I GOT REVENGE ON MY ABUSIVE EX

I had already faced strong winds and many storms— but nothing prepares anyone for a tsunami. I was seven years old when I was hit by the first storm. I was just an ordinary child, with absent parents who loved and hated each other in equal measure. They were constantly fighting. My father used humiliating words when referring to my mother, and I remember the pain and discomfort it caused her— and me. It was a typical Sunday for us—just the two of us again, my mother and me. She was probably off work that day, because she was just as absent even when she was home. Despite her physical presence and attempts to win me over with trendy toys and brand-name clothes, I knew we were distant. My mother was distant in a different way. She was there, and she wasn’t. Maybe she didn’t want to be. I knew she had endured a lot of suffering as a child and had married my father as a teenager in a desperate attempt to survive. I was never part of their plans. But I was born. I came into the world with some health problems, and my mother was hospitalized for many months, which made it impossible for us to bond as mother and baby. I’ve always had a chronic fear that my story with my mother would repeat itself if I ever became a mother. She suffered from postpartum depression and went through intense mental health crises. Sunday. I never liked Sundays—especially because Sundays meant going back to my parents' house. And it was just that: a house. Not a home. I would leave my grandmother’s house in tears, and for a long time, I slept with a photo of the two of us tucked under my pillow. I was always searching for my mother’s approval, because deep down, I was sure she didn’t really see me. Still, she tried to compensate with the kind of things any child would like— and she was good at that. Now an old memory haunts me, here on the edge of the abyss. I stepped onto the ledge of the highest bridge. From up here, I can see the black sea below… and the black sky above. Will anyone remember me after I jump? Is it possible there’s another place? A better one? I’ve always lived on the edge. And now, quite literally, here I am. I left the car on the shoulder of the road. Took off my worn-out Vans sneakers. Wearing colorful socks, sweatpants, a band tee, and a varsity jacket thrown over it, the black beanie completed the look— a sort of juvenile funeral outfit. Funny thought. I took off my watch and my rings… but I was still wearing the wedding ring. "There’s nothing left!" I screamed into the void, knowing that nothing would answer— or maybe that something would, but didn’t. I lost everything. All that’s left is… me. And I don’t want to be… me. "What’s on the other side?" I threw myself into the black, star-filled abyss— not knowing what I’d find. And, for the first time, not expecting anything or anyone. I just… left. Sunday, May 28, 2017.