Yesterday marked the fourteenth month anniversary of the brutal beating at the hands (and feet) of Austin Vantrease and Jonathan May. The 7th of each month is always especially difficult for me, even though I know it’s coming.
It’s like standing between the rails with a locomotive bearing down. This train is always on time. “All aboard for the 7-train. This is the final boarding call. Please stow away all hope in the overhead compartment. This is a one-way, non-stop express train to Despair”. First I feel the vibration, then see headlight, then hear the engine noise. All I need to do is move off the tracks! Just one simple side-step and the train will safely pass. Hell, how much warning do I need? Yet, I don’t move. I’m too angry. Too scared. Too foolish. Too proud. I stand there playing an insane game of chicken knowing the only possible outcome. I close my eyes, hold my breath, and brace for the inevitable explosion of pain.
Each month I vow to handle the day better. Each month I fail. Why do I make empty promises to myself?