Rise Above This
Sixth Letter
Dear Elle,
You’re trapped underneath that black and white checkerboard duvet that your mom made you for a birthday present years ago and clenching onto it like it contains some kind of magic inside. I hate to be the one to bring the reality check, but it’s all within you, so put the cover down.
Yes, it’s July again, Canada Day, it snuck up with silent tip toeing and then, Bam! it arrived with fireworks, the smell of gasoline, and a rush of unwanted memories.
For the past five years, you have stayed in bed on this day to avoid it happening all over again, to avoid feeling hands slippery from body odor all over your burnt summer skin, to keep yourself safe from fingerprints and scar tissue, and to keep your body to yourself.
I feel inclined to remind you that except on July 1st, you always get out of bed. Most days you wake up and go to school, hallways full of 1600 surplus people, and so far, it hasn’t happened again. On the weekend, you wake up to spend the day as you please or to drive to the mall for work (another place full of people) and history hasn’t repeated itself.
Stop paralyzing yourself in fear. You are going to kick off the covers and give your face some sunlight today. Today, July 1st 2008, you are going to end your tradition of celebrating Canada Day in bed by yourself, thinking miserable thoughts and do something.
You will end up in your cousin’s backyard with most of the family. Opting out of swimming, lawn bowling, and eating, you are going to drink four raspberry coolers, two gin and Sprites to yourself in a matter of fifteen or so minutes and get foolishly drunk in front of your grandmother and other relatives.
No, this isn’t commendable and in the back of your intoxicated mind, you know that. It’s not that you were having flashbacks or sweating from another PTSD attack, it’s just that this all new to you and you aren’t ready to deal with this day.
At least you got out of bed. That is the first step towards rising above it.
Maybe next year, you won’t get sloshed in front of your family or, maybe, you will, but it won’t be out of fear or pity. It will be your choice. Maybe next year, you will go back to the parking lot where it all took place like a scene from Law & Order.
All you know for sure is that you won’t stay in bed on Canada Day anymore. Slowly, but surely you are taking power away from him and that day and giving it back to yourself.
So, my dear:
Carry your pepper spray.
Write your songs.
Hurt.
Be hesitant with new people, especially boys.
Cry as often as you like.
Binge on peanut butter.
Just never forget that you will overcome this and you are a hell of a lot stronger than you believe.
Yours,
Michelle.
You’re trapped underneath that black and white checkerboard duvet that your mom made you for a birthday present years ago and clenching onto it like it contains some kind of magic inside. I hate to be the one to bring the reality check, but it’s all within you, so put the cover down.
Yes, it’s July again, Canada Day, it snuck up with silent tip toeing and then, Bam! it arrived with fireworks, the smell of gasoline, and a rush of unwanted memories.
For the past five years, you have stayed in bed on this day to avoid it happening all over again, to avoid feeling hands slippery from body odor all over your burnt summer skin, to keep yourself safe from fingerprints and scar tissue, and to keep your body to yourself.
I feel inclined to remind you that except on July 1st, you always get out of bed. Most days you wake up and go to school, hallways full of 1600 surplus people, and so far, it hasn’t happened again. On the weekend, you wake up to spend the day as you please or to drive to the mall for work (another place full of people) and history hasn’t repeated itself.
Stop paralyzing yourself in fear. You are going to kick off the covers and give your face some sunlight today. Today, July 1st 2008, you are going to end your tradition of celebrating Canada Day in bed by yourself, thinking miserable thoughts and do something.
You will end up in your cousin’s backyard with most of the family. Opting out of swimming, lawn bowling, and eating, you are going to drink four raspberry coolers, two gin and Sprites to yourself in a matter of fifteen or so minutes and get foolishly drunk in front of your grandmother and other relatives.
No, this isn’t commendable and in the back of your intoxicated mind, you know that. It’s not that you were having flashbacks or sweating from another PTSD attack, it’s just that this all new to you and you aren’t ready to deal with this day.
At least you got out of bed. That is the first step towards rising above it.
Maybe next year, you won’t get sloshed in front of your family or, maybe, you will, but it won’t be out of fear or pity. It will be your choice. Maybe next year, you will go back to the parking lot where it all took place like a scene from Law & Order.
All you know for sure is that you won’t stay in bed on Canada Day anymore. Slowly, but surely you are taking power away from him and that day and giving it back to yourself.
So, my dear:
Carry your pepper spray.
Write your songs.
Hurt.
Be hesitant with new people, especially boys.
Cry as often as you like.
Binge on peanut butter.
Just never forget that you will overcome this and you are a hell of a lot stronger than you believe.
Yours,
Michelle.