Chapter 1

After falling in love and marrying in our small town of Camarillo, California, my mother and father were quite happy when they became pregnant with me - but it was all downhill from there. My mother was about 4 months pregnant when my father lost his job. Looking back on it, I do think that’s when it all started. Something happened to him after that. It was as though he had lost the thing that made him a man. He became terribly insecure and, unfortunately for my mother, extremely jealous and controlling. When I was about a year old, my mother had taken me with her to visit her dad in Nevada because he was sick. When she told my father that she was going to stay a day longer than planned, my dad was enraged. He completely kicked us out and threw all of mine and my mom’s belongings on the driveway of our house. When mom did something out of his control, he lost control of himself. The more jealous he became, the more my mother pulled away from him - which only drove him more insane. He’d thrown us out of our house on multiple occasions, each time begging us back a day or two later. Mom was no longer in love with him, but rather, disgusted by him. But she had nowhere to go. She had to stay. Then he began to threaten killing himself in front of everyone – including his own five-year-old son, Daniel (my brother) from a previous relationship. My mom was then forced to secretly save up money to find a small apartment for her and I – she couldn’t save Daniel. When I was three years old, she’d gained enough money. She packed up all of our belongings while my dad was away, and we left – for good. Between this and the divorce, my father’s already fragile mind was cracking. Simply to spite my mother, he frequently refused to pay child support or take care of me on the weekends so that my mom had to work two jobs to support us and was forced to constantly search for new babysitters for me. Years of this struggle went by. Then, my mom had found a new boyfriend, named Chris. When I was eight, they married – much to my still extremely bitter father’s dismay. At that point, my dad decided he was going to completely stop calling her for anything. This meant that I was officially fatherless - aside from a stepdad with whom I would never bond. My mom tried helplessly to convince my dad to be in my life, but he would not give her the satisfaction. After six months of this, she finally told him that if he was not going to start making an effort to be there for me, she was going to take me with her to Henderson, Nevada, where she had family, friends, and better job opportunities waiting for her. But he didn’t budge. So we moved. And to deal with the guilt, my weak-minded father created his own little world – where it wasn’t his fault that he wasn’t around for his daughter, it was her crazy mother that stole her away from him despite imaginary court orders that stated she couldn’t. He forced himself to truly believe that I had been taken away from him forever and there was nothing he could do about it. In the meantime, I was being dragged away from everything I knew and loved – without the comfort of a strong father figure. Little did I know, this was to be my life story - which, unfortunately, was only worsened by the fact that I have inherited my father’s sensitive, unstable mind.

Chapter 2

Henderson sits just outside of Las Vegas, and the two share the same fast-paced lifestyle. Our new home was nice, but I do not handle change well. I remember on my first day of second grade at my new school, my mom had to hold my hand as long as she could before she was forced to leave the classroom. I was shaking. Every day that went by was either just as frightening as the last or only a small amount less. Either way, it took me many months to become comfortable. However, it would take much longer for me to find happiness. I cried myself to sleep every night that I was not too tired to remember my friends in Camarillo. I never allowed myself to think about my dad. It had already been over a year since he’d called to talk to me over the phone. I didn’t want to think about it because there was a very small voice suggesting that he just didn’t want to talk to me. I didn’t want to hear that voice. With these painful thoughts loitering in my subconscious mind in addition to my terrible shyness and overwhelming fear of new things, I was generally an unhappy child. Every car ride I went on, while mom had her boring adult conversations on her cell phone, I stared hopelessly out the window - and just...watched the birds fly by.
Two years went by, and I finally adjusted to Henderson. There was a period of time when all was well - or as well as it could be with the lingering issue of my father’s rejection. My mom and Chris were happy and we even gained another member to the family - my little brother, Christopher the third, after his dad and grandfather. I had also made a friend, named Quinne, in the third grade. By the time we were in the fifth grade, we were incredibly close. We were both very strange and misunderstood. But we understood each other. We were the only two people we knew who thought and behaved in the peculiar way we did; and we knew it, so we appreciated each other greatly. I believe it was Quinne who helped me to finally enjoy my new home. Our relationship was as unique as we were. Unfortunately, it would be brought to an abrupt end.
I remember the day with incredible clarity. I was about a month or two into fifth grade. My mom and my aunt took me to one of my favorite hiking trails. After a great hike and a fun day with my two closest family members, I was feeling especially good sitting in the backseat of the car on our way back home...Had I only known what was coming. I don’t remember the conversation that led up to this, but at some point, it became quiet for just a moment before mom asked me something that would melt the smile on my face and shove my heart into the pit of my stomach. “Nicole...how would you feel if we moved to Tennessee where Chris’ family lives?” she asked. For a moment, I was just in a state of shock and disbelief. I immediately felt sick, and my ears became hot with the feeling of nausea. I did not answer the question, but rather, remained silently confused. My mom began to explain her motivations behind this decision to me, but I didn’t hear it. It was as though a bomb had gone off right in front of me and all I could hear was the ringing in my ear from the explosion. I would attempt to consider leaving Henderson and living on the other side of the country, but it would only make my stomach hurt more and I’d have to stop thinking about it - or else risk vomiting. When it hit me that I’d be leaving Quinne...my heart shattered. Tears poured down my cheeks and I, ashamed of my weakness, laid down and buried my face into the itchy fabric of the back seat so my mom and aunt wouldn’t see me crying. I cried not only out of terrible sadness that I was leaving Quinne, the only person in this world that ever understood me, but also out of utter terror at the idea of moving to another new place. My mom and aunt knew I was crying, despite my efforts to hide it from them, but they would never know the pain I felt during that car-ride home.
It was my last day of school in Henderson. Quinne hardly spoke at all that day. She didn't know how to handle losing her only real friend - no more than I did, I expect. We dreaded the final school bell that meant it was over. After class, we walked somberly together for as long as we could, crying all the way. When the time came for us to part, we just sort of turned and looked at each other, our eyes red and swollen. We couldn't say goodbye. I had a hunch that I’d be able to visit at some point, but I knew it would never be the same. Nothing would ever be the same. I heard my mom honk the car a short distance away. My soul ached. I managed to sob, “I have to go.” Finally, we hugged each other. We hesitantly let go and walked away slowly - as if each step were physically painful to take. It would be yet another long drive spent feeling sick to my stomach and crying into the back seat of the car.

Chapter 3

I remember driving to our new house...in our new neighborhood. I couldn’t even look at it. This wasn’t home. It was desolate - the complete opposite of everything I had just gotten use to in Henderson. I don’t even have to list the differences between the lifestyles of Las Vegas and Tennessee. I didn’t even care to know what the name of the town was - so to this day I can’t remember what it was called. But it doesn’t matter. The place was so despicable to me, I felt it didn’t deserve a name. Just knowing I was there fanned an inferno of anger in my chest. The reasons we moved there in the first place, which were something along the lines of job opportunities and Chris’ family being out there, seemed a joke to me. In my mind, there was no good enough reason for moving again - for making me leave Quinne. But here we were...in Tennessee

. I loathed everything about it. Though I had grown close to Chris’ family and found some comfort in being near them, it would never be enough to lessen the hate I felt in my heart every day.
I knew in my broken heart we weren't meant to be there…but the whole thing was too painful to think about. Not one day was easier than the last. In fact, it was worse each day - like I was falling further and further into a hole of utter sadness, fear, and intense anger. All I wanted was to feel safe

and secure

at home, a place I wouldn’t leave. Now, I couldn’t imagine feeling at home ever again - and it scared the hell out of me. I felt like I was going to be constantly moving and never able to keep any friends. Unable to accept the reality that was my life, I was miserable. I became terribly short-tempered. My new school only made matters worse. I hated everyone around me. I hated my kind teacher, and especially hated my friendly classmates. Many of my peers attempted to befriend me, but I shunned them. Feeling certain I would only be hurt in the end by making friends, I isolated myself (yet another wonderful ability I inherited from my father), constantly hiding my face in books. As if I wasn't already angry enough at the situation, my new Catholic school graded us on religious teachings such as Bible versus and daily Hail Mary's; and having never gone to Catholic church before, I didn't understand any of it. I was being forced ideas and beliefs that I just couldn't grasp. I was infuriated that this school treated these beliefs as just as necessary as math, science, english, and so on. It made no sense to me, especially in my irate state of mind. Out of pure anger and spite for this strange school I refused to complete any assignments that dealt with religion. As a result, I was barely passing. What kept me from failing was my excellent book reports. Isolating myself with books came in handy. However, at that point, I didn’t particularly care about passing the fifth grade.
I believe that if this day had never come...I may have been consumed by rage. The house was warm with a feeling I had not experienced in many months; it was...joy. My mom called me into her bedroom and I arrived surprised to see a smile on her face. I wasn’t the only one who had been unhappy. She said, “sit down,” gesturing to sit beside her on her bed. I smiled, somehow already knowing what she was going to say. With a toothy grin, she said, “Chris got a really good job offer...in Camarillo! We're moving back!” I exploded. Although a small part of me was still sad I was not going back to Quinne, I knew it was finally going to get better. Unable to even control myself, I jumped up and just started running. I ran out of the room, through the house, and into our spacious backyard where I could run even more - all the while with my black labrador puppy nipping at my heels excitedly. Even though it was probably fifty degrees outside, I ran out in my pajamas and played with my dog for over an hour - not even noticing the cold.

Chapter 4

We had only been in Tennessee for about seven months. I wasn’t even finished with the fifth grade when we settled into our new place in Camarillo. It was comfortable, and since I knew in my heart this time that we wouldn't be moving again, I was ecstatic. Finally...I was home.
I didn't think about my dad during all the years that I had been away from Camarillo - simply unable to cope with that on top of all the stress of moving around. But now that I was home - back in the same town as my dad - I thought everything would be better. I thought now that the matter of distance between us had been eliminated, it would be easier for him to visit me. I didn’t quite know how to think about my dad at that point, after all this time had passed without speaking to him. All i knew was: he was my father, and fathers are supposed to be there for their daughters - consistently. About a year went by...still no sign of him. And he knew I was back and where I lived...he had no excuse now. I was about a month into sixth grade, junior high, when I finally pulled all the facts out of the depths of my brain and looked at them clearly enough to see...that my dad just didn’t want me.
What I didn’t know was…my father was still in his little imaginary world - where I was simply gone forever because of my mom, and that was that. Daniel and my grandma on my dad’s side had come to visit me when I came home, which I was overjoyed about, but neither of them ever explained to me what the story was with my dad - and I didn’t have the nerve to ask, thinking they would start to blame me for not calling him. I had been wrought with guilt my entire life for never calling my father - but how could I? I thought he didn’t want to talk to me. It wasn’t until I was in the seventh grade when I went from being sad and confused about the situation to being angry. I thought, “Wait...I’m just a little girl. He’s an adult. He’s

supposed to be the one to seek me

out. What’s wrong with him? Why does it have to be this way? Why can’t I have a dad like all my friends? Why shouldn’t I deserve one? What’s wrong with me

?” I was home…but my problems were not over.
I had developed a certain habit, but it did not last long. Thank God for that, because I would be covered in scars had it prolonged. During seventh grade, the constant confusion became too much. I couldn't comprehend why my dad would abandon me, why it felt like nobody

liked or cared about me, why it all had to happen to me

, why God was punishing me, what I had done wrong. I don't really understand how this happened, but at some point, it became so painful to think about that my brain...shut down. Suddenly...I could feel nothing. I went numb. All that was left was melancholy. I remember many months going by in a dense fog, like I was on auto-pilot. It was only my subconscious mind that was aware of this shift, but I knew on the surface that something was wrong. I don't remember how, but I had scraped my knee one day. I sat and examined the open wound. I felt it sting...and...I liked it. I touched it with sweaty fingers to make it sting more. I'd found a substitute for my lack of emotional feeling - physical pain. I cannot describe the frame of mind I was in that made me do these things, and unfortunately, only a select few people will understand my motivations behind them. I spent many nights inflicting wounds on my own body, just to feel human. I was sick - mentally ill. It took months for my brain to finally turn back on. I suppose it just needed a break. I no longer felt an urge to cut myself after my emotions came back. However, the horrendous scars on my body will continue to serve as a reminder of just how disturbed of a child I was for the rest of my life.
Middle school was a horrible experience. It was the period of time in which I was finally realizing my dad didn’t want to be in my life - that he probably never really did. I envied every girl I saw bonding with her father, now knowing that was a love I was never going to have. I desperately craved male affection - any male affection.
Without even realizing it, I began to see the boys at my school in a different light. Instead of just being boys, they became alternatives. The day a boy showed me a significant sign of affection was the day I realized that boys can fill the void in my heart - at least for a moment. When I had my first “boyfriend” in seventh grade - it was extremely nerve-wracking. I wanted affection - badly - but any wrong move and he could leave me. And any form of rejection to me is salt on a life-long wound. I could not handle being rejected. But of course, I was - multiple times, by multiple middle school boyfriends. And my self-esteem dropped to a dangerously low level. I didn't understand why no one could love me. Then, Isaac happened.
We’d been good friends for a few months when Isaac and I finally expressed our feelings for each other at the beginning of eighth grade. At first glance, one might feel no thirteen-year-olds could find real love. Typically, that is true. But this was something clearly extraordinary. Our relationship was very different from anything either of us had experienced before - it was genuine. We truly enjoyed each other’s company and were not dating just for the sake of dating - as middle schoolers often do. I was completely overjoyed to be with him because he was not too shy to show me his real affection for me - and I lived off of that affection. It was pure bliss to me - like ecstasy. Someone loved me. But one day - it went too far. We'd been dating for about a month when it happened. We were alone in his room just kissing when he shyly noted that he happened to have a condom…Now remember, I’d spent a lifetime believing there was something wrong with me because of my father not wanting me. I was extremely insecure. I believed that if I did not have sex with Isaac, there was a very good chance he would feel I was not worth staying with. I needed

him to stay with me. So, unable to handle the thought of being left again, I caved. I was thirteen years old, and had never even considered sex before.
I had thrown away my innocence. Then, when word got out at my school that “Nicole and Isaac are having sex,” I became the school slut and lost all of my girlfriends. More rejection. In addition to that, the impression I had gotten from society was that sex was a bad thing, so I thought I was a terrible person for doing it. I often felt terrified my father might discover what I’d done - and then found myself furious for still caring about what he thinks. I was still very much in a state of confusion, sadness, and anger. Nonetheless, I felt I had all I needed, which was Isaac. And somehow, despite my emotional instability and neediness, we stayed together. I was damaged, but he was okay with that - it made me different from all the other girls. With my lack of independence, extreme insecurity, horrible fear of change, and the ever-worsening heartache for every day that I didn‘t hear from my dad, I don’t know how I would have survived high school without Isaac. Though it was his stubborn hormones that provoked the moment of weakness that only further damaged my soul, he truly loved me - and I truly loved him. We both knew in our hearts it was real. And since I was in desperate need of real love, it was incredibly healing for me. Years went by and the longer we stayed together, the more secure I felt about my future, feeling more and more confident that I will never have to face the day when Isaac leaves me. By the time I was a junior in high school, I was feeling substantially better about myself. Things had become stable for the first time in my life; I found friends I could relate to, learned how to eliminate my dependence on Isaac without having to leave him, and found the closest thing to peace as I have ever had. I was doing well…or so I thought.

Chapter 5

I was eighteen years old and had just graduated high school when I realized that the discomfort I’d been feeling in my lower back for the past few months had evolved into a sharp pain. I ignored it as best as I could for about a month until I became concerned. The doctor prescribed antibiotics, physical therapy, ultrasounds on my internal organs, and x-rays on my spine, but nothing relieved the pain or showed any abnormalities that may be the cause. I'd become a hypochondriac in the eyes of every doctor I'd seen. With the pain worsening every day, I made the desperate effort of seeing an acupuncturist. This doctor tested multiple treatments on me, some that are only practiced by a handful of professionals in the country, but none had a prolonged effect. It wasn’t until I had found myself at a complete loss of ideas when I’d discovered the book that would change everything.
I was in bed, trying miserably to find the one position that usually makes the pain let up a little. But this time, I would find no relief. My eyes watered as the feelings of frustration and defeat overcame me. I snatched my special pillow from the other side of the bed and cried into it. There was nothing left to do but accept that I’ll be in debilitating pain until something miraculous happens. I turned over in my bed and saw that a book had been left on my nightstand. I grabbed it and saw it was the book my mom ordered for me about healing back pain. I had little enthusiasm about it, but - having no options left - I began reading. And I didn’t stop. After a few days of straight reading, I found myself in the midst of an entirely different dilemma. The book proposed the much studied and highly accepted theory that most chronic back pain is due to prolonged tension of muscles - which results from the suppression of negative emotions, such as anger and stress. It seems to be that the consideration of the emotional aspect of peoples’ health is relatively new in Western Medicine. But the theory made sense to me, so I did some research and discovered Tension Myositis Syndrome, which is essentially back pain that does in fact result from negative emotions that go unaddressed. I asked myself for the first time if I had been ignoring a problem and I gradually realized how I’ve always been unable to think about my dad. The more I thought about it, the more clearly I saw that this is how I have dealt with all of my problems - by pretending they don‘t exist. This was the coping mechanism I subconsciously chose as a child. I have always pushed my anxious thoughts down into my subconscious, feeling they were too painful to focus on with all the additional stress of moving and growing up. But no problem gets solved without being thought about and understood. I’d been ignoring the issue of my dad my whole life...and now my body was telling me something was wrong. I eventually understood what my back was saying, and I knew in my heart what I had to do.
For a while...I just felt like I couldn’t do it. I wasn’t brave enough. I reverted back to feeling helpless, sad, and confused. I became bitter and short-tempered again, unknowingly pushing away my friends and, thus, making me more unhappy about the whole situation. All those old, negative feelings were coming back. I noticed my back pain worsen every time I came close to doing it, so I always backed off. I hated myself for being so scared. I knew I had to do it - but I was letting fear hold me back. Finally, I was sick of it. I was sick of the pain. I was sick of the anger and the heartache. I was sick of feeling defeated. I was ready to beat this.

Chapter 6

I found out where he was living - an old, weathered motor home parked near my grandma, his mother’s house. He’d apparently been there for a long time - isolating himself from the world just as I had done at one point in my life. As I parked just around the corner from the motor home, I was shaking uncontrollably, but decided not to care. I turned off my car, loosened my scarf, closed my eyes, and took a deep breath...My back pain was so bad at this point it felt like the muscles were tearing. I got out of the car, my legs barely able to carry me, and started walking toward the decrepit motor home. I had no idea what I was going to say. But the next thing I knew, I was looking right at him...and suddenly, the words came right to me. “What is wrong with you? ...What kind of person just pretends like he never had a child? Do you have any idea what you’ve done to me? Do you think I wanted

to have sex when I was thirteen years old? I’d just gone an entire lifetime without a father and was so desperate for male affection I didn’t care what I had to do to have it! I lost my innocence far before I was ready and I can never get it back! My whole life I thought I

was the bad guy for not calling you

! I grew up thinking I was a bad person because of you

!” He’d begun to cry...A part of me cried with him. But I wasn’t finished. My voice rising with anger, I yelled, “I’m sick and tired of being the bad guy! I have not done this to you! You

have done this to yourself

! You could have had a daughter! You didn’t have to lose your child, but you chose

to! Do you see what you’ve done now? The huge mistake you’ve made and have done nothing

about?” I stopped for a moment. My heart was beating wildly and I was breathing like an angry bull. He sat there in shock, with tears in his eyes - unable to look at me. The child in me wanted so desperately to hug him and tell him everything will be better now - that he can start being my dad and I can start being his daughter. But I knew it wasn’t that simple. I knew he would never change - he had dug himself too deep to come out of the hole now. Suddenly...I realized something. He can do nothing for me now - I don’t need to have anything to do with him anymore. After a moment of a silence that was only broken by his sobs, I looked back up at him and said, “you know what? ...I’m done...with all of this. I’m done worrying about you and what you might think of me. I don’t need it...I’m putting you in the past...so I can finally be genuinely happy for the first time in my life...I suggest you do the same.” And with that...I left my father behind - for good.

Chapter 7

It’s been several months since the day I finally confronted the ghost that’s been keeping me from finding peace within myself my entire life. For a couple of weeks, I was just in a state of shock and disbelief that it had happened. But as time went by, I began feeling...weightless. The light at the end of the tunnel I’d been drudging down was shining brighter and brighter as I started to take real steps. I could hardly move carrying that load on my back for so long, and now that I’ve dropped it I can actually move forward - and my back can start healing. I can finally move on with my life!
Riding in the backseat of my friend’s car while we carpool to college, I laugh wholeheartedly at the antics of my girlfriends in the front seats arguing over what song to listen to. Then, my heart flutters as I recall that Isaac and I have dinner plans tonight. Looking out of the window, I just...watch the birds fly by - and smile.

Impressum

Tag der Veröffentlichung: 10.11.2009

Alle Rechte vorbehalten

Widmung:
To my mother, who is also my hero, my mentor, and my closest friend. To Isaac, the love of my life. To my best friends who stuck by me through the worst of times. To the birds, who never let their past weigh them down. And to my father, who inadvertently made me into the amazing person that I am today.