Kaleidoscope

by Tracy Campbell

  Sitting down with her and Ms. Orowitz together in a room and telling them exactly what had happened was, by far, the most painful thing I've ever had to do in my life. It'll be hard to forget...she sobbed and crumpled to the floor, and she apologized over and over...we had to call an ambulance because we were afraid she was actually going into shock. It was absolutely terrifying. We ended up going home though after they gave her some medication—you know how Mom is about doctors. She refused to stay for observation and insisted she'd be fine.

  It's been a little over a month now since then, and I think things are going to be okay. It's a new year (almost), and it's time to start a new chapter in life—a better chapter. For the first time since I can remember, it really feels like things are looking up.

  P.S.: Going back to paintings real quick...I finally went to the recreation center a little over a week ago and saw mine and Austin's paintings. I've never felt so accomplished with my art in my entire life.

  I closed the colorful green and blue polkadot journal before stowing it on my nightstand to join the two smaller ones that had taken up residence there. I laid on my bed, staring once again at the patterns in the paint on my ceiling. The shapes within them shifted and moved in the dazzling Christmas lights that surrounded my own bedroom window.

  Tomorrow would be New Year's Eve, and next month would bring my eighteenth birthday. It was hard to believe.

  I closed my eyes against the twinkling lights, and I thought back to the day of December 31, the New Year's Eve before my thirteenth birthday, and I remembered how exciting it had felt to finally become a real teenager. At the time, it was my life's dream to become a teenager. As I continued immersing myself in my memory, I recalled the office party Mom brought me to that year. She didn't want to leave me home alone and lacked a babysitter, so I'd sat with all of the other adults as the only kid in the room. That year was the first time I had ever been allowed to try champagne, and I remembered how fizzy it was, and how it didn't taste nearly as good as I thought it would. I remembered.

  I never used to understand why people would look forward to the new year so much. It's as if people believed that by having to buy a new calendar, all the problems they had over the previous year would just disappear. People seemed to think that a new year also meant they would become new people—people who would achieve all the grandiose goals they'd had in mind for the next 365 days. They would be nothing like the previous version of themselves who had managed to gain five pounds instead of lose ten, or who had lost love instead of found it. Those people were in the same place as they were the year before, when they'd been just as excited for time to plow forward as they were right now. This New Year's Eve would be different, they all told themselves. It had to be.

  This New Year's Eve was different though. The snow coating the sidewalks and trees outside looked the same as it had always been this time of year, and the festivity that always accompanied another year's passing was nothing new. The difference was that this year, I understood how those people felt. I knew that the calendar ticking forward into a new year wouldn't magically change who I was, but I was aware I'd already changed in ways. Even Mom said she could see something in the way I walked—I don't quite know what she meant.

  “You just stand up straighter,” she murmured to me one day as we drove home from our therapy sessions. “And you even let Murray into your room now.”

  “Yeah, well...he just wants love and approval like everyone else, I guess,” I had replied with a slight smile.

  Our sessions took place in the same building, just with different people. Ms. Orowitz said it was a “conflict of interest” to treat Mom, though she made the request because she just loved what she was able to do for me. I was a successful experiment for Ms. Orowitz after all, I suppose. The place we now went to was a little further away, and we had to go on weekends, but the experience wasn't too terrible, really. It was actually kind of nice being able to spend some time with my mom, even if that time was just riding to and from the shrink's office together.

  I knew I had a long way to go before I could live a “normal” life. It would be stupid to let myself believe I was already there, even though things felt 300 percent better than they had before. The panic attacks would take some time to control, especially without the medication. My abuse counselor, Dr. Fitz—I upgraded to a real doctor now—prescribed me some clonazepam to steady my nerves, but I had a funny feeling about taking pills, now that I knew. I just didn't trust them.

  “You have them if you need them,” Mom had reminded me.

  I knew my anxiety would improve once I was able to deal with the flashbacks, but those would take even more to control. They'd take everything I had in me. Without the wall of confusion that had kept my memories shattered for so long, pieces of my past were coming at me with gale force and in startling numbers.

  Certain pieces of information was more persistent and tough to handle than others. I shuddered at those thoughts and convinced myself that everything would be alright one day. I just had to keep going.

  I guess I did feel different though—in a good way. It was impossible to feel as innocent and in awe of the world as I did when I was a child, as I hoped I would one day feel once I became more “normal.” I realize now that innocence is one of those things you can take away, but that can't be replenished. People get older, they learn more, and their innocence is replaced with knowledge and wisdom. I'd settle for a nice mix of both if I had a choice.

  I felt different in a good way as I dozed off in my bed and thought about the plans Austin and I had made for New Year's Eve to go ice skating with his family down in town. Mom was even thinking about going too—it would be some kind of miracle to finally get her out of the house to do something. I coaxed her towards the idea by telling her about the fireworks show that would be done right off of the ice, right overhead as we skated. Fireworks exploded in my mind just thinking about it. I would kiss Austin at the stroke of midnight, just like they did in every cheesy romance movie ever created. If we're being honest here, I'll enjoy every second of it.

  I felt different in a good way as a quiet ease settled over my mind. The relief I felt from the constant confusion, which bored upon me like a soul-crushing weight, lifted a bit more each day as I continued my therapy. I was learning ways to manage the new library of memories in my head, even the bad ones. Even the terrible ones.

  I felt different in a good way knowing I had the strength to confront even the most horrifying vestiges of my past, when I'd never believed myself to be even remotely capable. It felt different and exciting to be able to look forward to the future instead of dwelling fearfully on the dark spaces in my brain, peeking around hidden doors to discover its unknown mysteries.

  I sighed and felt my consciousness slip. Curling into a comfortable ball on my side, I faced away from the festively lit window whose light shone through the cracks of the blinds. I felt different because for the first time in a very long time, I finally felt like there was hope after all. Maybe there was a place for me somewhere in this world where I could belong. I might never be a perfect fit, but...

  It was a work in progress.

  The End.

  About the Author:

  Tracy Campbell is a young up-and-coming author from Colorado. Growing up in the mountains as an only child, she ended up...a little weird. She loves cats, video games, cheesy television sit-coms, and a variety of other tasks that will never include sports.

  In addition to writing, she enjoys many other art forms as a way of life. She is pursuing a degree in graphic design and also enjoys a full-time career as a tattoo artist. Her first published work "How to Become a Tattoo Artist" was written to help others who were passionate about this career path to break into it successfully and professionally.

  atomikcupcake@hotmail.com

  Atomik Cupcake Designs Website:

  www.wix.com/AtomikCupcake/Tattoos

  doscope