Scott Hildreth

We tend to make adjustments in our lives to get by, to survive. Sometimes we don't actually heal. We make changes. We deny. We mask. We cover up. We hide things. I could not change the fact Shellie committed suicide while I was away no more than I could change the fact she left me the poem. Eventually, I put the poem away to separate Shellie and the thoughts of her from my day-to-day life. I quit carrying a wallet because the wallet reminded me of the poem, and the poem reminded me I was helpless.

Everything that I did, I thought of him. He had consumed me. He has crawled inside of me and become part of me, part of my day-to-day life. Even when he is not in my presence, he is part of everything that I do. He is in my mind. He has infected me. I paint my nails and I hope. I hope that he praises me. I hope that he smiles. I hope that when he says what he says, whatever it may be, that he ends it with those two words. Baby girl. I am ruined.