The first month I wanted to die. I wanted to die so bad I cried in frustration that I had nothing to do it with. I was angry and upset so much so I just didn't talk. I didn't leave my room. I didn't eat. I didn't drink. I was having nightmares every night. My hair had started to fall out. I was at my wits end and it was all Derricks fault. He left me here, he gave up on me. He couldn't take it anymore. I was becoming too much of a burden. He threw me away far far away from him where he wouldn't have to think about me anymore.
That hurt the most. I let myself think he cared and in the end I was something that could be tossed away when times got hard. I was sure he was relieved. His sons were probably happy to have their home back. To throw out my things. Derrick had some of my stuff sent here. I would never leave and even if I did I would be on my own. If I somehow got better and didn't kill myself I would have to navigate it all by myself.
Killing myself was the better option.
Everything was on a tight schedule. It was like prison. Breakfast, downtime, solo therapy, group therapy, lunch, journaling, downtime, dinner, and then bed. Everyday. I was surprised we didn't have to wear jumpsuits all the same color. Instead we wore our regular clothes.
My first solo therapy session she asks me how i'm feeling and I don't speak. I don't even look at her. It's not until the third when she asks that I finally say it.
"I hate him."
"Who?"
"Derrick."
"Ah. I think he brought you here because he was worried about you, Aaron."
"I hate him."
I filled an entire journal with that line. Over and over I scribbled the words to the point that my hand started cramping. The ink smudged the pages and I didn't even know who I was talking about anymore. Alot of them were about Derrick but I think the others were about different people. It was easy to hate Derrick to blame this all on him. He took me in, fed me so much bullshit about how I could have a life beyond the trauma, he made me be friends with his sons, he made me talk about my feelings and made me feel safe.
He let me make my own decisions with only him as a guide through it all. I had the baby, I gave up the baby, I got depressed. I was depressed during the birth but soon after it go so much worse.
I closed in on myself. Derrick couldn't take it anymore. His sons didn't come home, he didn't go to work, he didn't sleep, he watched me day and night. It wasn't enough. I was already thinking about suicide. When I would do it. How I would do it. He didn't let me get a chance
Instead I was here. Alone. Far far away from comfort. He lied to me. I hated him. It was all his fault. He should've made me get the abortion. He should've talked some sense into me. Put his foot down.
I hate him. I hate him so much that I would wake up from a nightmare calling out his name. He doesn't come though because i'm here and he's far far away from me.
The second month I started talking to some of the other people here. There was a girl who self harmed to the point where she scars all over her face. A nasty gash was on her forehead. It was fresh too. I wished I had the balls to do that. It made me think I wasn't that far gone. That maybe I didn't want to die so badly. That might have been the medication talking.
There was also another girl. I didn't remember everyone or their stories or their feelings but this girls. I didn't really know her name. I think it was a little weird. Different. Her father would beat her everyday until one day she knew she was absolutely sure he was going to kill her if she didn't didn't do anything. She killed him. She was only fifteen when it happened and luckily it was ruled out as self defense. She said she would've done it even if it wasn't life or death. She would've done it just to make it stop.
