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"The Pain," by Sarah Ferland

Gary Miller

Copyright Gary Lee Miller 2015

Copyright Gary Lee Miller 2015

Some people know the feeling;

The feeling of being alone…

                            Being scared…

    The feeling of sadness creeping up behind, grabbing you. You try to get away, but it holds on; eventually consuming you.

    Life is hard. For some people, it gets so hard, they hide. They hide deep inside themselves; shielding their soul from the hurt and pain they suffer.

    They smile, trying to hide the hurt from others. When people look into their eyes, they can see the pain. When they stare out in the distance, looking sad, their loved-ones ask “are you okay?” they lie by saying “I’m fine; just thinking.”

    Outside, they feel moments of true happiness.

                        Joy…

                            Love…

                                A true sense of belonging.

                But at home, they're tortured;

Constantly feeling pain again, and again.

They feel trapped. Stuck with nowhere to go. They’re scared, afraid that they’ll never get away. For some of them, they’re scared of a certain object or action that brings bad memories.

    For me, it was seeing the familiar bottle on the counter; a few ounces of clear liquid sitting in the bottom. Seeing the dark figure sprawled out over the couch, her chest slightly moving. All of the memories would flow back from an unwanted past.

    The memories of coming home from school to find her slumped over in a chair or passed out on the couch with an empty bottle nearby. Lea and I would beg her to stop, but she wouldn’t listen. All she cared about was getting another drink.

The memories of the fights and pain would fill my head.

        Being afraid...

                 Hiding it from everyone...

                                It’s something I’ve gotten used to.

    It’s become part of my everyday life. Being around others, I might have shed a tear, but I lied to cover it up.

    Growing up alone in this hell-hole has made life hard. The harder life keeps getting, the quieter I become. The deeper inside myself I hide.

People have told me that life is going to get better.

                                I just hope someday it does..

(EDITOR'S NOTE: This story has a happy ending. The poem was written years ago. For Sarah, whose mom is in recovery, things are much, much better. It's an amazing contrast, and an example of all the joys recovery can provide)