The Light Turned Green

When I was a kid, I used to scratch at my arms until they bled. There was this sense that I would be able to find the better version of myself somewhere just under the surface of my skin. If i could just open it, reach in, and pull her out, then everyone would see how special, worthy, I was. The problem was that I never found anything new or better, I was still just the same. Even when I thought I had reached down deep enough to grab at that something great, no one ever seemed to notice a difference and I felt less worthy than I ever was before. Even in the pools of my own blood, I was nothing. Meaningless.

It wasn’t until college that I had this kind of … epiphany. We’ll call it that anyway. It was like the universe shined its overwhelming wisdom down on me and I realized that my worthiness wasn’t something that was lacking inside of me, but that those around me were failing to see what I could offer. That the void I felt was their failing, not mine. I had put everything I had into this life yet there was nothing I received in return.

It is easier to make that transition than people believe. The anger that I once had at myself for being meaningless and a waste of space turned outward. The self-loathing that was all-consuming was no longer pointed toward my center, but instead at those who failed me. Failed by never seeing me the way that they should have.

TV would have you believe that women who become violent don’t do the dirty work themselves. They use poison. They convince a dumb man to do the work. Maybe some choose to get out the old man’s shotgun and take a wild shot. I don’t find that it releases the anger. I tried and it is too quick. To impersonal. No, I have found a different method. After all, when you loath someone, everyone, there is no shortcut to emptying the sick they created in you from your mind. You have to take your time, dig down deep and rip back open the scars society placed on your soul and return them to the places they belong. Place them back onto the world over and over and over again until they stick.

I am driving to the cabin my parents used to own in New York, up in the woods and away from any real civilization. I have a half-hour more to go. The snow is falling in heavy, fluffy flakes and I am reaching the last gas station I’ll see before I reach the cabin. I pull to a stop at the red light just before the turn into the station and check my gas gauge. I still have three-quarters of a tank left. When I stop, I turn down the radio’s blabber about the storm and listen for other noises. The snow is soft as it hits the car, hardly making a sound. The loudest sound is the heater running in the car and the engine rumbling. I wait.

THUMP! THUMP THUMP!

Ah. There it is. Not dead yet. I smile.

I had been slightly worried that the drive would kill him before I took him to his final destination. It had been so cold. I blasted the heater the whole trip and even left him a blanket. It wouldn’t be time for him to understand my loathing unlit later tonight, and it would spoil my healing process if he expired before I got to explain why I hated him so much.

The light turned green, and the motor hummed as I pressed a heavy foot on the accelerator and drove on.