Return To Therapy - And A Memory Of A Bad Day

Sometimes things don't seem real. It feels like my life is a dream that I am unable to awake from. A dream that is keeping me trapped and held prisoner in my own angry, painful, tearful, and never ending sludge of a memory. I am really scared and I have no idea what I should do to feel better. I have tried everything but nothing works.

I started seeing my therapist again on Thursday. Although I know that she isn't judging me in a negative way because I stopped seeing her for 4 weeks, I still feel like she sees me as a failure. Of course I am smart enough to know that it isn't her that sees me that way, it is me. The way I am feeling is the epitome of a double standard in that I would never think that another survivor is a failure if they were in my exact shoes. So why do I KNOWINGLY judge myself so egregiously incorrect? If someone who was in my shoes told me that they feel like a failure I would tell them that there is so much empirical proof that shows them to be an amazing success, but when it comes to telling myself the same things I REFUSE to accept it.

I just found out today that I have missed so much school since this happened that I have two choices in front of me, I can repeat the 10th grade or I can take 2 weeks of summer school. The whole idea of it doesn't make sense to me. I mean it would if my grades we so bad that I wasn't ready for 11th grade school work, but that's not the case. Even though I have missed 8 days more than the maximum amount allowed in my state, I still have a 3.5 GPA. What's the purpose of keeping a record of grades if they really don't matter? I mean I get abducted and raped and while trying to glue myself back together again I miss 28 days of school but manage to maintain a B+ average and I still have to take summer classes or I will have to repeat the 10th grade. On the other hand I could have perfect attendance and a D- average and I would be heading to the 11th grade. I don't see the logic in that, but then again schools are government ran monstrosities and when has government ever made sense?

The 2nd anniversary of mom's death is coming up in 6 days. I miss her... We all plan on going to her grave and leaving some flowers. It's going to be a bad day. I think I am going to write her a letter, which is weird, she won't see it. Maybe the letter is for me, but that seems sort of selfish.

I remember the night she died. We had so much fun that night. We were all over my dad's brother's house. Several of our cousins and family were in there. No one would have thought that night would have been the last time I would get to wrap my arms around her. I never would have thought that she would never wrap her arms around me again. If I would have known, I would have held onto her like I was a baby. I would have looked into her eyes as I fell asleep in the comforting arms that only a mother has.

It was so sudden, no one seen it coming until a split second before impact. BAM, I see headlights out of the corner of my eyes and then feel and hear the impact that shoots our car across the intersection. Broken glass sprayed the interior of the car, and just as sudden as it began, it all became silent. We just sort of sat there for a few seconds as if we were trying to grasp what just happened. The first sound I remember afterward is the sound of the door to the pickup truck that hit us opening, then dad asking if we were okay. I said, "I think so". My little sister said, "I am okay", but mom didn't say anything. It was in that moment I saw from the back seat that her head was tilted out the broken passenger side window and it was leaning against the hood of the pickup truck. Dad called out to her, "Vanessa, are you okay?", but she didn't answer back. Dad asked me to make sure Aimee (my little sister) was okay and then help her out of the car. I stood there next to Aimee while I watched my mom slip away. My dad kept talking to my mom, "Baby, don't give up, don't leave us, we need you, we love you. Hang on, help is on the way."

Help finally arrived and as they were prying the door open so that the medics could get to her better, she let out 5 or six deep groans and then she just stopped breathing. They placed her on the back board and rushed her into the ambulance where they tried to help. Dad, Aimee and I had to ride to the hospital in a police car. They was still trying to get her to breath, but it didn't work, nothing they tried worked. I had several small cuts and bruises since I was sitting right behind mom, Dad didn't have any injuries other than a bruise on his hip from the center consol, and Aimee was only shook up. We were sitting there in the waiting room, dad's hands were covered in dry blood, and a nurse came out to us and escorted us to a private waiting room. I was 14, I wasn't stupid, I knew, I just knew what we were going to be told. A few minutes passed and a doctor walked in followed by an older gentleman with silver hair. My first thought was, "Who is the old guy", and then it dawned on me, he was a priest, and there is only one reason for him to be there.

"We did everything we could, but your wife has passed on", said the doctor.

Her funeral was on Monday. From all accounts it was a beautiful and respectful celebration of her life. I have never cried as hard as when I watched them lower her casket into the ground. The thought of her being buried was hard to accept. I knew that wasn't really her, that was just her body, but a part of me kept feeling as if we were abandoning her in the ground. I know how irrational it sounds.

I wish I knew that she was in a good place and that she was happy. As much as I want to believe that she is waiting for us to reunite with her, I still have a part of me that thinks maybe this life is it and once the body dies we cease to exist. That would be such a shame that someone as wonderful as my mom could be so easily erased from existence.

I have veered so far off what this post was going to be about.

June 1st is officially the last day of school, but for me it will be the 15th. The bad thing is I know I will do nothing for those 2 weeks except waste time reading when I could do that at home.

Aimee is having a sleep over tomorrow night. The weird thing is that I am actually looking forward to it. I had a choice to hang out with my friends or watch my little sister and her friends so that my dad could go out on a date with his girlfriend, and I chose to watch my little sister. I think maybe I am trying to be motherly to Aimee, I really don't know. Maybe I am just trying to help my dad find happiness.

Well, that's all I have to write about for now. I need to get some sleep.