hope for a brighter tomorrow, only to have it tarnish again and again.  Until the hugs and kisses became so much more painful than the blows that curled up my hope into a small safe ball.  In many ways being beaten was much less painful, less hurtful of my hope, which laid curled and dried on the closet floor of my soul.

Sleep, he wanted me to sleep.  Said he would sit here with me until I slept.  Said sleeping would help realign my thoughts, help me to sort out the true from the bogus.  Dry the fear from my heart, and allow hope to unfurl again in the light of day.  Unbeliever that I was, how could I sleep with all of this dark muck oozing around in my head?  And then, it was morning.

The nurse was opening the blinds, rustling around, getting my slippers and robe from the closet.  Breakfast was only minutes away, and I was expected to be there.  Skipping meals was not allowed. Up, up, up! Hurried through face washing, teeth brushing, and out the door, down the hall, and into a large sunny room.  Pulling me to a table, pushing me into a chair, introducing the five other teens at the table.  There eyes were bright and curious, wanting something from me I do not want, or know how to give.  Pulling back, curling up, looking down, not wanting any more, fearing any more contact.  Plate in front of me, fork in hand, pushing and moving my food around, and around.  Starting to get up, needing to be away, needing to be safe, needing to be alone to be able to breath freely again.  A hand on my shoulder, looking up a nurse, saying I had to eat.  Weight gain was necessary to finish healing, I had no choice in this matter.  Looking down into the plate of food, I could not, did not want to eat, a lump started growing in my throat, bigger and bigger until I could barely swallow.  Bolting from the table I ran from the room, and into my new room.  Shutting the door, wishing for a way to shut them all away from me.  Rushing to the closet, stepping in, shutting the door behind me, darkness envelops me.  Better, much better.

The door to the closet opens, some unknown time later, looking up at Dr. Fisher, realizing he was going to push and pull on me again, forcing me to open up.  Pulling me from the closet, pushing me out the door, and into the hall, he led me into his office, where he began to pry me open like an oyster.  Days went by, spending most of my mornings with Dr. Fisher and the early evenings with Dr. Layton.  Digging through my soul closet, learning how and where I began and the evil beings imprint ended.

Afternoons were spent in the day room, we were not allowed to stay in our rooms.  Because all I had were pajamas, Cecile was allowed to visit to bring me some more clothing.  Seeing her was beyond wonderful!  Hugs, so many delightful hugs!  The visit was short, to short!  And then, she was gone.  Slowly, cautiously I began to talk, first to the kids who sat at our table for meals, and then to others. Shying away from the girls, afraid of them, afraid of them hurting me, as most of the girls at school did.  Not opening up, not sharing, not meeting them, just edging the conversation.

And then one day, walking into the day room, there was Dave!  Dave!  Running at him full speed, running into his welcoming arms, running into his love.  Holding me, kissing my cheek, patting my back.  Pulling me to a couch, he held my hand and smiled his sweet smile at me.  A blink, a flash and then he was standing up, asking for a hug before he had to leave.  Melting into him, feeling his warmth, hearing his heart thumping along a slow steady beat.  Before I was ready, long before I was ready, he was leaving!  Following him down the hall, trailing him like a puppy on the leash of his hand, getting to the doors, he made me let go.  Watching him through the glass of the door, he entered the elevator looked up, saw me standing there, waved bye, and the doors closed.

Standing there, feelings sloshing around, cresting over the shore of my confusion.  Lost in the maze of events that seem to have no connection, I feel someone standing next to me.  Whipping around quickly, frightened by the unnoticed approach.  I see Dr. Layton standing quiet as usual allowing me to center back on calm.  He explains that my hard work has been repaid by allowing me short visits with my friends.  Morgan, every dna strand of my being is calling for, Morgan.  No Morgan until I find out who I am without him.

I turn and look at Dr. Layton, really look at him.  He is short, youngish, around middle 30's and very slim, almost to the point of being skinny, his hair is dirty blonde, and stick straight, light brown eyes that are steady and calm.  There is something different about him, not sure what it is.  Maybe it is the quiet way he waits, patiently remaining silent, clearly unhurried, clearly unconcerned about time.  Holding his hand out to me, quirking an eye brow, asking him to trust him.  I place my hand in his, and am led to his office.

The weeks fly by, every day is almost the same as the day before, all blending together into one endless day.  Several flares of bright color illuminate the gray of everyday, visits!  Visits from everyone one except for Morgan.  He sends me funny cards, favorite snacks, but is not allowed to call or visit me.

Walking into Dr. Fisher's office for my usual appointment one day, I am stunned to see not only Dr. Layton, but Sam and Cecile!  After hugs, and kisses, we settle on the couch and the doctors begin to speak to me.  I am going home with Sam and Cecile today!  My appointments with both of the doctors will continue, just not on a daily basis.  I am given rules about my time with Morgan!  Rules! What the fuck for?  Why? Why? Why?  And if I think that the rules will be ignored by Morgan, I am mistaken, he was here earlier and was given the what and why of the rules.  Dr. Layton leaned over towards me, looked me closely in the eyes, and in his usual quiet voice explained why this had to be.  I hated it!  Hated it!  As much as I detest the rules, the need for rules, what he said made sense to me.  Sigh, I hate when that happens.

Packing up my belongings, a few quick goodbyes and I am so ready to leave.  As Sam picks up the filled suitcases, Dr. Layton walked into the room, and asked me to stay behind for a few minutes for a quick chat. Sitting down he waited until I had sat and was focused fully on him.  Quietly he explained that life was not going to be an easy sail, and did not want me to be surprised when my past reared up it's oh so ugly head.  My only defense was to be aware that what is past, is not always gone.  My past is also an important part of my future, and there was no magic knife to cut it away.  Learn how to co-exist with my past, to integrate it as seamlessly as possible into today.  Asking me for my cell phone, he started pushing buttons, many, many buttons.  Handing my phone back to me, he explained that his numbers were now programed into my phone, and I was to call him when I needed him.  Whenever I needed him.

Riding home, home?  Flutters of anxiety throb in my chest.  Holding moose tight against me, trying to keep the quivers, tremors at bay.  Fear made the tattoo of my heart beat ratchet up and up and up.  My feet and hands were tingling, my head seemed to float above my neck, I was loosing the battle against the fear.  Fear of what would happen after the front door closed.  Fear of the unknown.  Fear.  Holding moose wasn't enough, and the quivers overtook me.  Just as I was about to dissolve, the car slowed and we pulled into the driveway.  Of home?  I don't think I like the word home.  Shakily I stand on the path to the house.  Voices zoom and zing around me, but nothing lands even close to my ears.  Only the thought of how to walk up the path, how stepping up the steps and through that door will begin a future I am not sure I am ready for.  This will be different, it has to be different, it can not be the same as the past, it just can't!  Stepping into the living room, following Cecile's tugs on my hand, when had she taken my hand, I look up and see, Morgan!  Slipping free of Cecile, I materialize into his arms.  His warmth soaking into me, my heart begins to slow, my head lands on my neck, and the voices land in my ears again. Many voices, who is all here?  Loosing my hold on Morgan, I turn and see Talia, George, Cami, Kevin and Dave.

Hugs!  Hugs!  Each wanted a hug.  Did I say a hug?  I mean numerous, uncountable hugs.  Cami's soft body holding me gently, rocking me back and forth, whispering her love into my ear.  George's more cautious hugs, but still full of love, and a big loud kiss on my cheek, turning me red and making every laugh.  Kevin's jolly hug, like how I always imagined a big brother would hug me.  Dave's warm and gentle hug, rubbing my back and landing words of support in my ear.  Talia threw her arm around my shoulders and wished me happy homecoming, and then made everyone laugh by asking me to hurry up with the hugs, she wanted to eat! Sam pulled me over and into a warm hug and then pushed me into Cecile's arms.  She held me lightly, not trapping me against her, allowing me to snuggle but not forcing me to.

Talia got her wish, the platters and dishes of food on the dining room table were attacked, plates filled, voices happy and light.  Laughter bounced around the room growing and growing until the very walls were smiling.  Snuggling on the couch between Morgan and Dave, Kevin teased me that I could borrow Dave, but had to give him back. All to soon, it was hugging time again, but now these were the sad kind, goodbye hugs.  And then, they were gone.

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