A Life Broken

How did a box get on my steps? I moved to this remote place to put distance between me and civilization. I deliberately don't get mail or deliveries here. There's a locked gate at the end of a not well kept drive.

Trigger warning: This story alludes to rape and assault and deals with panic disorder, PTSD and the crippling effects it can have on a victim.

I can feel the dryness in my mouth. My temples are throbbing. My heart sounds like it's exploding in my mind. I feel faint. Here it comes. The blackout.

I don't know how long I was out this time but the sun has moved noticeably in the sky. I wasn't in town long today. Just long enough to pick up supplies. It's always the same things on the same day of the month at the same time. My anxiety is more manageable when I have less variables to deal with.

But somehow during that short time frame someone found their way to my door and put a brown cardboard box on my steps.

What if they are still here? I didn't see them on the road. The trees are too thick to travel easily. My God they could be watching me right now. I gotta get inside. I have to hide.

No, no, no. Don't do this. I'm going numb. God damn it! Why do I have this affliction. I'm like a frigging fainting goat. I hit the ground with a hard thud.

Calm down. Breathe. Whooo. Whoo. Whoo. That's it. Relax. The more I panic, the worse it will be and the longer it takes.

And doctors and specialists want to tell me there is no reason for this. Nothing they can do. Let them live in my shoes for a while. I damn sure don't do this fainting shit for attention. I'm in the middle of goddamn nowhere with nobody around.

Or is somebody around? That box didn't get here by itself. I can't breathe. Calm down. Calm down. Calm down. Stop struggling. Easy. Easy.

How many times had I said those words to high strung thoroughbreds at showings?. Laughable really. Only they were going to bolt and run and here I lay in the dirt unable to move.

Maybe somebody who knows about me put the box there for exactly this reason. To disable me. Paralyze me. But why? So they can kidnap me? Murder me? Take joy in seeing me helpless?

"Why! Why are you here? Who are youuu?" I can feel my throat burning from my screams. I'm hurting the skin on my arms from squirming on the rough ground but I have to see the tree line. Whoever it is has to be hiding there. If they were in the house they wouldn't have left the box on the step.

Oh god it hurts. My muscles are so tight they feel like they're ripping apart. I've got to stop panicking. Stop. Stop.

I can taste my salty tears. I haven't cried in so long. Not since... No I won't think about that. I won't relive that hell. Never, never, never.

But I am. I'll never be free. It shattered my world. No place is safe. The world can't be trusted. People see but don't care. Some laughed. LAUGHED! Like watching a life be brutalized was a joke!

Stop! Stop! I don't want to remember. My breath is ragged now. I screamed stop that night too. Until my voice was hoarse and I was exhausted. But no one took time to hear me. It was as if I was no one. Nonexistent. But existing for the stolen pleasure of others. How many? Three maybe. Blurry thoughts. Voices. Bits of memory I refuse to let surface. Five maybe? More? GODDAMN IT! Shut off my mind. I don't want to live this again. NEVER. NEVER. NEVER.

I stop struggling. I keep trying to breathe my way through this paralyzing panic attack. PTSD. It doesn't matter what the fuck they call it. I just want it cured. I don't want to be broken. I want those who broke me to suffer. They live on without missing a beat. I couldn't get through a trial. They can live with themselves but I can't live with me. I'm broken. I can't fix me. Doctors can't fix me. I'm fucking unfixable.

The wind picks up. It soothes my beaded brow. I calm. I smell rain. I need to pick the tomatoes. Peppers too. And then I remember, I did. I did pick them. I put them in a box. And I was running late. I couldn't be late. It would mess up my routine. So I set the box on on the step for when I got back. It was me. It was fucking ME! I put the box there. No one is here. Oh thank God. My wracking sobs are interrupted with a giggle that morphs into maniacal release. The laughter gets louder with only thunder able to drown it out. I manage to sit and hug my knees. The rain starts gently, then urgently. I sit rocking, crying, humming, as the rain washes away my pain.

I better get that box of tomatoes and peppers inside before the rain ruins the box. I scoop up the box and go inside letting the screen door slam behind me.

I write in my journal,

The secrets inside me are the glass that cuts me.