I think it’s strange. That a split-second chance of meeting, followed by continuous personal choices caused us to become entangled. What if we’d kept driving that day? Went to Fast Trac instead. What if 18-year-old Jessica didn’t chase you? Would I be sitting at this same kitchen table, in my dream home… living both my best life and worse life, all at once? Would I?
Perhaps shit would’ve happened to me anyway. Perhaps I’m destined to be a haunted soul. The childhood version of me, dead beneath my skin, wandering around looking for a glimpse of her reflection. Maybe she would’ve been killed by someone else. Someone other than you.
I can wish, I can regret, I can curse my past away. But that does no good. I can smile, I can laugh, I can heal, I can greet the future with open arms. But I can’t have the one without the other. Can I? My future is contingent on my past.
And that’s a terrible fact.
So here I am, this Wednesday in October, almost 11 years later. I’m sitting here typing away, when I should be at work, but can’t be. Why? Because of you. Because of what you did.
All the therapy, medication, education, support groups, and guided meditation, it was all for what? If I can still sit here 11 years later, haunted.
It’s unfair. It’s unfair to me, and the millions of other survivors still suffering in silence years later. Well, I’m not silent. You took a lot, but you’re not taking my damn voice too. And if I can’t work, I’m going to write.
Jared, that’s what my brain calls you these days. It was too hard switching between what I know your name to be, and this pseudonym. I’ve almost slipped a few times. It’s short travel between my brain and mouth. You have no idea how often I think about outing you. Your time is not up, yet.
***
Night Terrors
Since I’m sitting here word vomiting, it’s probably time I tell you why. Why today.
The last few days I was down and out with a bought of migraines. Yesterday, I went to bed welcoming a proper night’s sleep. Corey left the house at 5:30am, after bringing the dogs downstairs. I rolled around in the sheets, stretching out my scrunched-up limbs, and slowly melted into the mattress. It’s few and far between that I get the whole king-sized bed these days. My eyelids closed with ease, and off I went back into my sleepy slumber.
My vision went black, and then suddenly, there you were. I felt your presence, before I knew you were there. Similar to that feeling you get, when you walk into a room, and you know you’re not alone. My eyes shot open in horror, and with elevated breathing, I sat up quickly. Little did I know, you were already on the move. Before my sight could adjust to the darkness, my legs were trapped. I knew this feeling. I’d been there before.
My back pounded the mattress with an umph, and my head soon followed. As the pixels in my vision tried to come together, I knew what they’d expose. Your murderous face. In that moment, it was as if I’d never left, and had spent all these years tortured by you.
I called out your name, begging you not to hurt me. There I was again, the weakling you preferred. A glint of the moonlight came through the shades, illuminating the metal blade shut between your lips. I wondered if you were back to finish the job. With a balled-up hand, you pulled the neck of my shirt toward you, and reached up with your other hand grabbing the knife. Swiftly, you swung it down and cut through the fabric twice.
With a tear-soaked face, I whimpered. You took the section of cut fabric, balled it up, and gagged me with it. I watched you methodically pull back your arm above your head, again capturing the moonlight on your blade. Your head slowly cocking to the side, exposing you for you. With a guttural scream you thrust the blade toward me, and I closed my eyes. You stopped dead in your tracks, and I argued with myself on whether to open my eyes. I peeked one eye open, and you threw the knife toward the wall. It briefly stuck before tumbling to the floor, clattering.
You bent down and placed your face centimeters from mine screaming, “don’t fucking look away from me!”
Our breathing was heavy. Synchronized. You became dead weight on top of me, and placed your forehead on mine. “Why do you make me do this?” you asked with a sigh.
The gaslighting never stops, does it.
You lifted your head off mine, leaving me with your sweat, and peeled the rest of your body off mine. You sat on the edge of the bed, your head in your hands, rocking back and forth. My body was free from your confinement, and my brain was screaming “RUN!”
I jumped up and went for it.
I opened the bedroom door and felt the air of freedom waiting for me on the other side. But it was a trap. You liked me on the run. You were ready to lunge at my slightest movement. As quickly as I felt the air, my feet swung out from under me, as I was thrown backwards across the room by my hair. I winced as My body and the floor became one.
My ears were ringing, and the room was spinning. I rose up onto my forearms trying to gather my composure, shaking my head. You were already on your way. I crawled backwards, climbing against the wall screaming, “heeeeeelp!
“Who do you think is going to save you?” you asked, as you interlocked your fingers behind my neck. You pulled me to standing position, and there I was, eye to eye, with you.
The pressure grew as I felt your palms constrict on my throat. Your thumbs crushing my wind pipe. We’ve been here before. Would you live to regret it this time too?
“Look at me!” you screamed while squeezing and shaking me ferociously.
I screamed for myself to wake up, I knew I was in a nightmare. But I couldn’t. I never can. “PLEASE WAKE UP,” I begged myself. As I began to lose consciousness in my dream world, a car drove by in my real world, and their headlights grazed my face, jolting me awake.
I was awake. I was safe. So why couldn’t I fucking breathe. I could still feel your hands on my skin. The fabric soaking up the saliva in my mouth. Your eyes, piercing my soul.
How am I supposed to convince myself it was all a nightmare, when it’s also my memory? I still haven’t quite figured that out. And for that, I will never, ever, fucking forgive you.
* * *
Panic Attacks
When I woke up my breathing was rapid, and I couldn’t control it. The more I tried, the more unstable it became. I sat in my bed, drenched in sweat, rocking back and forth. There was a boa constrictor around my heart, and I was certain any moment would be its last squeeze.
My alarm began to ring, signifying it was 6am. I attempted to reach for my phone, and fell onto my right side, causing me to sob uncontrollably. I balled up all my limbs as tight as I could and shook with fury. I zoned out for some time, and was brought back to at 6:20 when my dogs began barking.
I stretched my fingers to reach my phone, alarm still ringing, and quickly opened our security app to confirm I was still safe. I dropped my phone to my chest and spent the next 30 minutes staring at the ceiling fan, not blinking, and feeling as if I was no longer in my body.
My skin could no longer contain all. of. these. feelings. But then I heard a noise, calling my soul back to my bones. From the monitor I heard my son’s sleepy voice, “Momma.” And I knew that even at my worst, I owed it to him to be my best. I made it to his room, pulled him out of his Pack N Play, and sat with him in his rocking chair. We embraced each other, as I slowly rocked him, and sang “you are my sunshine.” He will never know how much he saved me today.
***
Messy Feelings
I felt obligated to share this with you all today. Why? To show you that even the “strong ones” are an absolute fucking mess sometimes. Healing isn’t easy. Every day will look different, and the path certainly isn’t linear. You could be like me and find yourself living in day one, even though you’re in year 11. It’s okay to be pissed. It’s okay to hate them for what they’ve done to you. It’s okay to take the day off to get yourself back in order. Do what you need to do, but do not let them win.
Jared, you might have won this battle, but you surely won’t win this war.
Hollow Company: A Memoir of Survival 