He sits quietly on the couch, looking at me – no, searing my soul. His sea-foam blue eyes devouring my every gesture, expression, sigh; memorizing it. I look down at my journal and can feel all of his thoughts and emotions boring into me, branding me. I will never be the same again, I am to blame, but it's all his fault. Just when I thought I had recovered, and we were back to status quo, he does it again- That look; burning my heart, charting it with so much intensity, it transmutes my broken, jagged edges. Slowly softening, like pieces of frit under the watchful eye of a conservative artist. Melting, adding silvers & golds, blending; new, radiant colors emerge. Raw materials transform, become glorious aurenes & galaxies of color. Only ashes litter the floor now. All the broken shards, discarded by ghosts, amateurs feigning artistic heights unobtainable by "mere mortals" are incorporated. That burning look which brands my very core – anneals all of the discarded pieces.
"What?" he queries.
"Nothing Babe." I whisper
"I love you Princess." he smiles. My heart explodes.
October 9, 2010 Corning, NY; Lamp-work bead making seminar.
Her lips curled back in a sneer, spittle collected at the corner of her mouth. "I don't know where you came from, you're rotten to the core!" I tried to stuff down the feelings she provoked. Tears pricked the back of my eyes, my fists clenched into balls, my nails left little crescents in my palms. I couldn't hold back any longer, the rage took over, "Why did you adopt me?" I spat at her. Her eyes narrowed and she smiled for a brief moment, "So Laura wouldn't be alone when we die" "Why didn't you get her a puppy?" I screamed defiantly, leaning in, daring her to hit me again. She clenched the wooden spoon, raised her hand and paused briefly before slamming it on the counter and turning her back to me. "Because I have asthma". There it is, the truth finally came out. My breath caught in the back of my throat, feelings washed over me, wave upon wave, I felt like I had been punched in the gut. That moment, temporarily suspended in time, was when I realized that "love" was never mentioned nor part of her simplistic vocabulary.
I could hear the tick-tock, tick-tock, tick-tock of the cuckoo clock pounding in my ears, mocking my existence. I bolted from the room, a stack of papers fluttered to the floor in my wake. I slammed my bedroom door and locked it, the "Birth Plate" clattered to the floor. I felt the color drain from my face and bile burn the back of my throat as I bent to retrieve it; a simple ceramic plate carved with details of a moment they were NEVER a part of. I heard the rattle of the door, the furious shaking of the knob. "Dammit Andrea open this door" I could hear the anger in her voice, envision her jaw askew as she clenched her teeth. "Bitch and Bastard and Bastard and Bitch that's what you are!!!" she screeched at me through the door. "Wait till your father gets home!" I held my breath, listening; kitchen cabinets slamming, utensils banging on the counter, incoherent screaming. Then it began, her diatribe, the go to litany of deep seeded & hate filled insults meant to destroy "BASTARD," "You're a Bad SEEEEED," I don't know where you came from, I don't who, WHOOOOO!!!," "John, Jahhhhnnnn, come get HER, TAKE HER AWAY!" Sadness and terror enveloped me, I didn't want to be on this planet anymore. I wanted to disappear, slip away, I wanted to die...
#LoveAndie
If you, or someone you know is contemplating suicide or self-harm you can call or text 988 You are NOT alone.
9th grade, September 1985 The year I tried to commit suicide.
