Today, I got off work, came home, and started unpacking my house. I was doing just fine, listening to some music, and then I heard Michael Jackson's "You Are Not Alone" in the background. I broke down. In the middle of the kitchen floor. I broke down and I cried. I cried for my friend. I cried for the decision she made to leave this world. I cried for what she went through. I cried because she didn't talk to anyone. I cried because she felt like she had no way out. I cried because I knew EXACTLY how she felt.
Having been raped at the age of 15-16, I wanted to end it all. I was tainted goods...in my mind. No one would ever want me or love me...in my mind. My family wouldn't be able to handle it...in my mind. I had no way out...in my mind. In my mind, my life was over, taken from me, stolen from me. No one could understand, so why tell anyone. I was the strong one. I was the good one. No one would understand me breaking down...and I was NO ONE'S victim.
Years went by, I buried that pain. Covered it up with academics, "friends", books, music. I over-achieved and under-expected. I was determined to be the smartest, the most talented, the most liked person in the world...no matter how FAKE it all was. I buried it so deep that when it reared it's ugly head years later, I was sucker-punched. This...infestation threatened to ruin my marriage, my friendships, my job, my life. Only, I had someone I knew I could talk to. I had an option and he never let me forget that he was there. The man that I swore would never, could never love me was there. I had a way out.
My friend, she didn't feel like she had a way out, so she made a decision. She made a decision to leave this world and go home to our Creator. She felt forced into making the decision to leave us here to remember her life. She felt like she had no way out. See, her pain made her sick. Her pain took OUR friend away and replaced her with this...this person who had given up. Her pain wasn't something a Sunday morning sermon could fix. Her pain wasn't something a nice chat over a glass of wine could fix. Her pain wasn't something that a book could fix. Her pain was so deep...oh so deep...that she couldn't even talk about it. And then...she was gone. Gone from this world. Gone from the pain. Gone from this life.
For the rest of my days, I will wish that there was something I could've done...something I could've said. My only hope is that in sharing my own pain, my own thoughts, my own tears, that someone out there will be able to confront their own demons. Someone will know that they are not alone. Someone will open up and purge those demons and let them go. If doing this only helps one person, then my job is done. I can only hope that ONE PERSON out there will see this and know that they aren't the only one and that they don't have to go through it alone.
