The Truth About Life

-Olivia: Chapter Thirteen-

I lean against my bedroom wall, stare at my stripped mattress. It's sheet washing day, and I can hear the comforting hum of the washer and dryer down the hall. The smell of laundry soap permeates the air.

"This mattress, this big mattress full of memories of Gabe and I needs to get the hell out of this room!" I'm talking to myself and I don't even care. If I say it out loud, maybe I'll do something about it!

I grab a corner of the mattress and give a hard tug. It doesn't even budge. I grasp the corner more firmly this time and pull hard, still nothing.

I didn't consider that Gabe and I bought this just 5 years ago, it's a heavy Memory Foam mattress and I remember it took the delivery guys and Gabe to move this beast up the stairs to our room.

I walk over to the right side of the bed and with all my might, shove the dang mattress. It moves so it's hanging about halfway off the other side.

I crawl up and onto the box spring and push as hard as I can and the mattress and I both go crashing to the floor.

"Whoa!" I blow my hair out of my eyes and pull up the wayward locks into a messy ponytail. "Now, what to do with this mattress. How the heck am I going to get it down the stairs?"

I could wait for Chase to come back from Milton's, or even have the new neighbor boy come and help me carry it out. I flop down on the mattress in indecision.

Whew, I'm exhausted. The constant worry about Chase, are his counseling sessions working? He won't talk to me about them, so I'm not sure. These feeling that I let him down. I mean,
let's be honest, I really, really let him down.

I know that I'm a mess myself. Audrey's hate for Gabe, I know that hate will only lead to self-destruction, to something extremely unhealthy. I know she feels like her whole relationship with her dad was a lie. But I know it wasn't.

Gabe is a great father, probably a little lost himself right now.

I know I'm lost, all that happened to me as a child, I've never dealt with it. I always thought putting it away, shoving it down would somehow work. That's the thing about "putting away". The longer it sits on the "shelf" unresolved, the longer it has to morph into something even bigger.

I know deep down, that's why Gabe left. I'm a broken person, I have things, big things, unresolved.

The sexual abuse I endured; I feel like I'm not even a survivor. A survivor is someone who is still moving along, accomplishing something. Someone who copes well with something exceedingly difficult.

As a child, after my mother would pick me up from my aunt and uncle's house, I would crawl into my closet and lie down on the floor. My stuffed rabbit, Bonnie, was always there waiting for me. I would hug her tightly, and chant over and over. "I hope I can go to Cecil's tomorrow; I hope I can go to Cecil's tomorrow."

I promised myself I would be a survivor, that if I ever had kids, I would know what they were going through so I could help them. To help them survive whatever came their way.

My parents weren't there for me, they didn't take the time to see me and what I was screaming for them to see.

These thoughts bring tears to my eyes. A parent is someone you should be able to count on, to trust in. I close my eyes and continue to lay on the stripped mattress. I feel stripped, I feel raw. I want to be a thriver, not just a survivor.

But how do I do that? I'm so overwhelmed, how do I fix myself and help my kids?

I must I fall asleep because the next thing I hear is someone calling my name. The room is cast in shadows, greys and purples. How long was I sleeping?