Drawn to Life (3 page)

Chapter 3

Mia—Fear

Graz, June 2012

“Mia, do you really have to go through with this?”

“Yes, Mom.” Irritated, I tossed the clothes I’d been holding onto my bed.

My hands clenched. I looked down and forced myself to take ten even breaths. My heart rate slowed. I stretched, clenching and unclenching my fingers until I managed to breathe normally and was composed again.

I couldn’t stand it when this happened. I still hadn’t regained complete control over my body or my emotions. I particularly hated it when it happened in front of my parents. They had already suffered more than enough for me. They didn’t need my tantrums and emotional chaos on top of everything else. Warily, I glanced at my mother, then took another ten breaths. Finally, I was able to speak without animosity and anger in my voice.

“I need distance.” With both arms, I gestured around the room. “Distance from everything. I know, or at least I think I know, that this is for the best. Please try to understand that,” I implored.

She looked at me, her green eyes showing so many emotions—grief, fear, compassion, care—all because of her daughter. I looked away. I didn’t want to see her sorrow.

She and my dad had tried to persuade me not to go on this trip. Especially my mom. My dad had given up after only a short while. He knew I would leave, no matter what they said. After all, I had inherited his stubbornness. Once I’d made up my mind, it was like talking to a wall.

In certain situations, this stubbornness was a blessing. It helped me reach my goals. It was the reason I had finished my studies in no time and with straight As. It had led me into the perfect job.

But in other situations, the obstinacy was counterproductive.

It was partly to blame for my sadness, which was a considerable obstacle. How could I move past it? Was I capable of eliminating what stood in my way? Maybe the solution to coming to terms with my future lay in my stubbornness. Yet I had no clue where to even begin looking for myself.

And I wasn’t sure whether something that I’d soon lose forever anyway would be worth searching for, worth any struggle at all.

Yet I had set my mind to make this trip. I simply had to do it. I needed time. Time for myself. Time away from everything that made me so bitchy and bitter. The self I had become was a stranger to me, and I didn’t like that stranger. I wanted her to disappear. But she wouldn’t. Each new day seemed to bring a fight that I was bound to lose.

I sighed and walked over to my mom. I looked at her for a long time. She didn’t move. Clumsily, I hugged her.

The way forward was going to be difficult for all of us.

I was scared.

I was afraid to be alone after what had happened during the past year.

I was afraid of what this new life would look like.

I was afraid I wouldn’t find my way back to my real self.

I was afraid of what would happen should I find it.

I was afraid I would never find it and never come back.

“I’m so sorry, Mom,” I murmured, my lips pressed against her hair.

“Ah, Mia . . .” She pulled me closer. “Take care of yourself. Promise to be in touch as often as you can.”

I promised I would. Definitely.

I knew my parents were worried. They were scared, concerned I was still too fragile to travel.

I understood. I wasn’t sure I had the stamina, either. No clue at all, to be precise. But if I didn’t try, I would never know. I just had to go.

It would be only one month. One month across Europe by train. Alone. Just me and myself. It was time to get out of here.

My mother loosened her embrace and stroked my hair. The short, thin hair on my head.

Instantly, I flinched, and my heartbeat accelerated. My whole body went on red alert. I didn’t like anyone to touch me there. I hated my scalp. What adorned it now reminded me of a baby’s fuzz. Fine, thin, no style. Away from home, I hid my head under a knitted hat, which I took off only when I was here, so only my parents knew how I really looked. I’d learned that with the hat off, people stared. I always eluded their gazes. They made me feel naked. True, some people looked at me with compassion, but I didn’t want them to look at me at all. Even I couldn’t stand to look at myself, so why should strangers catch even a glimpse? My preferred option would have been to dissolve into invisibility, but unfortunately, things didn’t work like that.

I missed my old life and my long hair—flaxen, like my mom’s. Friends had often told me how they envied my golden mane. Well, now there was nothing left to envy.

Now I was the one who felt envy. Or who would have felt envy, had there been any friends around. But there weren’t any. One after the other had moved on, which didn’t make things easier.

I missed a shoulder to lean on. I longed for someone outside my family who would support me. I missed warmth and laughter.

I’m sure it had been difficult to be around me during those months, but I always assumed people I loved, who claimed to love me, would stick with me. Apparently, I had it all wrong.

Situations like mine teach you who your real friends are. I’d never imagined nobody would stand by me. We’d experienced so many things together, but none of those times with each other seemed to count, except to me.

I wouldn’t have abandoned them. I wouldn’t have let them down.

But what had happened to me . . .

It was too much for them. It was too much for me.

And it was too much for Christoph . . .

Chapter 3
½

Mia—You Can’t Heal While You’re in Pain

Graz, August 2011

The day had started out a good one. I had even managed the steps, a rare feat over the past few weeks. Everyone wanted me downstairs more often. They tried to boost my morale. But they had no clue how I felt and what I was really going through.

How I hated that question: “How are you today?”

Fantastic, thank you. Guess I never felt better.

They should stop asking. All of them. I didn’t answer anyway, so what was the point?

Yet that particular day had been good. Maybe it was the silence. Nobody was home to pepper me with questions or fill the stillness with chatter. The mornings had become my favorite time of day. The house was empty and quiet. The only sound came from the ticking of the pendulum clock.

My parents were at work. They’d needed their daily routine back. I understood; I missed mine. Without it, I was just a pain in everyone’s neck, including my own.

I was sick and tired of sitting in my room hour after hour, with nothing to occupy my time, nothing for me to do in this house—nothing I enjoyed, anyway. By then, most of my so-called friends had disappeared. Christoph was my one silver lining in this whole ordeal, but we didn’t do much else besides sit next to each other, watch TV, or talk. Except for talking, of course, which I no longer cared for, I could do the rest by myself. Yet his presence reassured me. He gave me strength and was the reason I fought a little harder each day. I fought for him—and for us.

That day he had promised to take off work. The prospect of having him around for more than just a few hours cheered me up.

As always, he was running behind. I’d been sitting in the kitchen for over an hour and was growing worried. I knew he was never on time, but usually he wasn’t more than a half hour late.

I tapped in his number on my cell phone.

“Hey, where are you? I’ve been waiting forever,” I said.

“Hey, Mia. Um . . . I . . .”

Something was off. He was never at a loss for words. He seemed nervous.

“Are you all right, Chris?”

He didn’t answer. I only heard him breathe.

“Chris, please, say something. You sound confused. Is everything OK?” I repeated.

The silence grew longer, scaring me. This behavior wasn’t normal. I tried to remain patient, never my forte. I wanted everything to happen fast. Time was important to me. I needed time. And yet I waited.

“Mia, I . . .” I heard a ragged inhale. I didn’t need to see him to know he was running his left hand through his hair, his default gesture when he was nervous.

“OK, well . . . Mia . . . I can’t do this any longer. I can’t deal with it.”

A huge knot gripped my stomach. I must have misheard. Lately, it seemed I couldn’t trust my own senses. Reality and dreams often merged. This must be a dream. A nightmare.

“This isn’t working anymore, Mia. Every day I see you suffer, and I don’t know what to do. I can’t help you.” Christoph sighed.

I was frozen. I didn’t know what to say.

“It hurts me to see you in such pain,” he added sadly. I could barely hear his voice.

“Chris . . .” I got up from my chair and began pacing. Growing short of breath in moments, I gripped the countertop to steady myself. My knees shook; my entire body trembled.

This
was
a nightmare.

No, it wasn’t. It was real.

“What are you doing?” I whispered. In anticipation of what was coming, I turned around and leaned back against the cupboards. “You are . . . Does that mean you are really . . . ? No, Chris, no!” My heart was about to burst. I couldn’t breathe. I felt as if I were choking.

“I’m so very sorry, Mia, but I can’t go on like this.”

We both fell silent. For five endless minutes, neither of us said a word. We only listened to the sounds of our breathing.

“I’m terribly sorry. Really, I am so, so sorry,” he murmured. His voice was barely audible.

It was true.

I wasn’t about to just take this in stride. “Seriously?” I snapped. “You’ve got to be kidding me. How do you think I feel? I am fighting for myself every goddamn day!” My brain had finally processed his words, I’d realized the full impact of what was happening, and I couldn’t hold back the tears any longer. They began streaming down my face. I hurt so bad . . .

“Chris, do you have any idea what I’m dealing with? I don’t know what to do to feel better. And you’re just thinking of yourself? How
you
feel?” A seemingly endless cascade of tears ran down my cheeks.

So much for my good day.

The situation was almost too much to bear. My knees started to buckle, even though I pressed my back harder against the countertop, hoping to somehow stay on my feet. The tears continued to fall.

“Don’t be so selfish, Mia.” His voice startled me, not much louder than a whisper and far too calm. He continued, “This is also about me.”

I shook my head. This had to be a bad dream. Could I please wake up and continue my life where I’d left it? Any moment now, surely I would. That’s how things worked, didn’t they?

My headache returned with violent force. One hand gripping the counter to keep me upright, I used the other to massage my temples, trying to keep the pain at bay. I let my fingers trail through what was left of my hair.

“Selfish?” I said quietly. “You’re calling me selfish . . . ?” My voice grew louder. “Yeah, right, I chose this situation. Upon every falling star I saw, I wished ‘Oh please, choose me. I love to suffer. I am so young. Take me! And don’t just ruin a few years—no, please ruin my whole goddamn life.’
Yeah, Christoph, that’s how selfish I am.”

My heart beat furiously. My entire body was in pain.

“I am so sorry.” That’s all he seemed able to say. I didn’t believe him. The silence between us returned. A very uncomfortable silence, broken only by some muted sounds in the background. And then I heard a voice. A very familiar, female voice.

“Chris, babe, come back to bed, will you?”

I was speechless. What was there to say, anyway?

Christoph
and my
best friend
.

Breathing was suddenly difficult. It was as if someone was choking me. Hoarsely, I asked, “Since when?”

“Mimi . . .”

“Don’t
Mimi
me!” I hissed.
Mimi
—his nickname for me. Only I wasn’t his Mimi anymore. I didn’t even want to be his Mimi anymore.

“It’s not what you think it is.”

“Not what I think it is? Then what is it? Seems pretty obvious to me!”

“It just happened. You were never around, always in the hospital, and Julia and I often got together to talk about you. All the time; I only thought about you.”

He paused, waiting for me to say something, but I was out of words. God, this hurt.

“We always talked about how we could help you. Then one night she was at my door, crying. She and Hofi had been fighting. And then . . . it just happened. Some things you can’t control. They just happen.” I heard him swallow. “She’s breaking up with Markus.”

Some things just happen.

“I get it, Christoph. I’m selfish, and some things just happen. I’ve heard enough!” I yelled and hung up.

I smashed my cell phone against the wall. It broke into little pieces. It wasn’t the only thing broken. The pain in my heart was excruciating. I’d never imagined Chris could do this to me. I’d been convinced his love for me was as strong as my love for him. And I’d been so wrong.

I wanted to end it all. I sobbed and screamed and threw everything I could find to the floor—plates, glasses, silverware—until I was exhausted and had no strength left in my body. My knees gave, and I fell to the hard tiles on the floor.

Not what I think it is.

Chapter 4

Mia—I Can Do That

Graz, June 2012

My mother was fearful I wasn’t ready to go on the trip. That I wasn’t healthy enough. I had my doubts, too. Like her, I didn’t know whether I’d regained enough strength.

Over the past year, my parents had witnessed all my ups and downs. If I were in her shoes, I would have been just as troubled. She had seen me at my worst. There had been days when I’d locked myself in my room—well, Anna’s room. After I’d moved out, my younger sister had inherited my bedroom, neither of us ever imagining I’d be back. But then, at age twenty-four and a half, I’d ended up unable to care for myself, my only solution to move back in with my parents.

There had been days I’d been so defeated by self-doubt and anxiety that I couldn’t swallow a single bite. I’d been so weak and lacked the courage to face my future. I hadn’t wanted to go on living.

I’d felt like a loser, a total failure in life. I’d wondered how I could ever get my feet under me again.

My parents had tried everything to help me see the beauty that still surrounded me. In an attempt to remind me of the things I’d loved, they’d bought me a new set of drawing pencils.

I had always enjoyed sketching, especially with chalk or monolith pencils. With them, I’d rendered drawings that mirrored events in my life. But I’d no longer wanted to even talk about my emotions, let alone depict them. I gave art up. I locked up my talent deep inside my heart and left the sketching pencils in the desk drawer.

My parents had done and still did everything they could to cheer me up and welcome me back into a daily routine. Every time my mom cooked dinner, she called me to join her in the kitchen. She knew how I’d loved cooking aromas, how I’d enjoyed peering over her shoulder to learn new culinary tricks. But not anymore. It was plain torture.

I simply had no energy to pick up the pieces. My body was exhausted, my inner life annihilated. I felt worthless. But I had to move on, somehow . . . if not for me, then for the sake of my family.

The pain had slowly done me in. I’d been desperate, so I’d tried to numb my suffering by intentionally harming myself. I’d hid the scars I’d inflicted under long sleeves. I hadn’t known how else to handle my overwhelming emotions.

It had helped. That precise moment when the blade cut into the skin and the pain overpowered all the other aches in my body. At least briefly. For one fleeting moment, short as the blink of an eye.

But I felt better now . . .

My mother looked at me with sadness.

I had to be resolute. “Mom, I can do this.” I smiled at her. I knew I could.

“I know. I know,” she sighed. “I just worry so much about you. You’re my child. Parents always worry about their children.”

She had a point there. She still cautioned me to drive carefully every time I took the car.

“It’s been such a difficult year for you. All I want is for you to enjoy your life. I want the best for you,” she said softly and gently caressed my cheek.

That touch is allowed. She is my mother.

Then she straightened her shoulders. “Come on, let’s not talk about this right now. This should be a joyful day. Especially for me. Finally, I’ll have one less daughter in the house. The two of you together are driving me crazy.”

“Mom!”

She shrugged. “It’s true, Mia. One of you is always in the bathroom. I’m a woman, too, and I’d like my turn from time to time. Especially in the mornings, before going to work. But soon, I’ll have one less person to argue with.”

I shook my head. “Mom, you’re exaggerating.”

“As if you knew. But no matter. Now, let’s put your clothes into your backpack.” She looked about with wide eyes. “Seriously, you want to take all of this?”

She grasped my arm, and reluctantly, I let her drag me closer to the big, jumbled pile of stuff. But I wasn’t really paying attention. My thoughts had wandered back in time again.