This is not me Cont.

He said he loved me. He’d come to my house, climb in my bed and I’d give him myself because of it. He was a kind man and I thought we’d be together forever. The day he told me he had a girlfriend he broke my heart. He told me he loved her. Her. Not me. I’m just as good. I’m smart, I have a good job, I work hard and he loves another woman.

It ruined me. My friends from work tried taking me shopping, tried bringing me to shows and movies, but nothing worked. I wouldn’t say his name or even completely what happened, I just told them he broke up with me. I didn’t want to taint him more in their eyes.

I guess I went a little crazy. I bought a gun and I went to where I thought he lived. When I realized it wasn’t him, it just broke me more and I knew I needed to do something. He had lied to me about everything and I needed to feel vindicated. I was the other woman, I knew that, but still it felt like not only he, but she wronged me.

I found this…group. It’s this place where people talk about their feelings. I needed to talk about him. To get it out that someone did this to me. It’s helpful in a weird way of showing me people have it worse. About a week after I started going, my friend’s boyfriend jumped off a bridge while she watched and he smashed into a car below. I told her to join me and that it helps. I guess I’m lucky, but sometimes I look at that gun and think that it isn’t me. This isn’t me. This person who thinks about murder and suicide and who isn’t happy. I just want to be me again. It could all be so much worse. This just…isn’t me.

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I don’t really think anything is wrong with me, not really… I don’t even belong in this group. I made up dome stupid story when they came to me, and people believed it… I really only came here because of a girl I like. She doesn’t see me that way at all. I don;t think she ever will. It’s not because I’m a bad person or anything, though I kind of feel that way right now… Just I know she isn’t into girls and I know her heart is with someone. Trapped with someone that’s gone.

I found out she had a boyfriend one day while we were together. We spent a lot of time together, and it was easy for me to fall for her. Easy for me to get lost in her eyes and her smile. She was always smiling then, startling contrast to the girl I see across the room. I don’t even think she recognizes me now, sitting across from here amid the other people that really belong here. 

After I learned of her boyfriend, I tried desperately to find out who he was and why he was so great. I found out, and found out more than I wanted to. There is another girl here who knows more about that than I do. She was with him. I feel so guilty, and so wrong. I followed him one night to her place. I know what they were doing. 

So that day when I followed him again, saw him with his girlfriend. That day I was going to call out, tell her everything. Tell her everything right in front of him Make her see the truth. Make her see he was no good and that I had only her best interest. That I only wanted her, not like him.

That’s when he fell. That’s when the crashes started. That’s when the blaring horns drowned out her screams. This isn’t me…

This is not me

I’ve started going to these therapy sessions. I didn’t know they existed until about a month ago when a brokenhearted friend of mine recommended it.

“It’s better than retail therapy,” she said, and her eyes that had been so blank looked somewhat happy for the first time, so I agreed.

It’s this place where people who have been hurt in any way that lasts can talk about it. Some are petty things, friends who hurt them in the past that they just can’t let go of. Others have real issues. The kind that make me cringe and be glad that my problems aren’t that bad. One of my new friends, for instance, was raped by her own father when she was 12. That’s something horrible and hard to forget.

I guess you’re wondering why I’m there or why I’m even saying all of this. He broke my heart and then jumped off of a bridge. It’s not something you forget in your life. He told me he cheated, then just leapt off. And you know the worst part? When he jumped and I saw his blood spray across the windshield of the cars below, all I could think was that fucking bastard, even in the end he’s a coward. I didn’t go to his funeral, which of course made his family hate me, though I never told them the whole story. They can keep their golden boy ideal. I guess I’m just trying to say, this isn’t me. The me who sits in these meetings and cries angry tears because of all the things I could never tell him, or the me who works her office job with a blank smile, pretending I’m over it.

This, the me that goes to meetings to get it all out and who confesses in a written response (that I was asked to do, no less), is not who I want to be. Not who I am or who I was. Maybe it’s a step, but I don’t even know anymore. All I know is his side, the bloody, fucked up, cheating side can never be told and I’m stuck picking up the pieces. No, this isn’t me at all.

-wordstoflyaway

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I go to these… classes I guess you could call them. Well, maybe tat’s not the right word for it. I mean, it’s therapy and all, but it’s more like a learning experience. I’m meeting people here and learning how to cope and deal with issues in my life. Well, more specifically an event in my life…

There’s a guy here who was in a car with his family, his father was drunk and behind the wheel. They were going… somewhere, his dad wouldn’t say. Just demanded they all get in the car. He talked about ho scary it was, middle of the night, his little sister crying next to him in the backseat. His dad was swerving back and forth on the road, constantly looking back to yell. That’s why he never saw the semi coming right for them, despite his son screaming from the backseat. He still screams sometimes, though we’re all used to it now. He has trouble sleeping, but manages to drift off when in our company. Every time he’ll wake up screaming and we crowd around him until he’s calm. Used to scare me so much, kind of still does.

I actually saw that wreck happen, and it’s connected to my own… connected to the reason I’m here. That big truck was trying to avoid me actually. I don’t know what happened, or where the blood came from. All I know is something hit my windshield, hard, and all I could see after was cracked glass and blood. I panicked, and lost control of my car, the semi behind me had nowhere to go. and no time to stop. I barely missed the car going the opposite direction before spinning into the embankment on the side of the freeway. The big truck didn’t, and that was the last thing I remember seeing as I tried to climb out of my car, which was now on it’s side. Next thing I know, I’m in an ambulance, off to the hospital.

I don’t know what happened, I don’t… But maybe I should have been paying more attention to the road. I was tried, and it’s no wonder. I’d been working a tough case for about a month now. My client has been accused of murder and while there is evidence against him, I can’t help but think there is more to this case. The backseat of my car was a testament to this fact. Was… The car had to be taken in as evidence. I went to collect my belongings from the car, glad I didn’t have to look at it… he thought made me clench up inside. The handed me everything at the front desk, well everything they had. I was missing several binders and so many papers on my case. I guess i should be lucky I didn’t lose more. I didn’t lose a sister and a father. 

When he told his story, I knew who he was. I just knew. While I was glad to see that he was alive, the pain in my chest was unbearable. I saw it happen, but couldn’t do a thing. In my state, I don’t think I could have anyways. My airbag didn’t deploy and I hit my head on the steering wheel hard. Whenever he wakes up screaming, I’m the first one there.

This is not me though, not me at all. I’m a strong man, a powerful lawyer with so many cases under my belt. Aspirations of being a judge. The man here in these classes… these therapy sessions haunted by guilt, haunted by images I can’t let go of. This is not me, and I wish i could wake up screaming. This is not me.

-lifeofamadman

I wonder what you hide…

we have talked a couple of times, and i seem to find you intriguing. the way you compose yourself is quite a mystery to me. i meditate on what lies behind your mind, i would like to get to know you…if you allow me to. i ponder and think, what are you trying to hide? what secrets do you have? a bit too much to be asking on a second date honestly. i do not think you would appreciate my interrogating. i would not want for you to feel like i am choking you with a plethora of questions, but i want to know enough. actually to tell you the truth i want to know everything about you.

there is something in the way you smile, the way you laugh, how your eyes light up; my mind rattles with constant questions of what makes you happy, and what makes you think. all those things i want to hear from you.

there is something about you. i do not know what, but i want to know. i want to see what it is…i wonder if you will let me in.

but while all these ramblings plague my mind, i stare at you silently, waiting for your response in answering ‘Your favorite memory thus far in life?’

-

You’re nervous and I can tell by the way you are sitting rigid next to me, the way you fidget with the hem of your shirt. You meet my gaze, then look away. I can’t help but smile. I can’t help but wonder what else is going on behind those eyes. What other questions there are inside. You’ve asked a lot, and I guess it’s suddenly become apparent to you and you’re so cute when you get nervous like this. I know it’s a bit cruel of me to sit in silence, watching you for a moment. I know for certain that this will be a favorite memory later on in life. Maybe one we might share. i decide to speak, because I want to calm you. I want you to relax a bit.

I tell you about a time when I was little, something I saw only in photograph. My mother had an Australian sheep dog, Shiva was her name. She used to herd me when I was very little, keep me in the front yard. No matter how much I beat on her and protested, she wouldn’t let me pass. I tell you that it might not be my most favorite, but that right now it’s something that came to mind. There is a picture of me, small, looking indignant at the camera in my bright blue jacket. I’m surround by fall leaves, and Shiva is there. Mom told me I had that look on my face because she had been herding me all morning. Keeping me in the yard and safe. It makes me smile. 

I can see you’ve relaxed, both mentally and physically. You’re watching me intently right now, listening to my every word, and you look away when I meet your eyes. You’re blushing. I gently take your hand in mine and tell you that you can ask me more.