It was my 21st birthday when I bought my first pack of cigarettes. Red Newport 100s. An act of defiance to my younger self and mother, who would cry at the thought. However, I never ended up smoking; I was too afraid of the consequences of what it meant to light the end of the cigarette and inhale.
When I was younger, I held high expectations of myself. I swore to the Gods in the sky that I would never be like them--smoking tobacco and marijuana. Surely, I was better than those who did. Yet, at some point in my life, I found myself smoking weed and Newports as I downed shots of shitty vodka.
What would my younger self think of my present self? Would she be disappointed and try to find ways to deter my vices? I'd like to believe that she would laugh and not speak of her dismay. But who is she to judge anyway? She's young, naive, and bright-eyed; she hasn't seen the realities of the world and those around her. Not yet.
I guess what I am trying to say is at some point, we make a choice. Whether that choice is beneficial to us and our future selves or not, we must make that decision. Perhaps the decisions our younger selves imagined we'd make made sense at the time. After all, we didn't know any better. Our perception of life and those we were surrounded by was skewed by innocence, which our parents' wanted so badly to preserve. But our parents can only hide the realities of the world for so long until you find out for yourself.
Often, the harsh truth of the world is revealed by family members and relatives. Ironic, isn't it? The ones who are supposed to love and care for us the most end up being the same people who cause affliction in our fragile hearts and lives. In my case, my childhood revolved around living in terror caused by my abusive alcoholic father. Yet, my father's addiction and abuse were swept under the rug. My mother was too afraid to report him, in fear of her children being taken away and having no means to escape.
When a child grows up in a household of abuse, they take an oath to never be the hand that grips tightly around the neck of those they are supposed to caress the cheeks of. The children of broken homes preach to those who will listen that they will never settle for less; I know I did. I was under the assumption I'd never make the same choices as did my mother. I believed I wouldn't tolerate a man who was incapable of showing respect and love. I was confident I would never let a man control and vanquish every last bit of my self-esteem. But I was wrong.
His name was Courtney. I met him in August, a month before I started my freshman year of high school. I was only fourteen years old, convinced I wouldn't fall victim to men who had ill intentions. Courtney was four years older than me, and if I knew any better, I would've known he had no excuse to interact with me, let alone use me for his sexual benefit. I don't know if I was ever in love with him, but he was the person I'd talk to every day. I confided in him, and he used that to his advantage.
I should've known better, I'd think to myself.
Although years have passed, the pain never subsides. No one knew about him. I wouldn't dare tell a soul. Despite being the victim in this storyline, I still carry an immense amount of guilt. As much as I'd like to scream his name, every sin he has committed, and what I had to undergo, the words never seem to roll off the tongue, and I stay silent.
"What are you thinking about?" Asked my therapist, Marie.
"Nothing," I responded. In reality, I want to tell her the truth, but I swallow my words.
"Well…" Marie looked down onto her notepad as if the lined sheet of paper would say to her exactly what I'm thinking. "How was your visit back home?".
I had just come back from visiting my best friend, Caroline, in New York. I had left the state once I graduated high school. The minute I received my diploma, I hopped in the UHaul van and began a new life in Virginia Beach. Back then, I was hopeful for the change--a new state, college, a fresh start.
For the longest time, I couldn’t write a sentence. This is progress. I’ve always had dreams of writing a story of some sort and this is it. If you enjoyed this, have anything to comment on, critique, send me a message.
