Why Struggle?
I walked into the kitchen, battered and furious, and strode straight to the window. I unlocked it, knowing there was no screen to hinder me, and pulled it up as high as it would go.
Plenty of room for a body to get through.
Larry and I lived on the second story but because the basement was above ground, the yard was actually three stories below.
“Get away from the fuckin’ window!” Larry yelled, appearing from nowhere. He grabbed me from behind, shackling my arms and lifting my whole body away from my planned escape route.
“Fuck you!” I screamed. “You fucking hit me! You tried to fucking kill me!” I wriggled and tried to break free from his grasp. Again.
This time, his strength was being used to save me.
Blood was dropping from my face onto our kitchen floor, causing my hair to stick to my face as I writhed. I couldn’t wipe it away; everything was an irritant. I bent forward in his arms, pushing at him with my back, trying to twist away.
“I didn’t try to kill you,” Larry said, his voice slightly kinder somehow. “Just fuckin’ stop this shit!”
“You tried to fucking kill me,” I repeated, though that wasn’t my main concern. “You hate me!”
“I don’t fuckin’ hate you,” Larry snorted, but I barely heard him as he pulled me further away from the open window, force-walking me across the kitchen like we were playing some kind of picnic game.
“You don’t fucking love me!” I wailed. “Let me GO!”
“Fuck no,” Larry said, sounding eerily calm and wise.
I squirmed harder, desperately trying to break free. He would not let go, and he was not being gentle. He held my arms motionless under his arms; my feet kicked aimlessly at nothing. “You need to fuckin’ calm down before I let you go.”
“I do NOT need to calm fucking down!” I yelled, still flailing. But my screaming was just a mask.
My rage scarcely contained the dangerously surfacing thoughts I’d carried with me since childhood: I am completely alone. Nobody loves me. No one will ever really love me.
I thought I’d buried those thoughts completely with the alcohol, but no. They were thumping rhythmically inside me like a heartbeat, louder than ever before.
I’d forgotten that Larry had just beaten me to a pulp. It didn’t occur to me that I was excessively drunk and wildly exhausted. I didn’t think about my past or my future. I became hyper-focused on this one recurring thought: Nobody will ever love me for who I am.
My aimless kicking stopped as I suddenly realized that I was fighting for no reason.
Why struggle? I didn’t even want to live.
I became suddenly quiet. Believing that I would be forever unloved and alone, I fell limp in his arms.
My feet touched the ground, and Larry finally loosened his grip. I stood up, silent.
“Okay,” he said. “Maybe we can talk now.”
Finally, Larry released me and stepped toward the living room.
As he did, I turned and ran full force toward the open kitchen window. Without hesitation, I dove through in one fluid motion, hurtling through the air toward the ground below.
