Here we go again. About a week into the whole quitting thing, I fall off the edge of the sane world. It's making me crazy. I build the whole world up against me...feeling alone, as if forgotten, unloved, lost. I wanna scream, but, I try to keep it all under wraps. I don't want to share how I feel...it doesn't make sense and it will just make you mad or whatever. So I cry in the shadows, and attempt to go on from one day to the next as if nothing were wrong...


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In the vague darkness of the night, she slept soundly in the security that was provided by her home. She knew her mother was there, and this week, so was her father. She didn't see much of him, as he spent much of his time at sea on a boat, but today, he was home. For that, she was glad.

They had been having trouble with the smoke detector. It seemed to want to go off when there was steam coming from the shower, which normally jolted her awake in the mornings. Today, however, she could see the tall figure of her father silhouetted by her nightlight against the darkness of the hallway. He was so tall that he had no trouble reaching the problem; pulling it from the ceiling and silencing the loud sound.

Looking back, that seemed to be the last real memory that she had before all of that peace and security came to an end.

She opened her eyes only to awaken to the yelling and screaming that she could tell came from her parent's room. Why were they yelling? She was confused, and scared. Pulling the covers higher over her head, she tried to go back to sleep and ignore the yelling. It had happened before, and maybe if she ignored it this time, it would go away. Alas, she heard footsteps coming down the hall and her mother stepped into the room.

"Get in here. You need to make a decision."

The child sat up slowly, her eyes meeting those of her mother. She could tell that her mother was mad; it was rare that such a look crossed her face. In fact, she couldn't remember another time when it had. Getting up slowly, she followed her mother into the bedroom. Getting a hug from her father, she looked from one to the other. He set her up on the bed and stepped back; he seemed to already know the answer.

"Which one of us are you going to choose to live with?"

What? Didn't we all live together? It didn't make sense. She looked from her father to her mother. She didn't really know her father. She didn't really know who he was. It was a big unknown, and that scared her. She started crying. Why would she have to make the choice? Inching towards her mother, the child's eyes seemed to send a message that was far beyond her years.

I'm Sorry.

The world around her collapsed that day. What was life, turned into a ragtag collection of memories. There was the brown van with no seats in the back. There were the cameras. The snow, and painting trees with no leaves with watercolor paints at the kitchen table. There was the time Santa came in on the Jack. She could recall the height, and how she could only hug his knees. Oddly enough, there was also the discussion about getting rid of the cats because of her allergies.

Times changed radically. Things became such a blur. They were moving; packing everything into boxes and going somewhere else. She was sad. First, their television was gone and she couldn't watch the Olympics that year. More than that, her father had not come back and she was going to leave everything that she had ever known. The tree that she claimed was her friend, the garden in the back of the yard, the snow and hot cocoa that normally came with winter.

Things were changing.

Soon, they were in Florida. How they got there was well beyond her, but there they were. Things changed more. Her mother became distant, as if the child was no longer a driving force of any importance in her life. Constantly, she was bombarded by things her mother said; accusations that her father was worthless and didn't want her, that her father had walked out and left her, on top of the accusations of lying, stealing, and general discontent. The child started to hide rather than face it all.

There was a pond in the back of the condo building where they lived. It was here that she would escape. Mounting the imaginary horse that she had, she would race around the pond with other imaginary horses. For hours she could do this. There were no friends. Occasionally, she would have someone to share her world with, but most people just thought she was strange. So, at an age far younger than she wanted to, the child began the process of locking herself away. It was safe in there, where no one else ever came. Her own mind made up friends. There were the officers of the space shuttle, the pilots of the carrier she was assigned to, the other horse riders, and so on. She found comfort in the arms of her imagination; throwing parties for herself and her imaginary friends.

Time marched on around her, though she had gotten so that she was quite well hidden from the world. At the same time, she didn't realize that it was not normal. There was always the twinge of doubt...when she was alone on the playground while the other kids played something together. It made for a lonely existence, but it was something that she was alright with for now. At least she had her imaginary friends, right?

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The bell rang, apparently, even though the woman had ended up on the floor on the other side of the bed. It seemed like an enigma to all of the adults, but for some reason, it made perfect sense to her. Sitting in the darkness of the living room, she took a black paper and a white crayon. She wasn't sure what to think...but she certainly wasn't on the verge of falling to pieces.

That night, people filled the home around her. She didn't talk to them. Instead, she drew her picture and seemed to fill with a sense of contentment. As if someone had told her everything would be alright and she believed it. It was an odd situation, and her mother would later tell her something was wrong with her because she hadn't cried. The child couldn't figure it out though. Why cry? She was only six, but she seemed to understand that people come and go. Life goes on.

Now it was just her mother and her. Things remained the same for a time. She stayed in the private school for another half of a year. They stayed in the home of her grandmother for a couple of years. She ended up in a public school, which was quite the experience for her. She hated it. The kids would throw things at her at lunch...most notably peas...because she would read at lunch rather than get involved in any groups. She had even fewer friends at this school than the last; she was more alone than ever.

Hiding was something that she was learning to do, and she was learning to do it well. She realized that there was no one that wanted to share her thoughts and dreams. They were all outlandish anyways. She kept looking for someone to latch onto, but the someone ended up being the imaginary people that she created in her mind. At least they would be there to talk when she wanted to.

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One day, the mother brought home a man. It was the first time that she had seen another man in her life. She wasn't sure if she was seeking the approval of a male in her life, but she almost instantly latched onto him. She didn't want him to leave too, though she didn't really understand the relationship thing. Still, she had gotten used to him being there when she woke up on weekends, and in her innocence, she would crawl under the covers next to him on the couch. Perhaps this was the start of something evil, but for the child, it was simply warmth and physical contact from someone she considered safe for the first time in a long time...

Suddenly, she found herself mediating the arguments, trying to please her mother every way she could, looking for them to solidify things somehow. There had been talk of selling the condo and moving into his house. It was something she wanted...a real back yard, a pool, and a family. A real family. The possibility of normality.

Weekends began to be spent at his house. In the beginning, it was amazing. It was, just what she wanted. They seemed like a family...they took trips to theme parks, they ate dinner together, they watched tv together. He worked on his cars, and she worked in the house. She would crawl into the waterbed on weekends and he would rub her back. She didn't think it was odd, nor did she find it strange when he told her,

"Sometimes it's ok if I come in the bathroom when you are in the tub, like if you need help washing your back."

It all seemed normal to her, even though the voice in the back of her mind was screaming that it wasn't.