ShameLess Read Online Free Page B

tutor for me to finish school at home, and get my GED. However, they enforced my return to school by saying academics are essential, and that I needed the social interaction, along with a degree for a stable financial future, and encouraging my moving on. I chose our local University since I thought most of our class was attending out-of-state colleges. Some did not. Some alleged ‘friends’ chose the same school as I did. Walking across campus and hearing shouts of “Whore”, “Killer”, “Slut”, along with other more threatening taunts was extremely difficult. Their persecution became too much to handle. Hence, another reason my mother and father insisted I see Dr. Bradford. What they did not know, and what Dr. Bradford will never know, is that their words became actions. Often times I would walk across university grounds only to be shoved from behind, out of nowhere. I knew who it was, I’m not stupid. There were times when I was heading to my car parked in the student lot after classes, and I would find human or dog shit smeared across my windshield, or “Murderer” spelled out on my rear window in red lipstick. Other similar outbursts occurred. I never told a soul. Why would I? I just grit my teeth to get through it. Somehow, by sticking it out, I managed to finish out these past two years, both academically and psychiatrically. I even swayed my skillful psychiatrist into believing that I need to move on, and am ready to do so. Who is brilliant now?
    Anyway, despite it all, I did keep my promise to my mom, and to myself. I think, forcing myself to finish my gen-eds and continue treatments with Dr. Bradford, is the sole reason my parents eventually relented. Now, they are allowing me to transfer to a new college. Thank God! It is also to my benefit that they met with Dr. Bradford, and according to my mother, “It went well, dear.”
    After a lot of convincing, especially since my dad happens to work as a Special Agent with the Federal Bureau of Investigation, they caved. His agreeing to the move included strict conditions, which I fully expected from him. For instance, he insisted I call him once a day. The only way he would grant his seal of approval was for me to attend the college nearest the beach house. This one was easy for me to agree to since I absolutely love the beach and our house there. Next, he said I had to promise him I would follow our safety rules: a buddy system and the self-defense moves from the class he made me attend, to be used as needed. In addition, I was instructed to call Howie, his personal assistant if I needed anything, specifically during times I needed to reach him regardless of whether he was at the local office, or out of town on assignment.
    However, in lieu of all of this, I couldn’t be happier. For once, since that tragic night of losing Elle, I feel hopeful.
    Hope is something I haven’t had in a long time. Hope will never bring Elle back. It will never turn back the hands of time, but I can tell you one thing, as long as I am breathing, I am grateful to have just lived through the roughest, most turbulent, emotionally draining, and traumatic last two years. I am nowhere near being ‘okay’, to say the least. My heart is finally starting the healing process. I am glad to have this ‘do-over’, a second chance, if you will. Elle will never get to say this. Not at all. This inspires me to make the most of it, and the strength to keep moving forward – a second chance for me, and for Elle.
    My life has been hell. I deserve this. I know Elle would agree. Possibly, I can somehow learn to forgive, overcome, and fight to become filled with less shame and self-blame. I owe it to Elle’s memory and to myself to at least try. There are times in your life when you have to accept your past to welcome your future. I believe this is that time for me.
     

 

     
     

 

     
     
    I seriously do not want to get out of bed this morning, let alone get dressed or face my first day