Scarred

March 7, 2011
Kicking and screaming making an attempt to get free. I’m struggling to fight back with all I have. Feeling helpless, powerless, and weak. The enclosing power haunts me. The clock is ticking. Every second is a step closer to my death. I cry out. Nobody hears me or maybe they just don’t understand.  I’m alone facing my worst nightmare. The clock ticks louder and louder as I get tangled up deeper with the intensity of the enclosing power.
 “No! I’m sorry!” “Let me go!” I scream.
The house starts shaking. The walls begin to cave-in, prepared to suffocate me.
 
I close my eyes and open them. I try to identify where I am, as sweat runs down my cheek. I look around with a confused expression on my face.  I can not comprehend where I am and how I got here.
Just then someone walks in dressed in white. She has a half smile on her face and is carrying a clipboard. I hear the sound of sirens coming from outside. I see an ambulance and immediately perceive where I am.
“What happened?” I asked.

“You were in a car accident. The nurse replied with what seemed to be a fake smile.
“How long do I have to stay here?” I questioned.
“From the looks of it, we are guessing the minimum of three days.” She responded, as she walked out.
 
I don’t want to be here. I want to be at home, sitting in my room, listening to music, and watching my favorite TV shows. I want to leave but I am not allowed.
 
This reminds me of being put in daycare while my mom went to get groceries. She refused to take me because she didn’t have time to deal with me begging and running off. This was around the time of 9/11.  I was well aware of what was going on, according to the videos shown on the news. Planes crashing, people jumping, buildings collapsing. It wasn’t just a movie on TV. It was real and I could tell by the fearful look on my mom expressed. I hated watching this and seeing my parents cry. I wanted to turn it off but I was to paralyzed with fear, to move.
            The first few months after seeing the tragic videos, were hell for us. I convinced myself that someone was going to hurt my mom, which caused severe separation anxiety. I wouldn’t let my mom out of my sight. She had to take me with her everywhere. I would not go to daycare anymore, I refused to go. When my mom did take me there, I would put up a show. I would scream so much that my mom would have to come and get me.

This lasted for about a year. When it finally did stop, everyone was relieved and glad to be able to live life again.

I’m sitting down on a black bean bag chair with a smile on. I’m watching my favorite shows, at my favorite place. My room. I’m no longer fighting my nightmares, I faced them and destroyed them. Now I am facing reality, sitting at home. I’m back where I belong. At home. I’m healed, and feel more powerful than ever. Home is the place to be.





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