Lauren Landgraf

            I’m only 21 years old; I can feel my pulse fading and my vision blurring. My breath is getting shorter and I start to panic, I can’t move and I don’t know what to do.  I can hear the sirens from here; someone must have called for help.  I lay helpless like a newborn child, ready to be saved from the wreckage and destruction.  I hear them shout, “She’s still inside, but I can’t tell if she is still alive.” And to be honest, I don’t know if I am either. Before I know it I am in the ambulance racing to the hospital, my parents are on their way. I want to scream but I feel like no one can hear me or understand, the pain hurts too bad, it’s almost unbearable.

            I am rushed into surgery, and I don’t remember anything until I see my mother and father staring over me with grief stricken faces. “She’s awake” my mother yells and my brother and sister hurry over to my bedside as if they only have a few seconds left to see me.  I can finally mumble out words, “what happened?’ My mother tells me about the accident, apparently I was speeding again, but I was high so I don’t remember.  “The police said they want to take your statement sweetheart, but I told them now was not a good time with what you have been through.” My father then barks at my mother, “this isn’t the first time this has happened Susan, you would think she would have learned her lesson by now. I’m not dealing with this kind of behavior any longer.  You’re too sympathetic, and probably the main reason she has turned out this way.” My mother then bursts out into tears and they start to argue once more, now I remember why I get high.

            My last accident wasn’t this bad; I had fallen asleep at the wheel from a night of too much fun and taken out the neighbor’s fence and mailbox. The damage was expensive but I was still in once piece.  This time, I wasn’t so lucky.  I have two hairline fractures to my back, 8 staples down the side of my head, a broken collar bone and a fractured arm.  I lost so much blood they say I am lucky to be alive, but I don’t know if I agree with them.  I started using drugs when I was only fifteen; my brother got me into it.  He just got out of rehab for several different substances, they say he is doing better but I am just waiting to see how long it will last. 

The only thing I remember about my childhood is my parent’s inability to get along with each other.  It didn’t matter what it was, it was another excuse to argue, scream and yell and throw things at one another. My brother, sister and I wanted them to divorce for years, but we knew mom wouldn’t go through with it.  My dad had too much money for her to let it get away and knowing him, he wouldn’t let her get anything in the divorce.  Dad wasn’t stupid; he knew this and had been having affairs on my mother for years.  I always just wanted to be normal, to have family vacations where I wasn’t embarrassed to bring friends and where we didn’t end up packing up and leaving early because mom and dad couldn’t get along.

Drugs numbed the pain and the reality; they made getting through my life seem so much easier. Last May we had to sit my brother down and tell him we were shipping him across the country for rehab.  Steven did not take well to the idea and became irate.  It has been almost a year, he is back and doing better but I know he has not forgiven my parents and I doubt he ever will.  After all this has happened, I see my father doing the same thing with me.  Sending me where someone else can take care of my nonsense, because dear old dad thinks that money can just cure everything.