Mario cookies :)

I used a butter knife to cut out the shapes of the cookies and used frosting to decorate them as I liked.  It was a lot of fun!

Chapter Two

Chapter Two: Recovery, a Very Long Road

I realized that when I kept a positive attitude, I felt better.  Maybe it was because my mother was continually saying, “90 percent of healing is in your head;” but either way, I had decided I was going to get better. 

I started out slowly by making a goal to get up and walk around the house five times a day; and if I was not in too much pain, I would try and make it up and down the stairs once.  Such little accomplishments were the beacon of my being as I re-established who I was by what I could accomplish.   Before too long, and with the support of my mother, I soon was able to walk around the cul-de-sac.  I guess it wasn’t really a walk around the cul-de-sac, more of a shuffle.  The days were still cold and my mother would bundle me in my sisters pee yellow, down jacket.  I carried a pedometer in my pocket but always grew frustrated when it didn’t count my little shuffles.  My mom was constantly reminding me to lift my feet when I walked, that way it would strengthen more back muscles.  My shuffles turned into bigger, exaggerated shuffles until one day I felt like I had upgraded to little steps.  Although I dreaded the pain these walks caused I enjoyed getting out of the house and out of bed, feeling a breeze against my cheek and the sun on my back as I tried to learn how to walk again.

  I started to fill in all of my extra time with reading and crocheting, or any other small activity.  I had decided that since my life wasn’t taken from me, I was going to make the very best of it.  I began setting goals and continually cutting back on the medication. Once I got through the depression at having taken dilloted out of my daily intake I started cutting back on the valium, taking it only when my pain was severe.  I started cutting my vicodin pills in half, trying to wean myself off.  It was through all of this that I learned to take one day at a time; and make the best of it despite the pain I felt.

A little over a month after the accident I started physical therapy.  It was amazing how much pain one session could reduce me to; and yet at the same time, I have never felt more gratification for finishing anything else in my whole life.  I dreaded and looked forward to every session knowing each hour brought me closer to returning to a normal life style.  The recovery process was a long hard road that felt as if I were continually staying in the same place. I had to work hard to try and do the things that I had normally been able to accomplish.  The two months of therapy crept by as I attended what was called both land and water therapy sessions. 

Linda was my land therapist and worked with me on core exercises meant to strengthen the muscles that had been cut through during surgery.  She explained that these exercises were a task I would have to stick with for the rest of my life if I wanted to maintain mobility and stay relatively pain free.  At first the exercises seemed near impossible as I was asked to work and move muscles I had never felt before the accident; after the accident, every move of these muscles sent a searing pain coursing through my body, lighting me on fire.  I felt as if I had no control over my body.  Linda helped show me how to feel certain muscles so that I could once again regain composure and control over my battered body.

Although I enjoyed Linda, I was not very fond of these sessions.  I started out on a stationary bike and then moved to the treadmill.  We would then proceed to do multiple core exercises on a blue yoga ball.  At first these simple exercises seemed impossible as she asked me to move and lift my broken body in ways I feared would cause me pain.  They did too.  They caused me a lot of pain, but it became manageable as she explained what was happening to my body and it will hurt as we try to heal it.  We never pushed the pain too far though and she was good at knowing what was too much. However, the pain I experienced doing the exercises was nothing compared to the dreaded ending activity when we would do E.T.P.S.  Essentially it was electronic acupuncture.  It was used as a means to help manage my pain after aggravating the injured areas during our work outs.  To me it was hell as she placed metal rods that were conducting low volumes of electricity onto pressure points.  Although the pain in my back did slacken slightly after such exercises, the pain of the process almost made the outcome irrelevant.  It felt as if each pressure point she pressed was being lit on fire and spreading deeper and deeper like a wildfire inside me.  Nerve after nerve came to life as if screaming for her to stop the torture she administered.  The first time I went through this process, I cried out of pain.  The worry in everyone’s faces when they saw me in pain worried me though, so I made sure, I would not be as weak again.  I got better with each session and continued to push myself.  After all, I was determined to get better.

Water therapy was a little more enjoyable because I spent my session in the pool.  Having been athletic most my life I Had done years of swimming and diving and walking into the pool area was a comfort when greeted by the musty warm air and the smell of chlorine.  I would slowly enter the pool and would walk laps with weights.  I would walk laps going forward, toe to heel, and them backwards heel to toe, ending with a sideways step. The first time I went I was elated to see how easy these sessions would be.   When I first entered the water, my pain lessened immediately as the weight was taken off my broken back. I was able to move freely and quickly.  The little shuffle step I had on land seemed silly as I paced the pool, doing my laps quickly and efficiently.  I felt as if I could do anything and quickly sped through my exercises, moving muscles that had been too sore to move on land.  When my time in the water was up my trainer Scott warned me to get out slowly.  I didn’t understand, but I followed his directions and I am glad I did.  With every inch of water I left, I felt an increasing weight and an accompanying pain.  The water therapy allowed me an hour of freedom, but one I paid for dearly.  Due to the pressure taken off my back while in the water I was able to move and work muscles I couldn’t on land.  However, when you can’t feel the pain in the water it was often the case that I pushed myself a little too hard and would pay for it dearly. 

Since I was still trying to wean myself off medication, I only used it when I couldn’t endure anymore.  Often when I was willing to admit it was at that point, I needed instant relief and the pain pills took thirty minutes to reach my system.  So as I prepared for my water days, I would grind half a pill of Vicodin knowing it would dissolve and reach my blood system faster.  I think this process was also a major factor in helping me quit the medication because the bitter, chalky, choking sensation of crushed Vicodin always made me question, how much do I really need this?

I dreaded the pain every session would bring me.  Yet, somehow, I felt more worthwhile and accomplished after every session.  Never in my life have I had to endure so much and accomplish so much in such a small fragment of time.  Although the process was slow I felt as if I were rebuilding myself into a better, stronger person.

Of course I always looked for help and inspiration and my rehabilitation center knew exactly how to brighten my spirits after a grueling session.  In the lobby was a large glass case that stretched the length of the wall and was filled with beautiful little bird I learned were Finches.  My mom has always been fond of birds and after my first session we had stopped to look at them, but such a simple gesture struck my being as these beautiful creatures sang to me.  Flying and flapping their wings in joy, they became the embodiment of what life was and what it was I was fighting so hard to regain.  On the hard days I would often push through a session purely at the remembrance that afterwards I would be able to sit and watch the birds.  I feel in love with them all as they stood as a symbol in my mind and decided that one day I would get me some to always be a reminder.

I started wearing my brace, a large white piece of plastic that stretched from my waist to my chest, with two large Velcro straps that caged me inside.  It was to help support my back muscles, this way there wasn’t as much pain as I tried to hold myself in a sitting position.  I hated the brace.  It was ugly and was so thick and bulky it had to be worn on the outside of my clothes.  I started calling it my turtle shell, trying to make light of the situation.  The more I wore it the more I loved it and what it did for me.  Like the staples it sort of became a part of my body as it helped hold me together.

Of course I didn’t do any of this on my own.  Faithful in every way my family was there for every step I took, but so was Josh.  Although we no longer were considered an item, we still talked every day.  It was still Josh who offered words of encouragement and confidence when my supplies ran low.  He was my best friend who listened to every pain and compliant. I longed for his calls and we would talk for long hours into the night.  We talked of anything and everything, getting to know each other all over again as we recounted the two different lives we were living.  Josh was falling deeper into old habits, but was still working at re-establishing a life.  He continued to work on completing High School; he was now only two classes short and had found a stable job at Quiznos as a manager.  It had been a little over two months since the accident.  Two months earlier Josh was practically homeless and starving, so I was excited to see the change.  Although he had fallen into old habits, he was still improving by leaps and bounds.  I still dreamt of the possibility of us being together, but such thoughts and far off fantasies were left un-vocalized.  Right now we were what each other needed most: a friend.

With every agonizing appointment, I felt myself getting stronger, becoming more aware of and gaining more control of my body.  I set goals and through faith and determination I finished therapy a month early.  It was exhilarating as I walked into my last appointment, knowing this was the end.  I knew I would still have to do exercises at home, but I was graduating from therapy.  People thought I was now well enough to take care of myself.  Although my physical therapists believed I could do it, I wasn’t so sure I could. I still ached throughout the day and night and still needed my mother’s help with a lot of tasks.  How then was I ready to face the world with a broken back?  My therapist’s sunny disposition reminded me what I was there to do.  I peddled on the stationary bike, walked on the treadmill and sped through my core exercises.  Although there was still pain involved with these exercises, I could finish them more completely.  Such tasks and movements didn’t seem impossible anymore.  Linda hugged me when I was through and made me promise I would still come by and see her. I heard praises from many as I finally quit medication and therapy months before what was expected.  People said I would go far and do great things with my positive attitude and desire to succeed.  I however, still felt lost and broken. 

Although I had accomplished these things, matters didn’t seem to get better.  I still couldn’t sleep at night because the pain was so severe and now that I didn’t have the medicine to help me sleep I stayed awake for hours during the night, averaging only three to four hours of sleep if I was lucky.  I still had trouble sitting too long, Standing too long, walking too long, etc. I was having a hard time seeing my progress and I felt more alone than ever now that Josh was so far away.  No one could understand what I was going through and probably not Josh either, but at least he was there in the accident.  If nothing else I knew he understood that.  My parents said they understood what I was going through and in their eyes I’m sure they did, but to me they never could.  No one could.  Yes, they saw the pain, but they could never understand it.  How can you understand what you have never experienced?

I feared falling into a deep depression again and decided to buy my birds sooner than I had anticipated.  I needed a constant reminder of what I was doing and why I was doing it.  I excitedly walked into the pet store and purchased four finches.  Two White-hooded Nuns and two Spice Finch.  I thought long and hard about their names and came up with Faith, Hope, Flight, and Spalding who was named after the rehabilitation center.  Their names were exactly what they were to me and they brought a cheer to my room that had been long lacking.

Josh and I talked even more frequently, hanging up each night with vows of love for one another.  I felt in limbo as my life seemed to keep me in the same place, healing but in pain, in love but alone.  Every day seemed longer than the last and it got once again to a point where I felt as if I was utterly alone in the world.  I felt guilty for all that my family had been through in helping me through recovery and guilty for still longing for Josh.  I felt as if the only thing the car accident did for me was break my spirits and hope.  I knew it was wrong to have such thoughts and if possible, they made me feel even guiltier.  Four months had passed and where was I?. 

I started looking into schools knowing I had to get back into classes.  Because of my back I would have to transfer in sate for continued doctor’s appointments.  I checked out several schools and quickly gravitated towards Colorado State University.  As I filled out transfer forms and applications I couldn’t help but feel cheated at having lost a year of school.  Yet, it pushed me to want to work harder and faster to get back on track.  I started setting new goals, mapping out a life I wanted to live. 

While setting new goals I couldn’t help but think of old goals and plans.  It was now April.  Josh and I were supposed to have gotten back together this month so we could get married.  Such a goal seemed near impossible.  Not much had changed.  In fact, it was slowly getting worse.  Josh had stopped attending classes and his education once again took the back seat as he filled his time instead with his job, his friends, and his habits.  The month when we were supposed to come together seemed to me as if we couldn’t be any further apart.

Chapter one: The Accident; Two Different Worlds All over Again

December 27, 2004, the day I was to go with him to the airport.  I decided to dress up as sexy as I could for him; for a conservative person like me, it wasn’t much, but in my tight jeans, black spaghetti top, and black leather jacket, I felt beautiful.  I put on extra makeup and my large golden hoops, making sure to wear my hair curly, the way he liked it.  I guess had I known the outcome of my trip, I wouldn’t have worn what I did, but at that moment, I was in love and invincible.

I arrived early so that we could make out and talk once again of our plans. It sounded do-able as we planned for Josh to go home and sober up.  He was to get a job and finish High School where we would meet back in Colorado in April so that we could start planning our marriage.  Josh expressed his desire to stay in Colorado and feared returning home, but I convinced him there was no other way.  I knew he needed his parents and their support; they could be the authority I could not.  I made him promise me he would go home and do what he had committed to do.

The time to leave came too quickly.  His friend wanted to take him to the airport and I asked if I could ride along.  The three of us squeezed into the small, red, two seated Mazda Miata.  Since it was David’s car, he was going to drive and I would sit on Josh’s lap.  I was so excited to have an excuse to sit so close to him.  The seat belt wouldn’t fit around us and I was excited as I felt his strong arms around my waist as he told me he would be my seat belt.  We pulled out of the subdivision and I was content.  The contentment was short lived, as was our trip when my life changed forever.

I don’t remember much, just a minute here and there. I remember having to sit in a chair as someone bathed me.  I remember a family friend sitting at my bedside.  I remember asking where Josh was and I remember being told he flew to Florida and hasn’t been heard from.  I remember my aunt coming into the room crying.  I remember my father telling me I could do it; I could walk out of here.  I remember the painful ride home and I remember sleeping.

I felt as if I were living in an incomplete dream, a life that was about me, but not really my own as I watched through medicated eyes the events I had no control over.  It was only later that my parents helped fill in all the gaps. 

On our way to the air port a car pulled out in front of us.  On impact I hit the windshield knocking me unconscious.  I was pulled from the vehicle by paramedics and then rushed to the nearest hospital.  It was upon arriving there that they informed me of their concerns of either a broken neck or back, which usually results in paralysis.  They also expressed a concern of brain damage and fear of a concussion due to the impact which had caused blood to run from my ears and nostrils.  My parents cried as they recounted their experience of arriving in the emergency room seeing me covered in blood, bruised and battered and the trauma it caused them and my sister as she was forced to leave my view for fear of fainting at seeing my condition.  They tried to convey to me the seriousness of my condition and how close I was to losing my life.  After several tests and hours of excruciating pain it was determined that I had shattered my Lumbar One Vertebra.  This is the vertebra in the center of your back.  If one were to bend over it is the one where your back curves.  Due to its high location they thought for sure I had some paralysis.  However, doctors and nurses alike were amazed that while several fragments of the bone lay against the spinal column, none had punctured it, so I had maintained complete use of all my extremities.  If that wasn’t miracle enough they were again amazed that my brain function seemed to be normal and although I had smashed my head against a windshield at fifty miles an hour, I didn’t even have a concussion.   While these were blessings, there was still a lot of trauma and an extreme seriousness to what I had suffered.  It was then concluded that I would need surgery as soon as they could find a neurosurgeon and trauma team to operate.  The surgeries were then scheduled for the 29^th and 30^th of December.

During the first surgery they entered my body through the left side, where the trauma surgeon team moved all of the vital organs around and detached my diaphragm to give the neurosurgeon access to the spinal column.  The neurosurgeon team then carefully encased all of the bone fragments in a titanium cage and extracted bone from my hip to add to my new metal cage to make sure that the bone would then be able to fuse into its rightful place, restoring my lost vertebra.  Two rods were also placed alongside the cage to allow movement in that area of my back and hold the cage in place.  After five and a half hours I was then returned to the Intensive Care Unit where I was put under heavy sedation until surgery the following morning.

The next morning I was again taken into surgery where they then entered my body through my back along the spinal column.  The doctors put in two large rods so that I would have no loss or limitations in my movements.  After this five hour procedure, I was then again returned to the Intensive Care Unit where I received a blood transfusion to replace all the blood I had lost.  I stayed in the hospital for another two weeks learning how to walk with a walker, then with a cane, and then with nothing at all.  The doctors said it was okay to use a cane for a month or so, but according to my parents, I wanted to walk out of the hospital on my own.

After my three week stay in the hospital I was released and able to return home with my family where I would continue to work on my recovery.  Once I returned home, I became more aware of my situation and what had happened to me.  The hardest thing for me to overcome was the pain.  Even though I was highly medicated, the pain was sometimes so unbearable that all I could do was lie in my bed for hours as I tried desperately to remember what had put me into these circumstances.  My family was a very large support to me as they answered all of my questions several times and explained that due to the head collision I had “bruised my brain” in the area that effects hearing, sight, and memory.  Since it was a bruise it shouldn’t be permanent and things would return to me with time.  They also explained that back pain is the worst type of pain a person could have.  Had I not have been as heavily sedated and medicated then literally the pain alone would have killed me. The pain was so severe it can send a person in shock and stop their heart.  However, due to this sedation, I may never remember the accident or my time in the hospital.  My family taught me to look at it as a blessing that I don’t remember much of the accident; for me though, that’s three weeks of my life I don’t remember and it was scary for me as I tried and piece together other people’s memories, in time making them my own.  Although this bothered me, my parents helped me see that all I needed to focus on now was my recovery.

Although I had my families support, I felt more alone than ever.  I didn’t fully understand what had happened to me and I felt like a burden as my family took care of me, feeling as if all of it were my fault.  I was rendered utterly incapable of performing the simplest of tasks.  My mother bathed, fed, and dressed me.  Yet, all the while I was wondering why Josh had left me.  I didn’t understand why he wouldn’t stay with me in the hospital like my other friends and family did.  My mother got upset every time I tried to talk about him.  She said it was his fault I was in the car and she was bitter about the fact he left me while I was still in the hospital.  My heart was broken and heavy just as my body was.  I ached in ways I never knew I could hurt.  Every moment I was awake I hurt from the inside out wondering what I had done so wrong to be where I was.  I wanted to badly to be strong.  I wanted to recover quickly and brush off my broken heart, but both tasks felt impossible.  I tried to teach myself to take things day by day, telling myself my life will be better for all of this, but such thoughts were easily clouded and lost.  Was this really my punishment for falling for a silly boy?  I didn’t think so.  In fact I felt as if everything that happened to me was entirely my fault and my fault alone.  I was the stupid one who decided to get into a car without a seatbelt.  I was the one who had gotten hurt and it was my fault my family was hurting due to my pain.  I didn’t share these thoughts though because I knew they would only be dismissed and I felt comforted by the love and support that surrounded me despite my decisions.

Due to the medication and pain, my day consisted of me sitting or lying on the couch for hours until I was finally tired enough to sleep.  Because of the medication, I had a very limited attention span that made watching TV difficult.  So all I was able to do was contemplate.  This was the case for the first two weeks after my return home.  I tried to figure out why I had been the only person injured when everyone else was able to walk away from the accident.  I tried to understand how this could happen when I was supposed to have left for college on the 29^th of December, knowing that I would now miss out on a year of school and the scholarship that I had been awarded.  I also fought with the thought of me now having 80 staples and large scars that I would carry for the rest of my life.

It was on one of these more troubled days that he called me for the first time, apologizing profusely for taking so long in calling me.  He told me he had been e-mailing me instead because he knew what my parents thought of him, but more importantly he hadn’t called because of the guilt he felt.  He too blamed the accident on himself.  After all we were the ones taking him to the airport.  I heard the pain in his voice as he told me how my mother looked at him while they were in the waiting room.  He said he knew he was a coward for not talking with her, but he didn’t know how he could explain why her daughter was in the situation she was.  He told me of how badly he wanted to stay with me, but left to return to his parents’ house so that he could become a man I would marry.  He went home only because I had made him promise me that he would do so. 

It still hurt that I had to go through all of this without him, but he was right.  I had made him promise to go home and now he had the opportunity to change his life around like we had planned. I knew my parents wouldn’t approve of me talking with him again, but how could I not?  We e-mailed and talked on the phone every day.  I would be lying if I said I was not upset for him leaving while in the hospital, but I understood why he left and the importance of his needing to leave.  I rejoiced to have him back in my life because I did love him and because he was in the car accident with me, he gave me the memories I did not have.  Once again I felt as though he were the only one who could understand me because he was in the car with me.  He was there when the paramedics had to pull my lifeless body from the car.  He saw me beat up and bloody and still loved me.  According to him, it made him love me more. 

Although he didn’t understand the pain I woke to every morning and although he couldn’t see the helpless condition I was in, he understood because he was there when it all happened and was able to fill in the gaps my parents could not.  I felt like I once again had a reason to get better.  I had a reason to try and walk again, to try and dress and bath myself again.  Although my parents hated it, Josh gave my life purpose again because I knew I was loved by someone who didn’t have to love me.  I never doubted his love either; after all he gave up his life in Colorado so that he could clean himself up.  Every day we would talk of the smoke he never took and the difficulties of letting things go.  He told me how happy his parents were to have him home and how he never realized how close to death he had been.  You see Josh would give up eating for days on end so that he could afford his next fix.  He would call complaining about how eating made his stomach hurt, but he was gaining some healthy weight.  I was so excited to hear that he was finally changing his life for the better. 

My life, however, never felt like it was getting better.  No one can tell me they know what it feels like unless someone else has lain down and felt the staples in their back push up against the mattress. I wish I knew how to describe the pain I felt, but word cannot come close to conveying the intensity of every movement, every breath, every yawn and every cough.  There was pain in everything.  Yes I had pain meds, but they only helped me sleep, which would help while I was asleep, but every waking moment was agony.  I felt as if I had liquid molten burning me from the inside out.  I felt as if the very core of me was constantly on fire and nothing I did would help.  My parents had been trained to ask how the pain was so they could administer medication, but I saw the look in their eyes every time they saw the pain and knew they could do nothing about it.  I wanted to be strong so I did the only thing I could do: I pushed through it.

Push through it. Many days that was easier said than done.  Especially the day I went to have the staples removed.  The doctor pulled out what looked like small pliers and explained he was going to do this as quickly as possible.  I wasn’t sure what to expect, after all I was always in constant pain, what more could he do to me?  I hadn’t realized that the skin had grown around the staples, so it felt as if he were ripping pieces of my skin out as he pulled each staple out and in reality that’s exactly what he was doing.  The pain was intense and I was upset at him for yanking out the staples one after the other without giving me time to so much as catch my breath.  As weird as it sounds I had come to know the staples, so it felt as if he were ripping out a part of my body and it hurt.  When I got home I looked in my full length mirror, horrified at what I saw.  I had a long purple line that ran along my side and all the way up my back and on each side of the line there was a dot from where the staples had been.  It looked as if I had been zipped together.  I cried.  What had happened to my body? When I finally had the courage I would touch the soft purple scar feeling its raised edge above my otherwise smooth skin.  I hated how it felt and hated how it looked, but I guess it was minimal outward damage; after all, I could have suffered a lot more (Picture 8).

  The medication continued to prove valueless as I realized my parents were spending hundreds of dollars a week on my pain medication.  Due to the pain and the medication I had no appetite and often times had to force feed myself a smoothie just to get needed calories.  The pain medication didn’t relieve much of the pain; how could it be relieving much when all I did all day every day was hurt? I tried to hide the pain as much as I could and I decided with certainty that I wanted to quit the medication.  I thought quitting the medication would be easy because it didn’t seem to be helping much and  I was determined to not only get better, but to get better fast.  I had a life to live and I didn’t want to miss any of it.  After all I still had a boyfriend I wanted to marry in four months.

Getting off the medication was not as easy as I had anticipated.  After only two months of medication I already felt my body needing it.  As I already said, the pain medication in the end did little for my pain, but I felt as if I had to swallow every pill.  I had to have the vicodin, valium, and dilotted (sp?) running through my veins.  It was a weird sensation as I sat on the couch thinking I needed to get up and take a pain pill.  Often times I would argue with myself in my head telling myself I wasn’t in too much pain, nothing out of the usual, why then would I want to put those chemicals in my body?  The other half of me would always respond that it would make me feel better, plus it had become habit; all I needed to do was get up and take my pill.  It was a constant battle but I started cutting medications out and I felt more alone and depressed than ever before.  I felt pain every minute of every hour and starting thinking of solutions that would make the pain stop, but the only solution with that resolution was death. 

Yes, I constantly thought about death.  I had been saved from death and in every sense I should be dead right now.  I didn’t die though, I felt.  I felt every second and I wanted to stop feeling because it was just too much.  My body wanted the medication and I hated myself for wanting it and when I did not take it I hated the life I had.  I would lie in bed and wonder why I was forced to live.  I knew this depression was due to the medication, but so many thoughts clouded my mind making me hate what I went through every day.  I began having trouble sleeping and I would lie awake while the rest of the house slept soundly.  I wasn’t sure I would ever sleep a full night again.  How could I ever have a normal life?  I was putting so much strain on my family, how could I continue to do this to them?  Wouldn’t it just be easier to end it all?  My mother was constantly by my side speaking words of encouragement and congratulating me on my positive outlook, but inside I hated it all. Luckily I was never so desperate as to try suicide, but I thought about it; a lot.  I though what it would feel like if I over dosed on my pain medication, maybe then at least my back might not hurt.  I thought over and over how I wished I had died in the car.  It would have been so quick.  Especially since I can’t remember it; that would be the ideal way to go.  Even if they would have let the pain stop my heart, then I would have at least had an end to the pain.  Anything really as long as something could take away the pain that was eating my body and mind.  I could never do that though after everything people had done to save my life.  I was surrounded by friends and family who loved me, but the pain of my body and the pain of the craving weakened me, making me feel as if I didn’t deserve to live anyway.  I hated my situation and I hated myself for hating everything.  Once again, there was only one person who understood what I was going through.

Josh talked me through my depressions and could relate to these cravings my body had.  We were able to relate as we felt as if we both had no control over what our minds desired.  We talked for hours on our progress and what the other had to endure during the day.  I went to bed every night realizing I wasn’t alone.  Although my mom helped me with my whole recovery, it seemed as if Josh were the only one who could help me with my depression because he was the only one who really understood what it was like to have such conflicting emotions fight inside of you.  I felt as if every thought was clouded and looking back on it, I realize it was.  It was a sickening circle of doubts and negativity pulling me down, having me ask myself what was the point of even getting out of bed because in truth there was so little I could accomplish.  Despite all this negativity, Josh was there to relate to and I grew increasingly thankful he was sticking by me.

Every day that went by I heard more and more negative things about Josh from my mother and family.  They kept telling me that I really didn’t know if Josh was cleaning his life up and where was he when I needed him the most.  He was a person I could not rely on and I shouldn’t be expected to take care of him.  He has no education and no goals so why waste my time talking to him when I have friends and family here who love me.  I almost lost my life and this is my new beginning, my chance to start over.  A chance to dedicate myself to my Lord, my studies and my goals, things I couldn’t do with Josh.

After hearing such things every day they began to make sense.  I didn’t really have a reason to break up with Josh, but I did.  I told him I needed to focus on recovery and he needed to prove to me he could do what he went to Florida to do.  We didn’t speak for a couple of nights.

When we talked again I found out he had returned to his old habits.  He had been cleaning himself up for me and now that he didn’t have me, what was the point?  I on the other hand pushed forward as I began physical therapy and once again we were in two very different worlds.

New Beginnings: Prologue

Author’s Note

Although this book is a memoir some might see it as lacking focus as my stories and perspectives change course.  I want the reader to know that this is intentional.  Although I talk a lot about my accident and my relationship with Josh, this is not what the book is about.  Instead, it is about the progression of the human mind as we come to accept and deal with things of our past; it is about the opportunity we repeatedly have to start over, plotting a new course as we review who we were, distinguishing between who we do and do not want to become.  In my life I feel I have been given a second chance and repeated opportunities to not only reshape what I was and what I wanted to be, but also to have a new start in new adventures as I struggled through different phases of life.  I admit, I felt very lost through all of this and the main reason for writing my experiences was to come to a conclusion about my past and push on as I feel I am starting all over again as my husband joins the Army.  I do not profess to be a good writer or even a good story teller, but I believe a life lived to be a valuable experience and I have written mine down with all of its flaws and maybe even an unscrupulous amount of truth.  All the thoughts and feelings (some trite and confusing) are all true.  I have held nothing back and only wish to represent my life to the fullest.  I hope this introduction has not made you wary to read this and instead made you excited to know who I am and what I have lived through in hopes that we can relate, which I believe most everyone can because like everyone else, I was young, in love, and foolish and I feel many have learned many of the same valuable lessons.

Cherish Borland

July, 2009

 

Prologue

The boy I fell in love with was a confused and lost individual that my family and friends warned against.  They tried to make me see that he was not worth my time.  They feared that his reckless and in their eyes, selfish ways would bring me down.  To them, my moral well being was at stake as I immersed myself in his life and bad habits.  I knew of his habits; he had always been known in High School as the stoner.  Years afterward I was well aware of how his habits had progressed.  Despite this and our disagreeable past, I saw something worth staying for.  For the first time in my life I felt as if I was finally understood and seen in a way I had only dreamed of.  When I looked into his eyes I saw an intensity I had never seen or felt before, but in them I also saw a longing for me; Such desire no one had ever offered me before and my chubby insecure nineteen year old self fell in love with the desire he had for me.

              I didn’t agree with any of his legal or illegal habits, but I felt compelled to stay in hopes of understanding the boy who hid in his smoke.  I wanted to make him feel the same way he made me feel: loved and wanted.

              We quickly became an item and with that came warnings and comments.  Typically I would have listened to them.  I had always been the goody-two-shoe academic, religious daughter and friend, but this time I felt as if I needed to see where this went.  Never before had I had such a strong urge so against my typical characteristics, but I liked it and I felt we both deserved to know where this would take us. I have to admit I felt guilty every time I stepped into the smoke filled apartment, but the guilt was nothing compared to the intense excitement that drew me back into his arms.  It felt so good to finally do what I wanted to do despite my parent’s wishes, but even better, it felt so good to be loved and to be loved by the most unlikely of boys.

              For the first time in my life, I felt sexy as I lie on the cheap black futon with him, curled in his arms and touch.  I felt desired with the power and eagerness of every kiss and caress he offered.  Despite the ecstasy of his company, I feared too.  I knew I was leaving to return to school in three weeks, so I tried not to grow attached, after all how could it possibly work when we came from two different worlds?  Yet, I feared losing this connection.  Josh made me feel free in every sense of the meaning.  All growing up I was the responsible, practical child, but no one seemed to understand that was a façade of what was expected of me; inside I felt like such a different person and so far only Josh had been able to see that. We had already said we loved each other and after one week were already talking about getting married, but I knew such thoughts could only be a fantasy.  Although I loved him for what he could do for me, I knew I couldn’t marry his habits and there was still so much more to him I wanted to learn about him first.  Plus nineteen was so young to be married and although he talked about marriage, I felt that’s all it was: talk. 

              I relished all the time I could share with him and for the next few weeks we were inseparable.  I started calling in sick to work so that I could lie in his arms all day and talk about how our connection was unlike any other.  It was during these conversations that we started talking about the seriousness of getting married and what we would both need.  He was open to my concerns about the life he was living, which surprised me because he had always been so sensitive about feeling like people were trying to change him.  We both agreed that his lifestyle was not healthy for him or our relationship so we began making plans to help him cut addictions out of his life.  Although he had practically run away from home we both decided it was his parents who could help him most. 

`             I was proud of the courage he had as he called his parents for the first time in over a year.  He told them of his desire to change and his inability to afford a way home.  Without many questions he had a plane ticket set up for him.  He would be leaving in a week.

I tried not to be bothered by this.  After all I would be leaving only three days after him to head back up to school in Idaho.  Plus I was extremely excited that he wanted to clean up his life not only for himself, but so we could share our lives with each other.  I wasn’t sure how a long distance relationship would work, but I knew we could do it if we both wanted it.  However, I tried not to think too far ahead and just enjoyed every second we had.

The days sped past and before I realized that Josh’s departure was just around the corner.  I knew my parents were looking forward to his exit.  I guess they thought we wouldn’t last long, but they never were willing to see what I did.  To them this would be the end of our relationship and the end of my rebellion…but for me and Josh it was just the beginning.

A story I have been working on today. Would love some feedback!

              She awoke with her skirt tangled in a satin, fabric knot around her waist.  The lime green hue of the fabric had enchanted her; a color a fairy princess would wear, but now it only reminded her of sick.  Her carefully constructed hair lay on top of her head like a bird’s nest; woven and knotted together exposing stray strands which hung limply around her pale face and scattered meanderingly around her head on her pillow.  Her whole body hurt and the thought of even sitting up seemed to be too much for her.  She felt movement in the bed next to her reminding her that the nightmare she remembered was in fact reality.  She knew he was awake.  She had hoped she could have snuck out before he came to, but now she would just have to endure the awkwardness and pain.  She wasn’t ready to face him yet; how could she after all he had taken from her last night. And yet, at the same time, her skin was still electric and alive; residue of his touch from the night before.

Fully awake and aware of her settings Amelia began pulling down her skirts, as if that would take away some of the shame that burned her soul and skin.  She tried sitting up but the nausea was still too much and she was forced once again to lie by his side.  As she laid there she tried to gather her head enough to make an escape, trying at the same time to piece together the fuzzy pieces she remembered from the night before; but, as she pondered these things she was disgusted and revolted when she felt his tongue in her ear.  His hand slid over her exposed leg and flashes from the night before paralyzed her.  She wanted to push him away.  She wanted to run, but she would be lucky if she could even walk.  Plus, there seemed to be no point in fighting him now, he had already taken what he had wanted and she knew he was going to take it again.

              She felt his hand move further up her thigh.  She turned her head away from him so she wouldn’t have to look him in the face.  By doing this, she left her neck exposed which must have been an invitation to him because she soon felt his tongue and lips working themselves over the softest parts of her neck.  Her body reacted naturally and sent goose bumps up and down her legs and arms, further fueling his desire.  Couldn’t he tell she didn’t want him?

              “Please stop” She whispered as she brushed his hand from her leg.

              “I can tell you like it though” he coerced, “Your just trying to be a tease.”

              He pressed the weight of his body on top of her, grabbing and fondling her breast as he did.  He moved his other hand to her face and gently caressed her snowy skin.

              “So beautiful” he mumbled as he moved towards her lips.  She moved her head, just barely avoiding the impact, knowing his breath on hers would make her sick.

              “There’s no reason to get all moody” he said with an edge on his voice, “you practically screamed for it last night.”

              Her body felt numb and paralyzed.  She only remembered pieces from last night, but she knew that the feelings she was having now had been the same then.  She wanted to stop him as he pulled her skirts up around her waist again, but no words came out of her mouth.  Although she hated him and what he was doing to her, there didn’t seem to be a point in fighting anymore and she felt guilty and responsible because as much as she hated it, she was curious at the way it all felt.  She couldn’t comprehend how such a disgusting thought could even enter her head and it only made her hate herself more.

              She could feel him rubbing his hardened part up against her and she knew what was coming.   She tried to make sense of it in her head.  After all Tony was the boy she had always fantasized about dating and the slim chance that he had asked her to prom seemed too good to be true.  I guess in the end it was.  For him she was just a way to get his rocks off.  He never once stopped to think of the gift she had been saving.  She tried to think if she had done anything to ignite this trauma.  It all started with them kissing, but kissing was innocent.  In fact she had kissed several boys.  Kissing did not mean sex.  He had grabbed her breast and although it sent tingles up her spine she didn’t want to be the cliché of losing her virginity on prom night; call her a hopeless romantic, but she wanted it to be special, not dirty and cheap in the back of a car or in some sleazy hotel.  Tony had coerced her into drinking several drinks; several times it was at the point where she drank them just so he would stop hassling her about not drinking them.  But how, how did all of that lead to this?  That thought was slammed out of her head though as he roughly forced his way into her.  She squeezed her eyes shut believing that might make it all go away, but she could still feel him moving and panting above her.  She felt as if she would be sick, but with him all around her she felt trapped and alone.  Who could save her?  She had already found out she couldn’t save herself.

              She tried so hard not to think about it, to try and think about her kitten and her favorite books, but no one could ignore the pull she felt every time he tried to push deeper and deeper.  She wanted to scream, but was scared that would only make him want more so she cried silently inside pleading with God to make him finish soon.  As if her prayers were answered she felt him speed up, gaining momentum and she knew the end was near.  That’s when a new fear struck her.  She didn’t remember him putting on a condom.  Would he pull out?  It all seemed to be happening too quick and before she realized what had happened he was pulling himself out and grinning like he had just hit a home run.  Then again, that’s what he had done; he had just hit one home.

              Tears leaked out the corner of Amelia’s eyes and Tony seemed slightly put out that she wasn’t as thrilled as he was.  Amelia rolled onto her side away from him, feeling his home run slip out onto her legs.  This pushed her nausea to a new level and she hurled uncontrollably onto a pile of clothes on the floor.  She could hear him ranting, his voice upset, but the world grew blurry and then dark.  Amelia had passed out.

              There was no one to tell.  How could she explain anyway the way she felt to awake half covered in her own sick?  How could she explain the shame she felt as she searched around the strange room, she could only assume to be his bedroom, looking for the underwear she had worn the night before?  How could describe what it felt like as she felt helpless, trying to fully cover herself, stumbling around a strange house searching for an exit.  How could she explain the lonesomeness?  What was she to do?  She couldn’t tell her parents; they didn’t approve of her going to the prom at all and losing one’s virginity whether through choice or force was still considered a sin.  If they knew she would be a harlot to them and she knew for a fact they would not allow her filth to reside in their home.  She couldn’t tell people at school because she was the quiet academic while he was the student body president; no one would take her word over his.  Who else was there?  Teachers? Police? No they would only get her parents involved and she was scared of what they would think of her.  Because her parents couldn’t know, neither could anyone else.  She really was all alone.

              Amelia stumbled through the front door of her house, too concerned with what had just happened to fully prepare herself for the barrage of questions her parents were waiting to pepper her with.  After all she already felt like a piece of meat, why not add a little seasoning of “where were you last night.” “You have become such a troubled child.” “What have we done wrong?” and the best one yet, “We are so disappointed in you.”  Usually she was able to write it off and over excessive concern and love, but when she walked in the house she could see the disgust on their faces and she understood how they felt because she too was disgusted and she didn’t know how to make it go away.  Today their words burned her soul and she felt ashamed for living and breathing.  Maybe she had breathed too close to his ear and he thought she was hitting on him.  Maybe it was just because she was a girl and simply being born was reason enough to make a guy want to rape her.  The molten tears leaked from her unblinking eyes and she was struck at how even that could be made sexual as a warm liquid escaped from her.  Now even her tears made her sick. 

              No longer able to endure the daggers of her parents, Amelia stumbled into the bathroom believing that somehow once she washed herself clean things would be okay.  She peeled the once beautiful dress from her body and threw it in the trash.  She fumbled clumsily with the bobby pins and decorations in her hair, half ripping them out, throwing it all away as if she could throw the thought of prom and what followed in the trash as well.  She looked in the mirror and had heard rumor of the after sex glow when one looses their virginity and was scared there might be something on her body ready to betray her horrible secret.  However, when she looked in the mirror, she looked just like she always had.  She was still short and slender with long caramel blonde hair.  Her round cheeks and big blue eyes did not show any sort of glow, in fact the menacing scowl scared her because it looked enraged rather than beaten and broken like she felt.  She looked at her small chest and wondered how such silly things could attract so much attention; they were utters after all, how is that sexy?  She wanted to rip them off and throw them in the trash as well.  She wanted to rip off all the feminine on her because then maybe no one would see her, the way Tony had.  The thought made her stomach turn and she thought she might have to head toward the toilet.  She sat down on the cool linoleum floor feeling her bare bum turn icy on contact, wishing it was her head turning cold, freezing all the thoughts that jumped through her head.  She curled her arms around her legs trying to hold in the flood of emotions she was burning inside with.  As she rested her head on her arms she could smell her skin and to her it smelled of sex. She imagined peeling off her skin and throwing that in the trash as well, as if that would cleanse her.  She shook the morbid thoughts from her head and stood uneasily on shaky legs turning the water on as hot as it would go.  If she couldn’t peel it off, then she could at least burn it off. 

              She stood under the hard steam of near scalding water for what seemed like hours, scrubbing her skin with a washcloth until it burned.  At least the outside parts of her body matched the way her insides felt: burning and raw.  She had hoped the pain on the outside would distract from the pain on the inside, but that was only hopeful thinking.  She half crawled from the shower, wrapping herself in her towel and collapsing on the floor finally letting loose the invisible dam that has before slowed her tears.  She cried until she began dry heaving and she almost wished she would through up in order to feel some sort of purging.

              Amelia tried to avoid her parents piercing looks and their quietly enraged demeanor.  She had been grounded to the house for the next two months.  The grounding didn’t bother her though.  She only had a couple of close friends who like her, rarely went out as they sought to maintain their 4.0 GPA  while taking as many AP classes they could in hopes of getting college credit under their belt while still in High School.  With an over-zealous preacher as a father and a mouse of a mother, Amelia hadn’t exactly learned how to reach out and socialize with a lot of people.  Amelia was quite aware that she, like her mother, shrank into the shadow of her father’s ever condemning gaze.  She had learned at an early age that it was better to keep quiet and do as she was told.  Being an only child she simply followed what she saw and had learned the ways of her mother.  However, her mother would never have gotten into Amelia’s current situation and Amelia hated that she had.

              It’s not like she had all the sudden come out of her shell either.  It had all been happen-stance.  After gym class she had lost track of time in the locker room and realized she only had four minutes to rush to the other side of the school for her AP Literature class.  She was trying to stuff her dirty gym clothes in her back pack as she rushed out the door and into him.  Of course she knew it was Tony.  Everyone knew who Tony was.  No one knew who she was though and she shrunk back apologetically trying to explain her rush.  He looked at her quizzically as he quickly looked her up and down, shrugged his shoulders and walked on.  She was mortified for her clumsiness and tardiness and had forgotten all about the encounter after she had chastised herself.

              About a week later Amelia was standing in the lunch line when she felt someone nudge her with their tray.  With the hustle and bustle of the cafeteria she thought nothing of it until another shove and a husky “hey you” got her attention.  Turning around she saw she saw Tony standing there.  He directed his tray towards the bottled drinks just out of his reach.

              “Grab me a soda, wont ya?”

              Amelia timidly complied despite the fact the line was already moving forward and he could reach the beverages himself.  As she did so he looked at her and she watched his eyebrows raise in recognition.

              “Hey, you’re the chick that hit me.”

              Horrified Amelia corrected him. “No.  Only ran into you.” She replied as she tried to put a smile on her face despite her embarrassment.  She watched a grin spread across his face.

              “Either way I thought I was on the field or something.  You should think about trying out for the team.” He joked.

              “The team?” Amelia asked

              “The football team” he chuckled, “no one would see you coming”

              Amelia blushed at the absurd idea.

              “Names Tony”

              “Amelia” she replied quietly as she shook his outstretched hand as she balanced her tray in the other.

              “Looks like you’re up” he said as he gestured towards the cash register.

              Amelia placed her tray down and fumbled for the cash in her pockets.  She knew she was blushing because she could feel the flush run up her neck and betray her cheeks.  Here she was finally being noticed and all she could ever seem to manage was making a fool of herself.  She hurriedly paid for her lunch and made a bee line for her favorite table in the corner where she had room to spread out her homework while she ate.