Excerpt from Chapter 8 (Station 27)
Being me is exhausting. It completely wears me out, to the point where breathing is a frightfully difficult task. To the point where moving seems impossible with exception of being able to lift a finger slightly off the floor. That simple task slurps up the last of my energy and my body sinks deeper into the floor. Seeing as though I am already lying lifeless upon the hard carpet that blankets the floor, my body cannot physically sink any lower. But I can. And I do. I keep sinking. It’s not falling. It’s much more gradual than a free fall. And I’m certainly not free. This cell that cages me is undefined and suppresses me without a motive. What more can I do but give in? What happens when your emotions become completely indefinable? What do you do when you yourself become indefinable? These are the things I deal with every day of my life. I guess I’m not doing a great job dealing, ‘cause no resolution is within sight.
We, Samantha and I, and others like us, go to bed with no intention of getting up. The sun is out and shinning on all the dear sleeping children. For us, it is still a terrible day, with terrible outcomes. And terrible demands, that haunt my dreams when I am sleeping and awake. The bed is the only place we can have a tiny bit of security. I never really had a mommy for that.
Oh if she knew where I am right now. I wonder what she’d think. I doubt she’d even be surprised. She doesn’t expect much of me, though she asks the world of me. I wonder if she’s worried. Dave wouldn’t notice I’m gone. He wouldn’t notice if my mother was on the floor weeping because her baby girl ran away and died. He’s never around, and certainly not attentive. He’s such a prick! I’d give him a little respect if he at least treated my mother well. Or acted like a father since he insists on using fatherly commands as excuses.
Sometimes I wonder about my real dad. I wonder a lot of things about him. What’s he like? Did he love my mother? Was he tall, dark and mysterious? Does he know that I’m alive? No use in accumulating questions not to be answered. I don’t want to know the answers. Maybe because I’m afraid of what they may be. I’m afraid that he might be a good guy after all. Why would I be afraid of that? Because he’s been the villain for so long, I wouldn’t know how to change that. I need him to be my villain. I need to hate him.
We, Samantha and I, and others like us, go to bed with no intention of getting up. The sun is out and shinning on all the dear sleeping children. For us, it is still a terrible day, with terrible outcomes. And terrible demands, that haunt my dreams when I am sleeping and awake. The bed is the only place we can have a tiny bit of security. I never really had a mommy for that.
Oh if she knew where I am right now. I wonder what she’d think. I doubt she’d even be surprised. She doesn’t expect much of me, though she asks the world of me. I wonder if she’s worried. Dave wouldn’t notice I’m gone. He wouldn’t notice if my mother was on the floor weeping because her baby girl ran away and died. He’s never around, and certainly not attentive. He’s such a prick! I’d give him a little respect if he at least treated my mother well. Or acted like a father since he insists on using fatherly commands as excuses.
Sometimes I wonder about my real dad. I wonder a lot of things about him. What’s he like? Did he love my mother? Was he tall, dark and mysterious? Does he know that I’m alive? No use in accumulating questions not to be answered. I don’t want to know the answers. Maybe because I’m afraid of what they may be. I’m afraid that he might be a good guy after all. Why would I be afraid of that? Because he’s been the villain for so long, I wouldn’t know how to change that. I need him to be my villain. I need to hate him.