The Girl

The Girl
By Debra Fehr


The longing that paralyzes her has become the basic core of her being. She doesn’t view it as a symptom, she doesn’t view it as anything detrimental. This is her way to live. The way that gives her the most comfort, that is always dependable.

No one can hurt her first. Her control is intact. Brief moments of chaos merely magnify the rightness of her decision, her determination that this is the only way to maintain herself.

It starts with minor pinches on the skin, something to let her know that she still can feel. To let her know that this is something that she has the ultimate say over. It soon isn’t enough; why not see what’s inside? Why not let the turmoil seep out of the skin? Flesh between teeth becomes the activity of choice. The blood is warm on her fingers as it slides down to shatter on the floor.

Soon she can’t write, she can’t use her hands. She blames the lacerations on anything but herself; no one must know. She is snapped at school with a rubber band - it doesn’t hurt. Curious. She takes one home, and watches the welts grow on her arm. Satisfying. No lasting marks, no one will know. No one will ever know.

Years of disappearing scars, of replacing the teeth with the elastic. The red is still there, the red needs to be there. The red is proof that she is alive inside, that it is up to her to take it away if she wishes. No one can take it away from her when she is in control of her pain.

She decides to take it away. The pills were too inviting. The promise of obscurity lures her to the mirror, then inside. They taste bad, but it is not for long.

Waking, guilt.

Snap.

Old comforts soothe her through the transient state her life has suddenly been thrown into. She lets others try it on her skin, and she laughs. She laughs and recoils at the same time. Control, control, control! Another drink. Another pill. How far can she go? She wants to be on the edge of all that is real.

She finds ultimate pain one night, a night that should have jolted her into awareness. Instead, she found it easier to go down than up. Betrayal from a stranger...Are all people animals? They must be. They have to be, to violate someone like this.

Alone.

Pills.

Snap.

He hurt her so badly, that she must find a way to hurt herself worse. He doesn’t have the control! She does! She needs it back, she needs it so much that she can’t think about anything else.

Sleep with him.

Sleep with HIM.

Sleep with him, too.

They don’t know that she doesn’t enjoy it. That she hates herself for hating something that should make her feel good. That she needs to give it to these men before they have a chance to take it away. She is in control. That’s what it’s all about.

She feels odd. Can’t figure it out...Soon she realizes that it isn’t only her anymore. She needs to take care of this small being inside of her. No more. Nothing. The feel of the baby soothes her like nothing else ever has, even pain.

Children, two of them, three years later. She is stuck. She hasn’t used anything in a couple years. She has been tempted, she wanted to give herself a feeling, any feeling. Her children keep her grounded and real. They embody all that is good. She sees them and smiles.

Feeling good, she strikes out on her own. Her children are with her, helping her as she guides them. Life is beautiful, and so is she.

Death, gone, forever. How dare he leave me? How dare he go before she could talk to him, tell him the things she needed to say? How dare she feel glad that he is gone?

Her Self is consumed with guilt. Loss. Pain.

Don’t eat. Don’t eat. It tastes like ashes. I told you.

Sleep, and nightmares will come. Nightmares that haunt you while you are awake. Don’t sleep. Don’t sleep.

Snap.

She sees her children and feels dread.

Bite.

She wants to feel more. She looks at her knife, and turns away. No. She can’t let herself.

Longing...It will feel so good. The whispers soon become shouts.

All that is good in her life is hard to focus on.

Then the crimson falls into the bath water, and swirls around her. Her breath becomes shallower. It felt so good. It felt so right. One more.

Cut.

One more leads to many. Instead of red, they are now white. Reminders of how she didn’t know of any other way to cope. Of how the familiar isn’t always the best.

She knows now that everyone isn’t here to hurt her. A hard lesson, but she knows. She is still fighting with herself.

She knows love. She knows that people can love her, without conditions.

Cut?

She will talk. She will try. She will succeed, because she is in control.