Healing You

Chapter 65

I wake up in a cold sweat. Hot tears pour down my face as I struggle to breathe. My heart races as the walls begin to close in, trapping me.

"Breathe. You need to breathe." Brandon's voice rings throughout my ears.

Inhale.

Instead of Brandon and Kassidy rushing to my side to comfort me, I'm alone in an empty bed.

Exhale.

"Scarlett, it's okay. You're okay. You're going to be fine. I'm right here. Brandon is right here. We're right here." Kassidy reassures me.

I repeat the exercise over and over again until my racing heart slows down, and my tears subside.

The dreams are worst than the nightmares. At least the nightmares are real. The dreams are sick manifestations of an unreal reality. They feel so real that I let my guard down and allow myself to fall for the smoke and mirrors. Then I wake up, and reality hits me harder than a mac truck.

Today that Mac Truck hit was harder than usual.

Three years to this day, my life changed forever in an instant. I lost my best friends. I lost my rocks. I lost the threads that kept my family together. Three years ago was the beginning of my end.

I died that night. Everything I was, was no more. The girl that survived the crash was an apparition, merely a shell of her former self.

I was empty, hollow - nothing. I floated by everyday waiting, wishing to feel something, anything. I was this bright and vibrant girl with dreams and goals, and then everything just- shattered. Life wasn't beautiful anymore. It was a burden to live. I had no goals. I just wanted to feel something.

Then I started feeling the pain. Not the physical pain of my injuries, but never-ending aching of my heart. It was like someone ripped out my heart. After my suicide attempt, I had a dream of Brandon scolding me for trying to end my life. I needed to live to keep their memory alive. I realized that if I wanted to live a semi-normal life, I needed to dull the pain. That's where the drugs and alcohol came in. I killed myself little by little under the guise of keeping myself alive.

The anniversary of the accident is always the strongest test of my sobriety. There's nothing I would rather do right now than forget my name with a line of blow or a hit of something stronger, much stronger.

I need to be strong. If not for me, for Lucas. He has so much faith in me. He honestly believes that I'll recover someday, and the trauma of my past won't haunt me. I know the truth, though. I'm strong for the time being, but this is a battle that I won't win. Eventually, the darkness of the addiction will get the best of me. It's just a matter of time before I lose.

I don't have many goals in my life these days. I don't even have a major. I try to take each day one by one. I'm mainly trying to survive and be a functioning person. Today that goal is looking pretty difficult.

I have a routine every year.

Wake up from a nightmare.

Cry.

Start popping and drinking my 11 am.

Scroll Facebook.

Cry some more.

Ignore my broken heart.

Never leave bed.

It's been modified a bit, the drug part is gone this year, but it's mostly the same. I log into my Facebook. I do it once every year. Here I'm immortalized as happy go lucky 16 years old with a bright future, not a 19-year-old failing recovering addict.