Opening my eyes that morning I could see out the window to a grey and shadowy day. Like the chambers of my heart, wanted to gather together for safety hoping for a stronger force to dissipate the darkness.

The alternative was to come out and bleed.

I felt very strange. A fuzzy, surreal sensation as if I were half in and half out. It was difficult to pinpoint but I attributed it to not wanting to be there.

Still, I permitted a part of myself to face the day...again feeling half in, half out.

The other part of my mind, inside my panic room, was busy calculating, anticipating, looking for, and planning to escape. Always an escape.

Testing my legs, I rose, then slowly added my weight to my trembling limbs.

Success! I was standing, albeit a bit wobbly. Still standing nonetheless.

That buzz in my head was back. It sped up a little bit as the world grayed out. Slowly my surroundings came back into view.

I knew I had to get some food inside of me and something to drink. Slowly, I made my way up the stairs again and immediately saw my stepfather sitting in his chair reading his newspaper.

"I hope you had a good long rest, ge something to eat them get dressed. You've got work to do." He paused. "You're lucky you were sick instead of fakin' it."

There was no strength in me to do or say anything in response. I simply followed his commands like an automaton.

Taking small steps and wobbling a bit, I went to the kitchen.

I could hear him behind me. "Careful now. You don't want to keep putting it on. Smarten up and walk properly." I tried and with some difficulty succeeded. After a bowl of cereal and a cup of juice, I began to feel some strength flow back into my limbs even my head cleared of some of its fuzz.

I washed and dried the dishes then stood before him once again.

"Get down there and get dressed. I want those weeds pulled along the front of the house, all of them. When you're done that you can do the sides of the house too." 

"We don't have a shovel or gloves." I told him.

"Use your hands," he said.

"My hands? How effective is that gonna be." I thought.

My frustration rose to the surface. "That will take a long time doing it that way," I said with gritted teeth.

"Then you better get started." he retorted and returned to reading his paper.

I was angry, and quicker to it now I noticed, as my ability to endure more was at almost zero.

Furious tears welled up in my eyes. I turned and watchful navigated the stairs. Entering my room, I let the tears fall as they may. Sadness, fear, anger, frustration. All of those emotions came pouring out in my tears.

Finally, I hiccuped a couple of times and began to dress. Shoes, thin jackets I walked out the front door, turned and stared at the house.  Weeds of all sizes, types and shapes prowl up against the cement foundation. On the left side, where the septic tank was, was overflowing. With that overflow, it created huge weeds that you can't imagine. And I was expected to go there and pull them out while my feet sank into the sludge. 

"How about they drain the septic tank instead, imagine that." my sarcasm, frustration and my generally pissed-off attitude threatened to come forth. Pull the weeds or get my skull reshaped so I pulled the weeds.

The first clump I grabbed in my hand sliced across my palm.

The first of many to follow as the weeds fell at my pull, while my shoes filled with dirty water the awful odors lining up in my nose.

In my head, the same lines danced across the backs of my eyes. "I have to get out. I've got to get out, I'm gonna get out." while my mind formed plans, my automaton continued to pull weeds.

"Watch me go..."  I whispered.