Page 155 of Under the Waves

“He does love us,” she whispered, chanting the words over and over again as she rocked herself back and forth, the pieces of his words falling through her fingertips. “He does love us.”

“You make me sick, mom.This,” I gestured to where she sat, “is unhealthy. He isn’t even in the room with us, and he still has you wrapped around his finger! That isn’t love, mom, that’sabuse. You do know that, right?”

“He does love us,” she repeated, eyes glassy and distant. She was gone. My mother wasgone. “He does love us.”

Wiping my hands across my face, I sighed deeply into my palms before slipping my arms under hers and hauling her to her feet. Slowly, I guided her across the room, carrying the weight of his lies and her grief. I nudged her bedroom door open with my foot, walking us both inside the small room. Her chanting didn’t stop. I didn’t know why I expected it to. It was like she was possessed by him, a puppet stuck on his strings.

Part of me, deep down, felt bad for her. So many nights I’d found myself wondering about the type of life my mother could’ve lived if only she hadn’t met my father. And so many times, I came up empty because in my head, it was hard to imagine her as anythingbutthe skeleton of the woman I hauled to bed each night and cleaned up after each morning.

Maybe, in another life, she could’ve been my mother, instead of me being hers.

I finally helped lower her into bed, turned off the little bedside light and stood back as she shivered and sobbed.

“One day, mom, you’re going to have to choose between him and me,” I stated, gritting down on my teeth in an attempt to hold myself together.

All she replied with was, “he does love us,” and that was when I knew I would never be her first choice.

She would always choose him.

She would always choose him.

Shutting her door, I picked up my old, tattered backpack and stuffed it with the very few belongings I did own, and without a second glance, I stepped down those too familiar porch stairs and began walking down the road he once drove down.

Maybe I wasn’t so different from my father after all.

50

Poppy Wells

Iam Poppy Wells, and I am a fighter.

I am Poppy Wells, and I am a fighter.

I am Poppy Wells, and I am a fighter.

I repeated the words Lia said to me a few days ago in my head over and over again as I made my way through the forest trail. The only light filtering through the trees was the iridescent glow of moonlight, bathing the forest around me in an eerie, silver glow. With each step, I felt my heart beat an inch faster than before. Every possibility, every alternative of my decision to leave that house behind raced through my mind at a million miles an hour.

I am Poppy Wells, and I am a fighter.

Each breath of fresh air I gulped down greedily set fire to my lungs, my throat burning with the sensation of dread. My entire body was wrecked with fear as I willed myfingers to stop trembling by my sides. The urge to rip away at the skin covering my palms threatened to overcome me with every step I took, bringing me deeper into the forest.

As soon as I stepped foot on that all too familiar rope bridge, a calming silence washed over me. All the pent-up tension inside of me fell apart at the seams until I finally felt free. Lowering myself onto the floor, I kicked my backpack off and let my legs dangle over the edge of the bridge. The river below churned harmoniously, mimicking the crashing of waves against the shoreline–a sound that washed over my body almost immediately.

I hoped this year would be different with my anxiety.

For once,Iwanted to be the one in control of my life. I was utterly sick of being thrown around like a puppet on strings by my own mind.

Why couldn’t I just be like all the other kids?

I was stronger than most people thought. They just needed to believe in me a little. You know, like the Avengers. Natasha Romanoff didn’t need powers to save the world, and neither did I. Except,it wasn’t the world I needed saving from…

People didn’t realize how draining it was having to fight your mind every single second of the day. How exhausting it was trying to convince yourself that the simplest of tasks couldn’t harm you, even though every single nerve inside you screamed at you like it would. The pure strength alone it took to wake up every morning and mentally prepare yourself to go to school when the dread inside you was tearing you apart like a tidal wave.

Living with anxiety changed the way I walked through life whether I realized it or not. It determined everything I did. The way I breathed and how much I needed to breathe and the ache in my stomach that never seemed to go away. Not being able to leave the house without packets of paracetamol and a rescue remedy sprayjust in case–I lived my life in thejust in caseway and I couldn’t seem to stop.

I wanted to be free. I wanted tofeelfree.

I wanted to be normal.