My Own Prison

Court is in session, a verdict is in
No appeal on the docket today just my own sin
The walls cold and pale, the cage made of steel
Screams fill the room, alone I drop and kneel
Silence now the sound, my breath the only motion around
Demons cluttering around, my face showing no emotion
Shackled by my sentence, expecting no return
Here there is no penance, my skin begins to burn

So I held my head up high
Hiding hate that burns inside
Which only fuels their selfish pride
All held captive out from the sun
A sun that shines on only some
We the meek are all in one

I hear a thunder in the distance, see a vision of a cross
I feel the pain that was given on that sad day of loss
A lion roars in the darkness, only he holds the key
A light to free me from my burden and grant me life eternally

I cry out to God, seeking only His decision
Gabriel stand and confirms, I’ve created my own prison

Should have been dead on a Sunday morning, banging my head
No time for mourning
Ain’t got no time

~Creed

About 16 and a half years ago, I met my husband, Adam. What I’ve never said here, is that I also met his infant son, Wyatt. He was just 8 months old. Wyatt’s birth mom abused drugs and alcohol, even during her pregnancy. Adam and I alone have raised him. His birth mom has spent the entirety of Wyatt’s childhood giving birth to babies who’d also be raised by other people, while she bounced between crack houses and halfway houses, never really giving up the junk she insisted on putting in her body. I made every birthday cake, gave him his first haircut, and took him to his first days of school. I keep a lock of the blonde curls from his first haircut and his first lost baby tooth inside my hope chest, alongside my girls childhood memories I hung onto. I loved him always. As fiercely as I ever loved my girls. Wyatt is 17 years old now. He has consistently made choices that have spiraled into a chaos that is beyond our abilities to manage. He has an enormous sense of entitlement, and his arrogance is astonishing. I chose never to write about how unbelievably cruel and violent he had become, most especially toward his sisters. I literally couldn’t trust him alone in the pool with Mj, because I was truly afraid he could drown her. The harder we fought to save him, the more he dug his heels in. Unbeknownst to us, he spent the better part of a year planning and preparing to set us up, so that he would no longer have to deal with Adam and I preventing (or attempting to) his fall from the cliff he insisted on dangling from. He was abusing substances. He was sleeping around, having unprotected sex. He was stealing, cheating, fighting. For him, lies were much more beneficial than truth, and his lies are a big reason for the turmoil we’re grappling with now.

Jackie was very well aware, and both Adam and I often had confided in her and Justin. We were desperate for answers. For some ideas of what to do, where to go, how to get a grip on this. I don’t know if it was alcohol? Our mutual friends tell me it was motivated by jealousy. Whatever the reason, one night in May, Jackie chose to not just claim to suddenly believe his lies, but she chose to encourage them. To reinforce them. And finally, to use them to attempt some sort of fucked up coup in an effort to oust me from my own family. She secretly recorded a conversation she initiated with me, as she accused and blamed and shamed me, all while knowing the answers behind every “question” she asked. After I had shared all I ever had with her. My family. My babies. My fears, my struggles, my secrets…It didn’t work as she must’ve anticipated, except for a small minority of people who were willing and eager to just accept the bullshit being fed to them. That the fiction being told was even plausible for anyone who knew me just devastated me. I guess I’m numb over it now, though. That, or my heart’s already broken into so many pieces, it’s impossible to notice which ones once fit together so easily.

I may have already said more than I should, but I needed to say it tonight.

Wyatt isn’t coming home. Jackie and Justin, Adam and I, will never be friends. It’s not about forgiveness. It’s about protecting the precious few good things left over from this storm we never ever could’ve saw coming. Maybe we should have? But, we didn’t. And now, we’re all doing what we can to make our “prison” feel like home. I really don’t want to hear any opinions or suggestions about how or why we should be doing more, have done more, for Wyatt. I haven’t even scratched the surface here, really. We cannot continue to be fuel for his ego driven trip to a hell we are powerless to prevent. All we are capable of is watching and waiting. Clinging to the tiny strands of hope we managed to hang onto, and praying that maybe just maybe, one day. One day, he will make the choice to do better. To be better. And, the moment that happens, of course we would do everything possible to support him. It simply isn’t up to us, now.

This has been the most painful experience of my life, and it isn’t over. Even without the parts Jackie contributed, I’d have still needed my best friend more than ever. Instead, I found out I just wasn’t worth what I believed I was.

This is my pain. The wreckage I live inside, every second of everyday. This is the truth. This is who, what, why, and where I am today.