Thanks for Driving In the Rain

“Remember the first week of school? When you called us asking to come and get you? This is what we drove through.”

“I followed a tractor trailer for 60 miles because I couldn’t see shit.”

I don’t remember the self-harm. Or the why.

I do remember the blood and the dissociating in the bathroom — praying that nobody would come in and find the crazy girl and ship her off to the hospital.

I called my mom crying and screaming and begging please if you love me, you’ll come and get me.

Indoctrinating them into a nasty cycle of:

1) Don’t ask how your daughter is doing, you have no right. Don’t get sad when she’s sad or mad when she’s mad. Don’t feel her pain. It’s her pain.

But also:

2) Feel her pain. Be here any time she needs you even though she is horrible sometimes. Any time she needs. Anywhere she is. Support her (me).

They arrive at 3:00 AM.

I fall asleep so they wait out in the rain banging on doors, trying to find someone who can get them to me.

They become the container for my experience while I am resting in this dream world. While I get the temporary relief of sleep, they are still awake in my nightmare, hellish reality. They can still hear the screams. Left in the ruins I ballet-danced my way between.

Our worlds join as I wake up. When they come there’s a minute where I want to say oh I’m fine, I made a mistake. Sorry to have made you come here. I’m a Big College Girl Now. But thanks anyway.

However I don’t. Because I know I didn’t make a mistake in my body. I am not the Big College Girl I want to be.

Flashback, 2013:Therapist, Long Island New York; Irene: “Do you really want to go to college with your OCD? How will you manage? How will you make it?

I made it because they give me options.





No hospital.

No hospital.

No hospital.

And I was ok.

I didn’t need medication to drown out my feelings.

I needed my feelings to feel heard.

So Mom & Dad: Thanks for driving in the rain.


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