BOUND

 

I'm not rebellious. They are. I'm not terrible. They are. Excuses, excuses. I know it sounds like excuses for my umpteenth pardon. I know. If I could show you the depth of my mind, you would find me curled in a corner, bound like a prisoner in my own head. I have no control. I love you, but they prefer the opposite. Excuses, excuses. I know. Help me.

I tried therapy. Fifty-one days of talking about my feelings only served to open wounds without healing them. Talking about feelings is not for everyone. It certainly isn't for me. I need a tow truck to pull me out of this mud. I'm sinking.

I need to stop pacing. The carpet beneath my feet has a path worn into it now, a small oval prison circling the room, but if I stop moving, I will sink. I'll free-fall into the depths of my mind where I'm nothing. Where I lose every battle. Am I too gullible to believe whatever they say? Am I saying all these things about myself? No, it couldn't be. I couldn't hate myself so deeply.

Bang. Bang. Bang.

The sound startles me still. My chest tightens so fast it hurts. Why am I jumpy? I know who it is, and if I open that door, I might fail to tame them, and I'll lose everything. I love him too much to open that door. If I open it now, in this episode, we won't survive. He might not survive. They turn him into one of them. A physical one for me to harm.

I've sent him to the ER enough times.

The first time, I sat on the hospital bathroom floor with blood beneath my fingernails and told God I would never become this person again. The second time, he lied for me. Told them he slipped on wet tiles. The third time, he stopped looking shocked. That was the one that ruined me most.

I'm a monster.

No. No, I'm not terrible. They are.

The room smells stale now. Like panic trapped too long in one place. Empty water bottles gather beside the bed. The food from yesterday sits untouched by the door, cold enough to harden. My phone stopped vibrating hours ago. I turned it face down anyway.

Bang. Bang. Bang.

"Lydia, are you okay? Please open the door. Have you eaten anything? I brought you food. Please let me in. It's been three days, baby. Please."

Three days. Isn't that perfect? Do I resurrect with you today? Like You hear me. Breathe, Lydia. It's almost over.

I often wonder what would happen if I never escaped this place again. What if that random, sudden stabbing pain never left? Three days. I've been in here for three days. It happens often now, and the gap between my sanity and madness grows smaller every time. Sometimes I can almost feel myself splitting apart in real time. One part begging to be held. The other sharpening its teeth.

What if I'm already walking the path to total darkness? How do I turn back? Help me. Do You hear me? Are You listening?

No, no. Pull me back together. Hold me together. I'm down on my knees. Don't let them have me.

Silence.

Then the soft sound of him sliding down the door to sit outside it. I want to sit with him, but I can’t move beyond this worn part of the carpet.

"Baby, if you can hear me, read Jeremiah 29:12 and Matthew 11:28–30. I love you."

His voice cracks on the last part.

He is still here. Poor guy chose to love the wrong girl.

Am I really wrong?

I keep a Bible beside my bed, buried beneath novels and half eaten chocolates, and I can't remember the last time I opened it. Dust gathers faster than faith does these days. Wait... when did he become religious? My Bible sits beyond my boundary lines, but I know I need to get to it. They are not outside these lines, look around. You are alone in here. One foot in front of the other. My long legs could do better, but why hasten the torment?

I reach and snatch it quickly, sending almost everything flying off the table.

I made it.

I sit on the carpet within my boundary and flip through the pages.

Jeremiah 29...

The pages blur before they settle.

Then you will call on Me and come and pray to Me, and I will listen to you.

Listen.

Such a small word. Yet everything I needed to hear.

I press the Bible against my chest and break apart quietly. No screaming. No throwing things. Just years of exhaustion leaking out of me in silence.

I'm on my knees again.

Outside the door, he waits.

Inside, so do they. I flip through the bible to the next scripture. I must believe.

Here are my burdens.