Prisoner

As I am looking around nervously in my honors English class of my senior year, I start to feel the sweat roll down my lower back. I know I can't wear grey, but I do anyway. My shirt slowly changes from light to dark. I am counting the students in front of me giving their speeches. 

Why do they do this? What is the point of making us practice public speaking? I don't care where they're attending school. Half of them will blow their college years away. The other half will slowly fade into the American standard, the business world. 

The hot yoga classes. 

The stay at home moms who start to drink at 8 in the morning. 

But that's okay. They have it under control. They'll eat more of these footballs than I ever will. 

(These all tend out to be true.)

I have no intention of ever being a public speaker.

I feel my heart racing, and the blood rushing to my ears.

Is this going to stop?

I reach for my bag and grab the green bottle. The cap is distorted and the words are faded. 

This.

This is my only friend.

This is my only relief.

I am so grateful that my gynecologist understands that a 17-year-old girl needs high levels of benzos. 

Thank you for the addiction. One more demon to add to my cage.

They say the more the merrier. Is that true in this case?

I take out the little blue football and pop it under my tongue. I normally don't take them like this, but I don't have time to run to the bathroom. 

My nerves start to get to me. 

I am a picker. 

I get nervous, and I pick. There are marks on my chest- reminders that these demons are real. 

The demons start to be crushed. 

The irony that these football-shaped pills are like playing football with my demons. 

They tackle my problem. They crush. They score. They win. Sometimes. 

One more student in front of me. 

Why am I talking about going to Slippery Rock to cheer? That's not what I want.

What I want was to stay home and go to school. 

However; my parents hid my acceptance letter. They act like they're paying for it. What a joke that is.

Off to another school, I go. I don't pursue my dreams. I don't chase after what I'm good at. 

I settle. That's part of these demons. They don't let you conquer those aspirations you want. 

The student is wrapping up their speech. Everyone is clapping. 

Why? It was a speech. 

The teacher calls my name. I look up from my desk. I realize I have been squeezing the sides since I sat down.

My knuckles hurt and they're white. My acrylic nails physically hurt. 

I push myself away from the desk, and my heart wants to beat fast. My football is crushing the feeling. 

Isn't it weird that you can still feel something without feeling it?

I rise up slowly. My ripped jeans, UGGs, grey Abercrombie shirt. Now soaked. 

The curls I put in my hair have fallen from sweating.

It looks like I just rode the hotmess express.  

I look like I have my shit together. The reality, my shit is scattered. 

I force myself to walk to the podium. Official, aren't we? 

I feel my eyes start to swell with tears. My eyes are literal glass. 

I keep counting, I keep grounding.  I keep trying to go.

34 eyes are on me. 17 sets of eyes. 17 people waiting for me to open my mouth. 

To tell my dreams and aspirations. My goals, my life plan. 

I don't know my life plan. I'm 17 years old my self. 

I start to open my mouth. A weird noise comes out. It's not words but a sound. A grunt.

I feel the football still crushing the demons. It's coming in waves. 

The tears drop from my eyes. I look at my teacher with pleading eyes to not make me do this. 

I have had this conversation a thousand times. 

I finally have a little relief. I start to talk. Those 17 sets of eyes are intimidating. 

I can't do it. I would rather take a bad grade than to have my heart explode on the spot. 

This is what it's like to live with social anxiety, depression, bipolar. The list goes on. This is how it feels. The impending doom of what's to come. The people judging you, but you have the "I don't give a fuck" attitude. But you do give a fuck. A really big fuck. 

Those demons own you. You can only play football for so long before you are tired and want to retire.

 You're going to lose... eventually.

That's when you lose yourself. You are gone. You are a prisoner to yourself. Do you know how awful that is?

Your life is caged inside the skeleton body that is yours. You walk and talk to the people you love and trust. Other than that you are a caged animal. You are looking from the inside out. 

Why can't you be normal? All you want is to be able to go out in public. Have a small talk conversation and not to worry about if they are judging your eyebrows, or your scars because you picked your self into oblivion. 

Years of talk therapy.

Years of footballs.

Trips to a psych ward because you want to be normal. 

Time lost with your kids. Missed first birthdays. Missed memories. 

Years lost off your life. 

You are strong.

You are strong.

You are strong. 

You were given this demon because you are strong enough to fight it. 

Those feelings can be pushed. The demon can be caged.

You will hear it rattling from time to time. Know that you have the key.

Social anxiety is a bitch, but you are a bigger one.

Stay clazzy,

Shell <3 

A Letter to My Younger Self

A letter to myself. One that I have written a thousand times. I keep all the copies to look back and reflect. With the new semester approaching, and these paths I keep crossing - it's something that is helpful and frees the soul. 

To a younger Shell, 
The path you choose to go on is a wild one. Whether you look at the big picture where you are going or the short snippets of the crossroads, you will overcome and you will survive.  The last five years have been a trying period. Your firstborn was a miracle in and of itself. You're a mom! Can you believe it? You never thought you'd ever have a child, let alone three boys. Along with becoming a mom, you became a drug addict. That's a hard fragment to read. You never thought it could happen to you. However; addiction doesn't discriminate. You will see it comes in all shapes, sizes, rich & poor.  
Please, hold on. I wish I could tell you to change everything and anything. In my heart, I always wonder what would have happened? But I need you to know, our story is better than any "what if". 
It's hard to phrase whether your oldest son's father was a mistake. The years of lies, manipulation, secrets, physical, emotional and mental abuse. Where can you see the silver lining? The only positive, he gave you Nicholas & Dominic. In turn, the closing of that chapter that cost you a year of your life opened one of the best ones in your life, your husband and life now.  
The elephant in the room- how did you lose a year of your life? Did you die? Were you in a coma? The answer is a big no. You clearly didn't die, but you feel as if a part of you did. There was no coma. Unfortunately, your life seemed to be on hold.
Jail. Nine months in jail. Three months on house arrest. The funny thing about this is, you drove past the prison a few weeks before your end of the run. You looked at the building and looked at your ex. You told him you were starting to have dreams of that place. Hearing the doors lock in your dreams. You knew the end was coming. I wish you would have realized you weren't invincible. You got lucky you didn't get hit with charges you should have. Count your blessings, young one. Jail was a blessing in disguise. You would have killed yourself if you kept going down the road you were traveling.  
When you were saved, you didn't know if you would ever find love. In those four walls and a metal door, you had a lot of time to think. Some of the toughest moments of a mother happened while having your hands tied. You almost lost Dominic. Your incompetent ex's mother & ex let him get into heroin. Your baby boy had to be life-flighted and Narcan(ed) three times. My heart sinks reading that. How could someone let that happen to a nine-month-old? Just know that he will be safe. Justice won't be served in this case. 
Your two boys are in the best possible place. I wish I could tell you that you'll have a big family to come home too. Everyone will be there with open arms. They won't be. I wish I could prepare you for the biggest legal battle against your own parents. I wish I could tell you that family is everything. It's not. Mourning the living is harder than mourning the dead. There is no closure, there is no end to the hurt. 
The most important part- the love of your life will come thundering into your life. I know we thought love was done, and our hearts were full with the love with our boys - your heart will grow and your life will grow with it. There are not enough words in the English language to describe the passion, drive and life that this man will give you. The additions that he adds to your life. 
Girl, you're going to get married! You read that right! M-A-R-R-I-E-D.
The storm you went through was a hurricane. The blessings that came after are worth it. I want you to put into perspective the story of Noah's Ark. You had to destroy your old life. You needed to put the important parts inside of you to be saved. Start new. 
You are strong. You are smart. You are brave. 
I love you. Your kids love you. Your husband loves you. 
Keep your head up. It only gets better from wherever you are. 


Love and more,
Shell