Chapter 1 Darkness Falls

I never saw it coming. Had no idea such a thing could happen, especially to me. In Dr. Bennett’s office that day I heard my mother and him discuss me like I wasn’t in the next room and able to hear everything they said. “I’d like to admit her—” “We can’t,” she answered. I didn’t understand the “we” she referred to. It couldn’t be my father. He sat outside waiting in the car, as usual, keeping a safe distance and remaining as removed as possible. And it definitely wasn’t me, for she never took what I really wanted into consideration. “She needs rest and medication,” Dr. Bennett said, “The hospital is the best—” “No!” my mother said, loud enough to startle me. “She can get all she needs at home.” Sure, Mom, you can do it all! I wanted to stab her with my words. “Violet, she needs proper treatment,” the doctor said. And I knew he was trying his best to convince her to see it his way. But I also knew just how difficult my mother could be. “No, I won’t have it,” she said. I turned and stared at the jars of cotton balls, gauze and tongue depressors, keeping my focus away from the corner of the room, from the examination table and the horrible memory of what had happened there last fall. I stared at my hands, picking and chewing at the skin around my nails, absolutely hating my life. “I would like you to reconsider,” Dr. Bennett said. “She’ll not be put in with a bunch of crazy people,” my mother answered in a voice as sharp as a screeching seagull. I closed my eyes, forcing back tears. Before I had a chance to know what was happening, the door flew open and my mother rushed in. She grabbed me by the arm. “Get up,” she said. “We’re leaving.” I stumbled to my feet and trudged along beside her like a child who’d been misbehaving and must go home. My mother opened the car door and I slid in the back and waited for her to close it so I could lean against it, close my eyes and try to forget just how much my life had turned to shit. On the drive home, I was relieved that at least my mother said nothing except to tell my father to stop at the drugstore to get my prescription filled.

Over the next several days, my mother kept asking, “How are you feeling? Are you getting any better?” The nerve! I wanted to scream. I couldn’t believe she could possibly think me stupid enough to fall for such an act, to believe that she possibly cared after all she’d done to destroy my life. I wanted so much to free my voice, to laugh out loud, the biggest belly laugh ever, and to tell her that she was the crazy one, not me. She would not leave me alone; she even slept in bed beside me at night…something no teenager wants their mother to do. Most nights I just couldn’t sleep, maybe because I had slept most of the day, I don’t know. But for whatever reason I stayed stiff in bed, my body straight, not daring to move even a finger, all the while imagining whether this was what it was like to be dead. The slightest move could wake my mother, so I didn’t dare get up to pace the floor. I didn’t want her shadowing behind me, like a part of me I couldn’t escape. The last thing I needed at three in the morning was more of her foolish questions.

During my waking hours, I constantly stretched the neck of my T-shirt away from my throat, pacing the floor, saying, “I can’t breathe. I can’t breathe.” I hated that I could no longer wear the turtleneck pullovers I so loved. I didn’t understand why I felt like I was being strangled all the time. I tried to find relief by going to the sink in the pantry and splashing cold water on my face, doubling over, coughing and gagging, trying to clear my throat from whatever was stuck in it. When that didn’t work, I switched to drinking glass after glass of water, trying to wash whatever it was down. I tried so hard not to totally lose control, and run screaming through the house like I was on fire. I could tell no one how scared I was. They wouldn’t understand, I just knew they wouldn’t. They’d probably even laugh at how ridiculous it all sounded. As much as possible I stayed home from school. Nothing really mattered anymore. I was all alone. I was going to die. Tears came to my eyes so easily and I could no longer hold them back. I’d lost control. If I started talking, tears began. I had become a broken faucet and unable to stop the flow. I couldn’t control anything, even my emotions, the one thing I’d been so proud of being able to control, especially my ability to hold back tears. This frightened me most of all. What did I have left? I’d become like a newborn baby, crying over every little thing. I wanted to be strong again. I wanted to be tough, to have steel for skin, so tough and strong that nothing could ever penetrate me.