Page 120 of When Wrecked Meets Ruined
“I don’t know. She talked shit all the time. I just let it slide off my back.”
More lies. I hate all this talk therapy.
It sucks. It’s hard. It’s ugly and messy.
And I keep coming back to the night I killed a man. I did it in self-defense. He was a scumbag. The lowest of the low. But still. I took a man’s life, and I’m not sure how I feel about it.
When I talked to my therapist about Chad Miller, I tried to brush it off. As if it hadn’t really traumatized me. But apparently, I’d been brushing things off for eighteen years, trying to pretend they didn’t affect me that deeply.
All my life, I did whatever I had to just to survive. Now that I’m not in survival mode and all my basic needs are covered, I have time to think and reflect. I’d rather not deal with it, but here we are.
For now, I’m just taking it one day at a time…
May 1st
I’m 19 today. I have a car that doesn’t break down all the time. I get to watch free movies. And in the fall, I’m going to start my first year at UT Dallas.
I have a dark past, a bright future, and a good therapist. I have people who love me—Lindsay, Joe, Luna, Wren, and Quinn.
I have goals now: Finish college in three years so I can graduate with my peers. Shoot for a 4.0. Get into medical school.
It’s scary to let yourself hope… to think you can achieve your dreams. But I’m trying to be brave.
Quinn said she couldn’t wait to watch me fly. She’s still an optimist. She still believes in me with blind faith I don’t feel I deserve.
I still think about Ridge every day. I still miss him like a missing limb. I have a phantom ache where he used to be. I’m not sure when it will get better. Maybe it never will. Maybe I’ll always carry him around inside of me. Maybe I’ll always ache for him.
He probably hates me. I wouldn’t blame him if he did.
But I know Ridge… he would have tried to fix me. He would have done anything it took to help me. And in my heart, I knew it would have destroyed him. Because he would realize that he couldn’t fix me. It’s something I need to do for myself.
I’m broken. I’m damaged. I am not as strong as I thought I was. I have taken self-loathing to a whole other level.
I have a new wardrobe—oversized hoodies, men’s sweatpants, baggy jeans, and long-sleeved T-shirts. I hacked off my hair, and I never wear makeup anymore. I’ve retired my signature red lipstick and nail polish. I don’t want to draw attention to myself.
My looks had never done me any favors. All my life, guys have called me sexy, smoking hot… they objectified me.
Kyle, the stoner, said: You would be hot if you made an effort.
I flipped him off. It felt good. A reminder of the old Evie. The fighter. The girl who didn’t take shit from anyone.
I’m determined to come out the other side, deal with all my baggage, and become a better version of myself.
One day soon, I might even wear clothes that fit again.
Baby steps.
May 19th
Shiloh Leroux’s new album dropped today. I’ve been listening to it on repeat. It’s beautiful and soulful. Haunting. Stripped-back. Twelve tracks that tell a story. Shiloh has this smoky voice that reaches deep inside your soul. It wraps around your heart in a vise grip and squeezes until it’s painful. Heart-wrenching in the kind of way that makes you ache inside.
I think the whole album was written for Brody. Every note, every chord, every song pays tribute to her forever love. At the end, there’s a bonus track, a cover of Johnny Cash’s “I Walk the Line,” that sends chills up my spine.
But there’s one song on the album that she must have written for Brody and Ridge. It’s called “Kings of a Broken World” and features Bastian Cox.
Kings fall to their knees
Knuckles bruised and bloody
