Playing With Fire Pt. 2

Okay, remember how back at the beginning of November I said I was going through a lot but didn’t think it was the best time to discuss it? (For those that don’t you can follow this nifty link here.) The time has come to get those feelings out of the way, and share what was going on beneath the surface during the month of November. It’s not that it’s anything bad, but it is a sensitive subject for a lot of my readers and I didn’t want to put a damper on the holidays. Now that we’re holiday free, I feel like it’s appropriate to share.

What I’m about to share with you is exactly what I remember about the event. Now, it’s been almost nine years so my recollection might not be 100% accurate, or others involved might remember the whole thing differently than I. That’s totally okay, I’m not going to argue because this isn’t about creating a conflict. This is about me opening up and sharing one of the more difficult times in my life. I’m able to share it now, because I’ve actually come to terms with it recently. It no longer inspires a wave of out of control emotions. That’s a GOOD thing. As you continue to read, please keep that in mind. It’s a GOOD thing. A HEALTHY thing. Okay? *deep breath* Here we go…

November 2005, soon after Thanksgiving. I’m fairly certain it was Black Friday, but I’m not 100% certain. The last thing I remember was standing in the driveway with The Boy after spending Thanksgiving dinner with my family making plans to go over to his apartment and watch a movie.  I can’t remember if it was that night, or a few days later. Either way, it was definitely November. We were still just friends at this point, but I had a tendency to stay late and end up spending the night whenever we hung out.

I didn’t have anywhere to be, or anything else to do so I snuggled back up into the bed closing my eyes waiting for The Boy to get out of the shower. I could have made my way down stairs, but I just wanted to lay there. The place where I felt the safest and most secure, the place that calmed my racing mind and where I was able to fully and completely relax. I hadn’t intended on going back to sleep, but listening to the water running in the bathroom, and with the room warming up as the sun rose higher in the sky I couldn’t help myself.

The next thing I remembered was a hand placed lightly on my back.

“Kelli? Hey, I don’t mean to run you off or anything, but I’m getting ready to head out the door. I’m already like an hour late.” The Boy explained softly.

I opened my eyes, and rolled over to see him staring down at me with a rushed, but content smile.

“Oh I’m sorry. I didn’t mean to fall back to sleep. I’m up.” I said, sitting up and rubbing the sleep out of my eyes again.

“It’s okay, but I need to get going. I’m going to go let the dog out. Wait for me, and we’ll leave together so I can lock the door behind us.” The Boy said, heading out the bedroom door and quickly down the stairs.

I followed closely behind him and as he headed out back to let the dog out, I headed to the living room to check my phone. I had turned the ringer off and left it down stairs on purpose. I assumed that my mom would call when I didn’t return home, what I hadn’t expected were the hateful, accusatory voicemails she left. I plopped down in the middle of the couch, picked up my phone and punched in my voicemail passwords. Listening to the first voicemail wasn’t too bad. She was upset, but mostly concerned that I hadn’t returned home nor had I called to tell her I was okay. The second voicemail she left started to get a little hateful. She informed me that when I hadn’t returned home by morning she went to look for me. When she hadn’t found me at work, she asked where she could find Lynda. She found Lynda, and asked where I had gone after I left her house. I had been caught. She asked me to call her back. When I hadn’t returned her call, she called and left yet another voicemail. I was upset by the second voicemail, but the third one I couldn’t even finish listening to.

“I know you weren’t with Lynda last night. You were with The Boy weren’t you? You’re still with The Boy aren’t you? How long has this been going on? Are you sleeping together? You’re nothing but a deceitful little whore, how dare you lie to me…” 

After listening to that, I burst out into tears and collapsed from the couch onto the floor, throwing my phone across the living room. I lay there crying, curled up into the tightest little ball I could contort myself into. There were rarely any moments that I felt so completely helpless that death seemed like a welcome release. That was one of those moments. I was crying so hard trying to purge the pain from my soul, but the only thing that came was more tears.

“Kelli, what’s wrong?” The Boy asked concerned, as he walked around the corner. “What the hell happened?”

Seeing The Boy’s genuine concern for me as he sat down on the couch, I pulled myself up off of the floor, still sobbing and sat down next to him as he immediately put his arm around me. 

“I got voicemails from my mom. She found out that I wasn’t staying with Lynda so she went looking for me. When she couldn’t find me she assumed that I was with you and called me a slut and a whore for spending time with you. I don’t know what to do anymore Boy. I just don’t know what to do!” I sobbed.

“Wait what? What did she say?” The Boy asked pulling me closer and holding me tighter.

In so much pain and agony from everything regarding my mother coming to a head with these hateful voicemails, I wailed: “I don’t even want to live anymore!” 

At that I collapsed, my head landed on his lap and he placed his hand on my shoulder as I cried it all out.  It was the first time I ever felt completely broken, open, and truly raw. I had done my best to keep my head up through out the life time of abuse inflicted upon me, but at that moment my spirit was so heavy I just couldn’t go on. All I wanted to do was fade into nothingness. Close my eyes and be safe in blissful silence, or stay forever in The Boy’s protective embrace.

“Kelli, you’re not a whore. It’s okay. Your mom doesn’t know what the hell she’s talking about, don’t listen to her. That’s not right. She shouldn’t treat you that way. You need to get out of there. That’s not a healthy environment for you to be in. You don’t need that.” The Boy reassured me. 

I looked through my tears into his deep brown eyes riddled with concern and a tinge of anger and told him: “But I don’t have anywhere else to go. I can’t afford my own apartment on my salary, and I don’t really have any friends. Other than you, and Lynda, and… well that’s really everyone.” 

He searched my face looking for something, or thinking to himself. “Are you SURE you don’t have anywhere else to go?” He asked.

“No… not really.” I answered honestly.

After a few more moments sitting on the couch both lost in our own thoughts, I collected myself and stood up to leave.

“Where are you going?” The Boy asked, as I headed toward the door. 

I shrugged and replied: “Home I guess. I don’t really have any where else to go.” 

He looked at me, and with a sigh said: “No… don’t do that. Stay… stay here. You can stay here.” 

I looked at him, noticing the concern and worry that blanketed his face and asked: “Are you sure?” 

To which he honestly replied: “Well no, I’m not sure. But we can work something out. Just don’t go back to that.” 

I looked into his eyes, and started to tear up for an entirely new reason. Here he was, this rough and tumble reckless man, taking me into his home against his better judgement for no reason other than he wanted to give me a safe place to go. I had already started to fall for him the moment I was able to spend time alone with him, but more than that he was my savior in those the darkest hours of my life.

“Are you going to be okay here by yourself? I really need to go, but I don’t want to leave you alone if you’re not okay.” The Boy asked, searching my face to see if I would answer him honestly.

“I’ll be okay. You can go.” I answered, honestly. 

While I had been on the brink after listening to the voicemails from my mom, the fact that The Boy cared about me enough to open his home quickly brought me back to reality. My life wasn’t truly all that bad, and there were many solutions to the problems that had just taken over and completely weighed me down. I was just so tired of battling it alone, but with The Boy in my corner I found a renewed sense of strength and the much needed boost in courage to continue fighting.

“Are you sure? I don’t need to like take the razors out of the bathroom and hide the knives or anything do I?” The Boy asked, still not sure I had recovered.

“No, Boy. Thank you, but I promise I’ll be okay.” I answered with a small smile.

“Well, if you need anything, and I mean ANYTHING, you call me. If I don’t answer call again and I will. I’m meeting my buddy, and then I have to go right to work so I won’t be home until pretty late. If you get bored or really lonely come hang out.” The Boy said as he headed toward the door. “Hey, your mom is wrong. I just want you to know that.” 

I smiled as The Boy turned to check on me one last time, then headed off to meet his friend.

This is just a small part of my story, so it doesn’t really make sense by itself. That plus the fact that I changed names and some other personal details makes it a little difficult to completely understand. I’m aware, but I think you can get the gist of the story. I had reached my limit, and was seriously contemplating suicide for the one and only time in my life. If The Boy hadn’t been there to literally pick me up that day, I wouldn’t be here writing this.

Coming to that realization has been a long, tedious, and exhausting process. A) because I never wanted to admit that I was really that weak, and broken. B) because remembering that The Boy really did have an over all positive influence on my life challenged me to look at things in a different light. When I did that I realized that what we had may not have been real “love”, but he wasn’t some terrible monster who simply took advantage of me either. I think it’s fair to say we both made some poor choices which ended up being hurtful based on hundreds of different outside circumstances.

Realizing THAT lead to a whole laundry list of emotions and thoughts and I was a mess. Really I ran the emotional gambit, for several weeks. I laughed, I cried, I was sad, I was angry, it was just a bunch of everything all mashed together. Completely overwhelming really. It took me a while to get it all sorted out, but once I did I realized that I really didn’t miss The Boy himself, but I missed the inspiration and strength that he had provided me. Which in turn inspired this: a quote tattooed on both of my wrists.

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“Lose your mind, find your soul.” Not exactly the typical suicide awareness tattoo, but combined with everything else that has happened since my diagnosis I felt it was appropriate. Never have I felt more like a complete human being, and true to myself. FINALLY being able to understand the way my mind works has taken such a load off. In essence the haunting nagging feeling that something is “wrong” with me has been lifted. I have discovered the deepest essence of me, which most people equate with the soul, and I had to lose my mind to find it. The placement on my wrists is really the only thing that makes it an homage to my brush with suicide. It’s a reminder that no matter how crazy I may feel when I’m triggered, I have the strength to over come it. ME. ALONE. I don’t have to rely on any others. At least any other PEOPLE. I have my faith which has always been a source of strength, but as I’ve illustrated here sometimes doubts creep in and faith falters. God doesn’t falter, but our faith does.

Anyway… that’s what all the mystery and vague posts were about through the month of November. It’s a lot to digest just reading it, imagine how much of a toll it took on me to write it? Yeah. Until later Bloggies. 🙂