The Straw That Broke

                                      "The Straw That Broke"



        Sitting there on the cold tile floor, I gaze at the scars. An array of tiny, pale pink, dancing lines lace up and down the back of my right leg. To anyone looking on they may look hideous. Maybe it looks like I had once been in an awful accident, or stepped through a glass floor dragging one leg along the way. But that was not what happened. Not one single mark was an accident or unintentional.  To me they are beautiful; each one a memory. The meaning behind every mark is as if it happened to someone else, like a story I read long, long ago.

          The first mark is the lightest,the smallest and most difficult to find.  The first time I picked up that razor sharp, cold piece of metal and slid it across my skin the incision wasn't very deep, but it bled. That was enough. It was as if it had taken that first wretched memory of my father leaving us and let it leave my body.  It washed away on the wash cloth like the blood, but the scar would forever be there. I mean don't get me wrong, my father was nothing special and no one to miss, but knowing that no one loves you that makes you need to forget.

I've been through a lot. This is just how I deal. It’s no big deal really.

  Then I am pulled sharply from my trip down memory lane. There's a knock on the door.

" Let’s go, Lexi."

I pull my pant leg down and place the razor in my hiding spot.

"Be right there,"I call back and take a quick glace in the mirror.





I think to myself how absurd it is that I look so typical on the outside, yet I'm so damaged on the inside. There is nothing particularly beautiful about my face: brown eyes, average nose, small lips, but it’s a pretty face nonetheless. I have dark hair, but it is long, full, and shines. For 23, I am happy with my appearance.

I open the bathroom door and there he stands.....  5'11, 30 years old and far more handsome than any man I have  seen before with his green eyes and olive skin.

My boyfriend Joey.

I know, deep down that he can’t love me. I know that no one can, not really, but he seems to enjoy my company. I feel special with him, and that's the most I can hope for.

He had been a friend of my brother, Luke.

I think that I may have loved my brother. He had a cocky smile and a huge ego but he made sure I was taken care of, and he never judged me. I think he knew what I did but never spoke of it. He had it worse than I did. I think he wanted the accident to happen. I don't think he was able to find a way to deal with life, so I did not cry for him. He was always the clown joking around and causing a scene. No one ever knew what he went through, besides me that is, and now no one ever will. They took a picture of the totaled car, and placed it in his open casket funeral. To show other kids his age what can happen if you drink and drive.

Sick if you ask me.

Although, I'm sure that they couldn't have imagined why "such a smart boy" would have done such a thing to himself on purpose. They didn't know him like I did.

I miss him.

It happened after my father had already been gone 5 years. 2 years after my brother died I lost my mom to what I call "the Crazy."

Joey kisses my forehead, and we walk together out the door.

Something is different today, but I don't know what.

We go to visit my mother like we do every Sunday morning. My mother is crazy. I hate visiting her. It’s like visiting my own future, because i know it is inevitable.

What she has is genetic.

I will be just like her one day.

Crazy.

I will probably end up in the very same mental hospital, and maybe Joey will be the one to put me there. I push those thoughts out of my head though and put on a smile for my mother. I would want my daughter to smile for me, if I had one visiting. We bring her cookies. The chocolate chips smell strong, like someone’s grandmother had baked them, chocolaty and warm. This makes my mother happy.

She is simple.

The smell makes me nauseous.   

She stares at a wall muttering to herself, and I wonder if she is afraid. I wonder if she feels. This makes me want to cut again to prove I can still feel pain and relief, at least for the moment.

We stay for a few painful hours. Joey is great with my mom. She adores him. He’s been around since we were young so she doesn't forget. Sometimes I think she doesn't realize my brother is gone. Maybe she is just confused and thinks Joey is Luke. I don't bother to ask.

  It is getting late. I kiss my mother goodbye. I don't love her. I'm not always sure that i can love. Maybe I'm so damaged i don't know how but I know I am supposed to. So I pretend. I know the things I am supposed to feel and when I should feel them. I used to wonder if I could just fake my way through life, but then is it worth it?

  We stop for some fast food on the way home. We both get happy meals (kind of ironic). We wait until we get home to eat them, and then Joey gets ready for work. He works overnights at the recycling center. It’s hard work, but he enjoys that. I find it’s nice to watch him be happy. I may never be happy like that but I get pleasure from seeing him feel such things. Could that be what love really is? I wonder.

Joey sits on our old ratty couch next to me and pulls the toys from our happy meal bags. He got a toy car and I got a toy super hero. He plays pretend with me for a while, making silly voices with his toy car. It is sweet. He makes me Laugh.

Joey leaves.... I go into the bathroom.

My mind starts racing… happy meals...is this what happy feels like?

Was that a real feeling?

I am lost inside my own head and I start to panic.

I think too much, I know I do, but what’s wrong with me? Why can’t I be normal like everyone else? Why can’t I just let myself be happy?

I get my razor, but this time i just look at it. I think of the past 10 years. Every cut on my leg, every time life got too hard. The people who walked out of my life, the people who saw a fragile girl and preyed upon her, The people who said I wasn't good enough, my brother.

I don't want to do this anymore. I'm tired of being afraid to live.

I cut myself to feel better. It lets all of my feelings out. It clears my head and my thoughts, and I am able to go on for a few more weeks.

Only this time it’s not working. With every cut I am thinking more.

More panic.

Why don't I feel better yet?

There is blood.

Cutting myself really is harmless. It doesn't hurt anyone. It makes me better. It’s not like I can kill myself cutting my leg. I never wanted to kill myself anyway. I only wanted to survive.

I keep cutting and bleeding, and it’s not helping. I am only thinking of more…

of the memories.

Blood drips on the tiles, and i smear it with my foot.

It is warm.

I'm so tired. I open the cabinet above the sink.

I'm looking frantically for something. But what?

Band-Aids, Mouth wash, Tylenol, Sleeping pills.

Sleeping pills.

They're Joey’s, prescribed for the nightmares he had after Luke's accident.

I’m tired.

This will help. I will sleep, and everything will be fine in the morning.

I look at my leg. There is a lot of blood, and now it is throbbing. It must have been 10 cuts at least. What was I thinking?

What a mess!

I take 3 Tylenol for the pain in my leg and then open the sleeping pills. I take 3.... but still I'm panicking...

I take 3.... but still I'm panicking.

I take the rest. Forget it. I'm fine. I will just sleep just a while. They aren't strong pills anyway, I tell myself.

I think I believe me.



Everything will be okay. Later.

The room starts spinning .

I’ll just lay down here, I think to myself.

"I should clean up first. There's so much blood." I think out loud.

I slip.

On the blood.

It’s just a little fall. I bump my head just a little. It doesn't hurt really.

I think of how Joey would be better off without me. Maybe I should leave him tomorrow. He can move on and never have to worry about the day he might have to visit me in the mental hospital. That would be good for him. Maybe I should go.

I lay on the tiles as i drift off to sleep. I think to myself-  peculiar  how I can deal with all of the rotten things I've been through, but I can't get handle the simple joys of a cheeseburger happy meal.