A Book Nerd's Inner Voices

My Ladder

Time has a funny way of kicking us in the ass. I had a friend in town the other night, so I went out to the bars. We talked, we laughed, we joked, we gave each other a hard time. We cajoled the youngest of us to down an oyster shooter when he really did not want to eat an actual oyster. Then, as I'm on my way to the bar to order bacon cheese fries as a reward for downing said shooter, who should I run into but the boy who destroyed me when I was seventeen.





There were a lot of things that could have gone differently in my life. Some that probably wouldn't have made too much difference, others that affected everything.





He changed so much.





I fell in love and got my heart broken, the real thing, when I was fifteen. He was cute, he was sweet, he treated me like gold. I was completely smitten. But life didn't work in our favor, he broke it off and I pined over that boy for 5 years, finally letting go the day he married the woman who is now his wife and the mother of his child.





He broke my heart, but he didn't break me. Eventually, I got my confidence back. I smiled again and it reached my eyes. I danced, I laughed, and I truly enjoyed my life. I moved on, even though I kept him tucked away. A bittersweet memory that I cherished in a way you only cherish your first love.





But I was leery. I didn't want to fall again, I didn't want to risk it. Then, when I was sixteen, I met this boy at a party. At first, it was fun, new and just short of obsessive on both sides. It was scary, but I fell again. But after a while, it got bad. He was still sweet, still adored me, but in between the smiles would be the careless little ribs that slowly chipped away at my core. By the time I finally got the courage to break it off, my soul had been ripped to shreds because with every little dig, every sharp comment or guilty verbal slap, I believed him. I let him tear me down, put weight on my shoulders that didn't belong until I was flat on the floor trying as hard as I could to crawl out from beneath it.





I was no longer that strong, confident. larger than life girl that I once was.





When I was seventeen, one boy achieved the impossible. He broke me.





I spent two years hating him. Then, one day, I decided enough was enough. I didn't want to let him win even by deeming him important enough to hate. So I contacted him, apologized for any hurt I caused because I wanted it off my chest and tried to let him go.





No such luck. We actually became friends. He helped me through some really hard times and was genuinely there for me. For a while. And it was fun. I actually felt like me again. I told him everything he did, all the damage done. I laid it all out. And I thought it would stop.





When I met the man who is now my husband, I realized how wrong I was. It never stopped. And he never actually saw me as important enough to see as a person and not a piece of ass he could manipulate. I flipped, let my formidable temper fly, and we ceased to be.





Over the last few years, I would start to miss him. Not necessarily him as a boyfriend, but him as a friend. And more importantly, who I got to be with him. Because those years were some of the worst and some of the most fun I've ever had. So I missed him. Or so I thought.





Then I saw him again the other night and I realized, I don't miss him. I miss me.





At first, all I could think was holy mother of God, please let this nightmare end. Then we talked and it wasn't so bad. It was just...awkward. Until he walked out of the bar and my breath came out in a loud whoosh. Then I panicked.





But, seeing as I truly am one of the luckiest girls in the world and have absolutely amazing friends, it didn't last long. They calmed me down, gave me my feet and handed me my spine. I found my grip and I held on for dear life. When he came back and tried to follow us, they ushered me away all but telling him to f*** off, and got me out of sight. It took another ten minutes and a seriously strong vodka cran, but I came down enough to dance and forget the bad memories that followed me out on the town.





The funny thing is, if I never dated him in high school, I don't know that I would be who I am. So in a way, I should both thank and curse him.





See, I have scars. Deep as chasms, and wide as canyons. Most days I can keep them closed. But sometimes, something triggers them and nightmares surface, sending a river of pain cascading through the dark. He did that to me. But I let him, and I think that's why they're so deep.





I would be a completely different person. I wouldn't balk at compliments. I wouldn't feel like I wasn't good enough. I wouldn't feel alone.





But I also wouldn't be as strong as I am. That I can thank him for. He gave me the opportunity to access that strength. So for that, I owe him. As for the rest, that was all me.





I'm not perfect. Far from it. I'm not nice, exactly. I have a temper, and lately, I've embraced my inner bitch. It's not always pretty, but it's part of who I am. I have flaws to go with my scars and if you could see my soul, I'm pretty sure it would make a pretty intricate design of scars in various states of healing.





But I manage. I have strength even if I don't reach my full potential all the time. I'm stubborn enough to keeping kicking life's ass when needed and I laugh enough to keep the bitchiness from being too much. Those that I love, love me right back despite all those things. Or maybe because of. I have a kind heart, a keen mind and a sharp tongue. I'm loyal and protective, caring, and somewhat bossy.





Because of all that, I make a fierce friend. But a formidable enemy.





I guess I'm doing okay, truth be told. The people in my life make the hard days better and I will always be grateful for them. The people who have hurt me or been hurt by me --because I am in no way perfect-- become the rungs on my ladder and each day I have to choose to reach up to the next one and let go of the last.





I do. And each time it's for my little girl. My husband. My family and friends. It's for the wonderful, plethora of people that help to make me, me. And it's because I don't want to fall backwards. Not ever again.





What can I say? I'm afraid of heights.