What was I thinking?
Why did I think I was strong enough?
I was only about 5 miles away and I succumbed to the temptation.
I drove to the place I had once tried so hard to call home; to the place that they tried so hard to break me; to the place that is the closest thing that I will ever come to hell.
I staring at their house decorated for Christmas- so cleverly disguised to hide the fact that monsters live there. I peered in the windows from the safety of my car. They sat in the family room watching television. They were going on about their lives. Here I am 16 years since the last time we came face to face finally realizing the magnitude of the impact that they left on me, and there they were, oblivious to my pain, to the flashbacks, and anxiety I face. They get to go about their lives, and all I wanted was a cigarette. All I wanted was to feel the burn in my lungs – for something physical to match the emotion.
That’s a dangerous place for me. It’s been a year since I’ve cut myself. I want to be able to only increase the length of time, but staring at the house, remembering the basement, the smell, the ceiling, the utter desperation, it’s hard to not go back to my former ways.
I made a choice. I chose on behalf of my healing. I texted Kelly and drove away.
I don’t know if I’m strong enough to get better though. Sitting here typing away, I’m fighting back tears – tears that are from hurt, anger, fear, and grief. Which do I deal with first? I don’t know if I can do this.