Writer's Prompt Wednesday

The prompt:

1.) Who really helped you get over something? Write about that person.

I really want to say Stefan here, because he helped me through one of the hardest times in my life. He was the only person who was willing to put up with my crap after a really shitty break-up. He was the only one who cared about my feelings after my miscarriage. He was the only one who would drink with me all night until I just didn’t think about anything else but being drunk anymore. He was there for me in the ways that I needed him.

I really want to say Kara, my counselor, for helping me work through feelings and really understand where they’re coming from. I’m still a work in progress but my progression is significant.

I really want to say Rileigh, my daughter, for helping me get over myself. She knocked me down to reality and really showed me what it was like to love someone with everything that you are, with everything that you have, and with everything that you’ll ever be. She helped me realize what really matters in life and reminds me when I forget which is almost daily.

I really want to say all of these people helped me get over some really tough things and they absolutely HAVE. They all have left their mark on my life in ways I never knew existed. But the one that is really standing out to me is Simba.

I haven’t told you about Simba yet, I’ve been saving him. He’s my stuffed lion. I’ve had him since I was 8 years old. He was the last real present I remember my Grandmother purchasing me. Simba was my absolute and total everything. He went everywhere with me for as long as I can remember. I remember taking him to school until I was asked to stop. Maybe I was made fun of, I can’t remember for sure.

I remember feeling (and still sometimes do feel) that Simba has a soul. That he has feelings, thoughts and a mind of his own. I remember feeling a terrible sense of guilt when I left Simba at home or when I would wake up in the morning to find out he’d fallen out of bed.

I told Simba my every thought. He always knew what was going through my head. I cried many tears on Simba. He was very much the only support I had growing up. I didn’t have the worst childhood one could imagine, but I did struggle a lot. Simba was the only ‘person’ I could turn to. He was the only one who would listen to me and the only one who would hug back. Simba was there for me when nobody else was.

My mom was a single mom who never had less than two jobs. She was hardly ever around. She struggled to support us and was often times irritable and tired. I can’t blame her for that. I don’t remember my mom being a big part of my life until she married Steve when I was 14. I don’t remember feeling like I could run to my mother and tell her I was having a bad day with some kids at school. So, I told Simba.

My sister was dealing with issues of her own. I can’t tell you exactly what those are. I’m not quite sure myself. I can tell you that she got in with a ‘bad crowd’ and started experimenting with drugs. I can tell you she had a violent temper that she often took out on me because there was nobody else to take it out on. I can tell you I received numerous bruises from my sister while my mom seemed to look the other way. I don’t even know if I ever told my mom. I’m sure I didn’t. I was terrified of my sister.

I did not feel safe in my own home for a very long time. I would lock myself in my room and keep myself and Simba occupied as long as I could while my sister and her friends were in the living room watching TV and doing God knows what else. I remember being called names by my sister and sometimes her friends when I did leave my room and make my presence known. I shared a room with my mom for a few years because we had a 2 bedroom house and my sister hated me so much that she refused to share a room with me. There was a point when my mom became my only friend outside of Simba but was short lived.

My mom was so stressed out, I could never imagine. My sister was putting her through hell and she had two other children to think about. My brother was being raised by the State of Nebraska—which was no cakewalk for him or my family. It’s a bullshit story that I can’t wrap my head around. My parents and brother got totally screwed by the state. My brother was not a major part of my life growing up.

I couldn’t share my stories with my friends. I couldn’t vent to them about my frustrations because if my mom or sister ever found out I’d be grounded or have a few more bruises to add to my collection. So there was Simba. He’s all I ever had.

Simba was the only thing that kept me going. He was the only thing that made me comfortable enough not to pick up and leave everything behind. He was partially responsible for keeping me on the straight and narrow. (The move to Paxton and my friends played a larger role in that.)
I knew, as an 8 year old, that I needed someone to pick me up when I was down. I knew that I needed someone to listen to me. I knew that I needed someone to go to the park with and watch movies with. I knew that I needed someone to cuddle me to sleep at night. I was a resilient child. Instead of giving up and turning to drugs or violence, I turned to a stuffed lion. I made the decision to get my comfort from small toy instead of entering into the world of drugs even though it was in my face every single day. I made this decision to fight it out with everything I had even though turning to drugs would’ve been an easier way to forget.

Simba helped me get through my childhood. Simba helped me look past the things that were wrong and he helped rise above them to be the person I am today.

My sister and I have talked at length about our childhood. We have both forgiven each other for what has happened in the past. I understand now that my mom did everything she could for us as a single working mom. I could never imagine being in her shoes and having the struggles she had. As I’ve grown I have realized more and more about her daily struggles.

Things are well now, with my family, but I believe Simba is majorly, if not entirely, responsible for getting me through those rough years. Without him, I never could’ve forgiven my sister or clearly seen the obstacles my mother was put through.