Succumbing to Scars and Sorrow

The day arose as most did. I awoke feeling slightly sour, my mood the result from last night’s binge. I was imprisoned by the ferocious downward spiral that had consumed my life and altered it forever. I was convinced that it wasn’t worth giving a care about-my life that is. I was used disappointing myself and all the people I loved so much. It hurt the greatest to see the people who mean a lot to me live in constant turmoil.

I was like a tigress whose stripes would remain the same for eternity. I was sure that my life would be unsatisfactory and I would die alone with a closet full of skeletons and many regrets. Since I lost my innocence things went downhill from there. I was absolutely certain that I was in the murkiest of disconsolate places and that there would never be any faith in my future.

I staggered out of bed feeling a cold chill shoot through the pads of my feet into my legs like a blast of electric lightening. The emotional pain was manifesting into physical pain... something I was also accustomed to over the past several years, whether it is self-induced or not.

Moments later I found myself in the bathroom and splashed cool water on my face eager to feel revitalized. Too bad that also proved to be ineffective. The dark, saddened circles remained beneath my bright brown eyes. That low-spirited cloud of gray had lurked over my body and somehow had seared the effects into my olive complexion.

I left the bathroom and wrapped my favorite pink, knee-length fuzzy robe over my scarred and broken body. I then headed down my narrow hallway and into my tiny kitchen to start my Keurig coffee maker and light my morning cigarette.

I proceeded to check my phone to see if I had sent any text messages or made any calls that I would have be repentant for. Thankfully I hadn’t. I poured my hazelnut flavored coffee into my beloved pink china coffee cup with matching saucer that my grandmother had given me months before she died. For a few seconds a crooked smile appeared at the edges of my mouth with the sweet memories of my aging grandmother and her tiny, wrinkled, loving hands.

“Ti amo di piu” she would say to me.

I would then reply “No, Nonie, I love you more!”

Memories of my grandmother always brought me back to my happy place.

I added cream and sugar to my coffee stirring carefully so I would not spill the hot contents on the perfectly hand-painted pink heirloom saucer. I lit another Parliament and took a long drag contemplating the upcoming day. “No failure!” I yelled in my head. “You can do this. Prove yourself and everyone wrong.” I chanted to myself again.

I felt as if I had no choice but to feel determination… to set off my attitude and fill it positively unlike my usual pessimistic one; trusting the newness of my future would change the aura that had shadowed me for what seemed like eons. This would be my last chance for something genuinely good and normal.

My mind was racing with thoughts of how my first day would go. I had just graduated from Loyola University with a degree in public relations and marketing. I had landed an internship at a prestigious public relations and marketing firm. It was going to be my last chance to try to believe in myself. I was going to try my best to make something good out of years of bad.

It was amazing that I had managed to stay in school and make halfway decent grades. That was important to my parents and that must have been the only thing I had managed to do right in some time. I loved portraying a smart and organized woman who was also good with other people. Surprisingly I was honest at reading others and making respectable business decisions.

Even if I was alone for the rest of my life (because of my past I was certain this to be true) I wanted something to be proud of. Even if it wasn’t me, I figured I would try to center it around my career. I would try my damndest to be the best at what I learned in school. Put my skills to use and move up into the advertising world. Fill my hours with work so I wouldn’t have to think of all the unhappiness that had taken such a large chunk out of my life.

I was fucked up and no one would be able to fix me. I could not even repair myself, though I’m not sure how much I tried. Deep down I was ready for something spectacular to happen. But I was used to only seeing that in movies and reading it in romance novels and was sure that there was never going to be a happily ever after for me.

I could settle for a seventy hour a week work week with little sleep and spending Saturday nights with a nice bottle of Shiraz and lifetime movies in my favorite sweat pants and tank top. “Accept it Lyla” I said to myself once more.

I had continuously had dreams of getting out of the shitty little Midwestern town that I grew up in. Thinking of Rigdon, Kansas made my stomach churn with the horrid memories that I left behind and hadn’t revisited in four years. It was the type where everyone knew everything about all and sundry. It was all about who’s who and where the money was and who had the greatest of it.

I was lucky that my mother married into it. He was a good man whom I considered my father. I had given him more grief than he deserved. He was decent to me and I hadn’t seen it until it was close to being too late.

My mother was an outstanding woman. She was the one I could always count on. No matter what I knew she loved me but I always ended up not satisfying her. I was trusting that my internship would turn things around for not only me but for all those who I let down. I wanted to prove everyone wrong.

“Enough thinking of the past” I thought. It was time to get ready for the newest adventure of my wayward life. I walked into my tiny bathroom and turned on the shower, full hotness to wash away what I had been trying to for years. I opened the shower curtain and lodged myself into the tub letting the hot water tread down all my curves trying not to think of anything.

As much as I tried, I always failed and I felt the tears pool in my eyes. I stopped myself this morning. I didn’t want my eyes to be swollen from the tears so I took a few seconds to compose myself and finished up cleaning my physically and emotionally scarred body.

I stepped out of the shower and wiped the fog off the mirror and glowered at my naked body, hating every inch of myself. I touched the scars that covered most of the surface of my stomach and winced at the recollections.

People had told me I was pretty but I never saw it. My size twelve hips, full breasts, and backside always had me self-conscious since the Marilyn Monroe body was no longer in and anorexic was. I was curvy and voluptuous. Maybe that was because most of my supposed friends back at home were blonde and size zero. That just wasn’t me. Of course I strived to be such and always came back dissatisfied.

I rubbed lotion on my olive toned skin pleased with all my tattoos. My favorite one was between my shoulder blades that read “Only God Can Judge Me” in Hebrew. I did love my skin and all my body art. I had a large pink lotus flower covering the right side of my rib cage and a The Virgin Mary along the latter half of my back. I got my skin tone from my mother’s family who were Sicilian.

I dressed in my black pencil skirt and white blouse and put on my red pumps that matched my fire-red lipstick. I applied my smoky eyes with a small amount of jet-black eyeliner and black mascara. I decided to pull my long black hair into a sleek pony tail and be on my way to the newest venture of my life.

I wasn’t all that frightened about starting my internship. I had optimism that it would put some sort of light back into my life. I grabbed my keys and stepped out of my apartment...