In the Rearview
In the Rearview
by Maria Ann Green
Published by Astraea Press
www.astraeapress.com
This is a work of fiction. Names, places, characters, and events are fictitious in every regard. Any similarities to actual events and persons, living or dead, are purely coincidental. Any trademarks, service marks, product names, or named features are assumed to be the property of their respective owners, and are used only for reference. There is no implied endorsement if any of these terms are used. Except for review purposes, the reproduction of this book in whole or part, electronically or mechanically, constitutes a copyright violation.
IN THE REARVIEW
Copyright © 2014 MARIA ANN GREEN
ISBN 978-1-62135-328-7
Cover Art Designed by Book Beautiful
For my better half.
Travis, you push me to be a better person every day.
Thanks for letting me push back.
And thank you to everyone else who has helped this
dream become a reality.
Chapter One
This is me
As her chin dipped down, and she noticed the soft raised skin, her heart skipped a beat. Meagan hated that an accidental glimpse still shot anxiety through her like knives. Her stomach could drop to her feet while her heart raced, all from just seeing a part of herself. It was a stupid reaction Meagan didn’t often have, but when she was already nervous about judgment it was inevitable.
She hoped against hope it wouldn’t always be that way.
Meagan was strong, she wasn’t a kid anymore, and she loved herself. It was stupid to feel such turmoil over something that was so far in the past. And it was truly overcome. But the visual, the tangible marker she could touch, the fact that her skin was marked and different forever, that’s what sent her nerves into overdrive every once in a while.
Even after all this time, it could still catch her off guard. After everything, as much as it represented her strength, it also represented the wastelands of hurt she had waded through; she tried to remember that some badges of honor weren't pretty. And hers were small enough. But just like her past, they would never go away. Life didn’t have rewind or pause buttons. There weren’t real un-dos or re-dos. Life only had the present, the here and now, and it only had a play button.
She wished so often the tiny pink reminders were easier to hide. Though they didn’t stand out too much, their placement was inconvenient. If she could take them off, she would consider it, because she always had her memories and the lessons she'd learned. There were little pink reminders inside her head as well. Those could never be removed. The rest, even if they were badges of honor, weren’t as necessary anymore.
She would always remember.
It sounded shaming, to want to hide them, but that wasn’t Meagan’s intention. She wasn’t embarrassed or ashamed of who she was, but others still questioned or judged when they noticed a scar. They pried and probed about personal experiences that weren’t any of their business to be nosey about. Then they went quiet after she answered. That was the worst. Eyes averted and the subject always changed, but not until a pregnant pause passed between them first.
She absolutely despised awkward silences that followed a forced explanation.
That’s not how Meagan liked to open up.
Because that’s what it was to tell people about what had happened. It was opening herself up for examination. She had to be vulnerable and share history that wasn’t always easy to talk about when she was honest about her scars. Trust was needed in order to be comfortable in giving parts of herself away like that. Otherwise it felt wrong. But when Meagan was the one to choose on her own to share with individuals she cared about, it was only when she deemed both parties ready. It was always better if everyone was ready.
She just preferred to give the information instead of have it pulled from her. That wasn’t too tough a concept.
Because sometimes when it was demanded or requested of her before she was ready, somehow Meagan felt violated. She loved herself, she was proud of who she was despite what she’d faced, so she never lied about how she got her scars. Even if she was unprepared and surprised by the questioning, or reluctant to answer, she always told the truth. But it felt like betraying herself, violating her own security, when she gave out the information before she was ready.
She wouldn’t pretend. No lies. That was a rule. She’d promised herself after healing to never diminish her past or push it under the rug. So occasionally when she knew it wouldn’t go well, and it seemed easier to lie, she had to bully herself into honesty, which only added to the feeling of violation.
Don’t you love yourself?
Don’t you still think you’re strong?
Who cares if the truth makes others uncomfortable.
If you lie, it’s like you’re hurting yourself all over again. That’s not worth it.
And her honest side always won.
But today wasn’t worth the internal battle. It would just be easier not to need debating, convincing, or sharing at all. So as Meagan got ready for her interview, she put on a long-sleeved shirt.
She covered the scars for self-preservation, for protection. And she guarded herself from the judgment of others. Never from herself, not anymore. But from others it was still necessary.
And to be honest, even if she was ever given the chance to remove those scars, if she thought about it hard enough, she wouldn’t. She would keep her badges. It was just a reactionary thought that floated around sometimes. But the scars were always there, and they were hers. They just didn’t need to be seen by everyone. And they didn’t need to be seen today.
But they would never totally go away.
And that was okay with Meagan. It had taken time but after a long road, now it was okay.
Chapter Two
My story
My name is Meagan, and I’m twenty-three years old. I have a run-of-the-mill family: sisters, parents, friends and so on. Like most kids, middle school and high school were tough for me. They are typically a hard time for most adolescents, and I was not an exception. But my problems, though they started out normal, quickly changed to anything but.
Happiness is relative, and, relative to other people, I thought I was miserable. I was in a lot of pain sometimes, and my story is not the only of its kind. Though, I wanted to tell it in my own way, how I best expressed myself back then.
I’ve since grown up a lot, and I’m in a much better place now. This is a look back on how things used to be.
I believe one can gain a world of understanding by looking back, not to dwell, but to shed light from a new lens on the things you thought you knew. What you were sure you understood is not always as you remember it, because even the past can change you through the illumination of time and new experiences.
But no matter how time has changed my perceptions or faded my memories, one thing remains strikingly the same: I didn’t do it for attention. I never wanted that.
Unfortunately, and inevitably, though attention did follow. Things spiraled out of control, and instead of shrinking out of everyone's sight, more focus was placed on what I was trying to hide. For a while, everything in my life was a confusing mess.
There were always ways to make it go away temporarily. But any quick fix was just as quick to subside. Everything was a fleeting suppression of the feelings eating away at my insides. So much was threatening to burst out. A whirlwind I didn’t understand was pulling me downward. My life became one little problem after another, sagging my shoulders from the weight. With time every problem faded, but first I had to get through the chaos.
I quickly realized nothing helped like the listening ear of a friend or the blank slate of a page. As an ear wasn’t always adequate, I learned an empty notebook made me feel better when my friends couldn’t. It was therapeutic to let it all out and receive zero judgment. Paper couldn’t talk back or look down on me for what I'd said and done.
I felt less vulnerable putting pen to paper than putting words through my lips.
I am who I am today because of the experiences I’ve had, the troubles I’ve struggled through, the mistakes I’ve made, and the lessons I’ve learned. But, as things often do, it got worse before it got better. Yet, through every mistake, I’ve stayed true to myself.
This is the story of working through my problems, defending against them, and choosing to cope instead of giving up.
Chapter Three
The beginning
Dear Diary,
I’m not sure how to describe these feelings I’m having. There seems to be a dark storm cloud that follows me around, raining down on any happiness that tries to break through. I don’t have anyone to talk to. It’s almost like I’m drowning. With each breath I take, I still feel stifled. It’s like I’m underwater, and when I open my mouth to breathe, I take in some of the blackness surrounding me. No oxygen makes it to my lungs, just thick, dark liquid. As I get pulled down deeper so easily, I feel insignificant. I am totally without power.
Does no one around me feel like I do?
I don’t know when everything changed. It certainly wasn’t always this way.
I am smart enough to realize there are so many other people in my school, city, state, country, and the world that it’s impossible for me to be alone. However, it’s what seems to be the truth. And perception is stronger than reality in most cases. What could have changed so drastically from only a few months ago to now? I wish I had the answers. I wish I had a cure for these f
eelings.
If only I could snap my fingers, make a wish, and have everything go back to how it used to be. But if I could make everything better, and happier, just by wanting it enough, I think I’d already be there. I would sell my soul to pay off any being with the power to fix this. Unfortunately life doesn’t work that way. It’s too bad I’m stuck in a dank cave inside myself, alone with only my vicious thoughts to accompany me.
They don’t seem to treat me well.
Surrounded
Darkness
And bitter cold
Surrounds me
I shiver
Try to shake off
My pain
But it won’t fall away
I’m surrounded
By darkness
And hurt
More
Why
Can’t I
Just be happy
With what I have
Why
Am I
Always searching for
More
Why
Do I
Constantly
Look over my shoulder
Hoping to see
What I feel I’m missing
Why
Can’t I
Be happy
With what I have
It Won’t Be Okay
I know you think
You’re helping
I know you think
What you say is true
But everything
Absolutely will not
Be okay
I want you to be right
But it’s hard to believe
That anything these days
Will ever be okay
The World Is Ending
I feel like my world is ending
Nothing I used to know
Is that way anymore
Now everything is different
Everything is horrible
I can’t see through the pain
I’m always crying
I’m always sad
Nothing seems to help
And when one little thing
Happens to go wrong
Everything is worse
My world is changing
And I don’t like the changes
It feels as if all I knew
Is ending
And leaving me behind
Dear Diary,
I don’t know why everything has to seem like such a big deal. And I mean everything. After my pencil broke today, I almost cried. I felt so stupid about my reaction, but even as I realized I was being crazy, it was hard to swallow down the lump in my throat. Tears pricked at the back of my eyes, and I had to blink them away or they would have spilled down my cheeks. Then, when I tried to sharpen it by the classroom door, and it wouldn’t work, I had to get a pass to go to the bathroom.
I just couldn’t hold it in anymore.
I actually cried in the bathroom because something small went wrong, and because I wasn’t able to do something that should have been easy. My emotions just refused to be kept inside. I broke down over a pencil. How stupid is that? Why did I have to cry? And why did it need to feel like a bigger deal than it would to anyone else?
This is starting to get out of control, and I’m feeling like a freak, but I swear I’m trying hard not to be one. I don’t like the people who always make something out of nothing.
I know I wasn’t always this way.
It used to be easier to brush stuff off or let it go. But every day that passes lately seems more and more difficult. More makes me want to blow up and yell, run away and hide, or break down and cry. What happened to happy reactions? Where did they go?
I wish I had the answer, because I miss being happy and carefree.
I see most of my friends throwing their heads back and laughing, and instead of joining in, all I can see is a vivid green of jealousy. Then I wonder why they get to be so much happier. I wonder if they know some secret no one has shared with me. Maybe I’m just not special enough to know yet. Or maybe I haven’t earned it.
Sometimes I even worry I’ve become a robot or a type of pod person. Somehow, maybe while I was sleeping, someone came into my bedroom, cut out my heart, and replaced it with mechanical hardware. Or my whole soul has been taken out and replaced with an unhappy replica.
If that’s the case I wish they would change me back soon.
These Feelings That I Feel
These feelings that I feel
Are unsteady and unsure
These feelings that I feel
Are self-conscious and afraid
They don’t know what to do
And they’re afraid of what will happen
If they express themselves to you
I Am
I am a girl
Standing in front of you
Asking you to accept me
I am a friend
Standing beside you
Asking you to love me
I am a teen
Standing next to you
Asking you to stay with me
I am a child
Standing with you
Asking you to guide me
I am your friend
Standing forever by your side
Asking you to love me
I Am, I Am, I Am
I am the girl standing next to you
I am the girl crying beside you
I am looking for comfort
I am hoping for reassurance
I am in need of a friend
I am asking you to tell me it will all be okay
When in my heart I know it won’t
I’m Not
There are so many things
That I fail to be
I’m not perfect
I’m not stable
I’m not even close to happy
I’m not what you want
I’m not what you need
I’m not even trying to be
I’m not coping well
I’m not working through
My ever-mounting problems
All I can do
Is sit and wallow
Counting the things
I cannot do
Dear Diary,
What’s the point of it all anyway?
Why do we work so hard in school just to get into another school, and another, and then into a job we probably won’t even like? Adults are always saying it was so much easier when they were kids, and working full time sucks. Why is that what we strive for then? Plus, I’m not sure they know what being this kind of kid is like.
But it’s so much more than that. I find so much pointless.
Why do we worry about what people think of us when everyone is just doing the same thing? Why do we like people before we know more about who they are or how we connect with them? Why do we have to feel sad, angry, scared, or nervous?
Why is life so confusing and hard so much of the time?
Just why?
Okay, maybe I’m just being too dramatic again. Maybe I’m worrying too much about things other people don’t bother to fret over. Or maybe I just need to seriously calm down.
But, for whatever reason, I have been over thinking everything, and I’ve been full of anxiety over the littlest things lately. Like the pencil incident. That was just the beginning. I can’t seem to let the little stuff go. Calming down is usually impossible, even after realizing I need to. Shouldn’t I be able to calm myself down? That’s a skill I used to have.
And it all seriously just sucks. Everything.
I want things to be easier. I want to be happier. I want to have more fun and be scared less. Will that come with age? Other adults don’t look so unsure and chaotic inside. When you grow up do you just understand things better? Do you generally feel better about yourself?
I honestly hope so.
Because if not, if I’m just a weirdo, then I don’t know what to do.