The Night I Ruined New Year's Eve

"What were you thinking when you designed it this way?" leaning back in the creaky red chair, my boss asked me the other day as he reviewed a design I had just finished. His meaning was simple and innocent, with no hidden messages. He simply wanted to know my thought process behind a design.

Unbeknownst to him, as soon as those words were out of his mouth, entering my ear canal, my entire body tensed up and I went on the defensive, preparing myself for attack. My heart rate increased, while my palms became sweaty and a slight buzzing sound seemed to permeate everything.

"What were you thinking?" are four words that when put together become a trigger. Suddenly I was 11 years old, sitting in a kitchen chair with a man screaming at me. "What were you thinking?!" Over and over again.

I retreated into myself, willing the moment to end while he stood above me, yelling, his face contorted into a monstrosity. As I stared at him, his face started to grow and twist, contort and shrink.

At one point in his long and angry tirade, he had grabbed some cold water and threw it at me, soaking my clothes. His wife Elaine stood aside, watching, arms crossed while wearing a look of distance, as if she had checked out. She never said anything, never stepped in. "What were you thinking? What were you thinking?" Those four words I remember most vividly from the whole ordeal.

Rewind a few minutes earlier and a young girl excited to be spending her first New Year's Eve with her new family was getting ready to walk out into the cold to her new family's car.

The adoption was not final yet, but the date was fast approaching. She was about to leave the house with her new Mom and Dad to go to the grocery store to pick up cheese for a fondue, which she had never eaten before.

She was so excited as she opened the door to the porch and stepped out. Before the interior door closed, she opened up the door to the outside. Suddenly she was thrown into a chair in the kitchen. Her new father was screaming at her. His face pushed up close to hers. Yelling and yelling. Angry.

She broke a rule. Never open the outside door until the inside door was closed. They had cats and did not want them to get out. How could she have forgotten? Stupid. What had she been thinking?

After the tirade, after the yelling and screaming and thrown water, she was told that they were still going to the store. She was not given the opportunity to change her clothing. She walked out to the porch and waited to open the outside door. Following her new parents to the car, shivering because the water had started to turn to ice on her clothing, she was instructed to say nothing when they got to the store. He new father did not speak to her, would not look at her, her new mother was silent but give sympathetic looks.

As they walked through the brightly lit store filled with families, mothers and children, fathers, old people and young, she wanted to scream out. She wanted to ask someone to take her home. She wanted to be saved.

Instead, she walked unseen, unnoticed through the store with her new family. They bought the cheese and left the brightness of the store. Darkness, unhappiness and pain filled her with every step back to the car. She knew that when they got home, the pretense of normalcy would end and she would suffer more punishment.

When they get home, she was banished into the cold, unfinished basement. Still in her wet clothing, she huddled on the one small rug by the washer, wondering what would happen next, tears silently falling down her cheeks.

She heard the basement door open and steps as someone walked down. While she watched, her new father pulled a table and chair together and put a block of cheese on it. His back to her, he demanded she sit in the chair.

"You are going to eat all of this cheese. Right now." She looked at the cheese through blurry wet eyes, then back to him, his face ugly and contorted. "You will eat it or I am going to pull your tongue out with these," he said quietly and he showed her a pair of pliers. Sniffling, she picked up the big block of cheese and started to eat as he stood in front of her, holding the pliers, watching. She began to retch and he yelled, "Eat it all or I will rip your tongue out! Every single bit. Eat it!" Somehow she managed to eat the whole block despite the gagging. She stared at the wrench while she forced the cheese down her throat.

When she was done, he picked up the plate, turned around and walked back up the stairs. He flipped the light switch and left her sitting in the dark. After a while, when she was sure he would not come back, she got up and walked back over to the rug by the washer. She folded herself up as small as she could and cried herself to sleep.

The next morning, Elaine walked down the stairs carrying a laundry basket. She saw her and said, "You're still here? You could have gone up anytime."

What Were You Thinking?

Every day I struggle in some way with the past. I try to beat back all of these triggers. The thing is, the world does not know or care why you behave a certain way or say certain things. You have to function. Or you don't. My boss did not know why I responded negatively to his words, "What were you thinking." How could he? It is and was my responsibility to make sure my internal mess does not affect those around me. It is a daily struggle and I am filled with so much guilt because I am not a better person. I am not cooler. I am too emotional. But let's face it, I am lucky I can dress myself in the morning!