What I Remember.

Tonight, my tears are in the thousands. One for every painful thought and memory. They fall furiously to my lap. And I remember.

I remember living inside a secret hell hole for 2 years under the finger of a con man, wearing a body brace that was so thick I could not hold my head up in confidence, but too thin to cover my anguish.

I remember my parents. I remember their fights, I remember the numbness. I remember thinking, "I will be the parent they never were. I will show them it is possible to love."

I remember one doctor after another, each made of stone, none who could help me.

I remember a time when I could stand and walk, pain-free, for more than an hour at a time. I remember flowing flower dresses and bare feet in the spring, running to another adventure with no end in sight.

I remember my jealousy, the first time I discovered that, for some reason, I couldn't go to the bathroom like the other kids. I remember my shame.

I remember the measuring tape my grandmother used to compare my large waist to my sister's thin one. I remember my 5 years of a deep, dark depression. I remember hating myself.

I remember the day I decided that life was worth living. I remember climbing out of my hole. I have never looked back.

I remember my secret wish that this doctor...THIS doctor....would be able to help me. He would say, "Leslie, you can be fixed. You qualify for surgery. You will be well." I would have a solution to my disease. Then I would cry, I would laugh, and I would raise my arms in victory.

I remember this morning's phone call, the day before my rescheduled appointment. The secretary told me the doctor had permanently dismissed me as a patient. I was not to see him or any of his surgeons in the group ever again. All because I asked for possible monetary compensation for last week's appointment. Jason and my parents had patiently waited, then he had called in and cancelled the appointment. I didn't think it would hurt to ask consideration for compensation. I remember my heart dropping through my chest.

I remember telling Jason. He said he would fuck him up, and I laughed. Then he reconsidered and said, "In hindsight, [asking for compensation] was a really stupid thing to do." I remember my lips trembling. I mumbled something and hung up the phone. I covered my mouth to muffle a possible cry.

I remember writing my parents. I remember my mother's cruelty in her response email. Her disappointment, her anger...it was my fault, all my fault...I was the one to blame, I was always pointing fingers, she was the victim. I remember my hands were ice cold from gripping all of my insides, trying not to weep.

I remember the loneliness that settled upon me like an unsettling shadow. I could not cry at the office, what would they think of me? So I tightened my muscles and squeezed all the pressure into my temples. I still have the sinus headache.

I remember the subsequent emails from first my father, then my sister, who I had purposely left out of the situation, but my parents had heaved her in. Their words were a blur, mere additions to my mother's...words about the law, my mistake...I remember feeling utterly alone.

I remember the sobs escaping from my lips in a loud gasp, heaving from my chest after being repressed every minute for 12 hours. I buried my head in my arms and wept.

I remembered to write it down.