An Impactful Birthday

I woke up on June 27th 2016 inherently angry. I had been angry for the last twenty six days. But today is my birthday. I heard the loud yells of my wilderness guides calling out our names and stumbled out of my sleeping bag onto the dirt roads of Hawaii. I noticed the lush greens surrounding me, the pineapples sprouting from the rich soil, and the vast volcanoes glaring at me from the distance. Many people would’ve been in awe of the scenery that grasped their eyes. I was unimpressed. A nice vacation to Hawaii on your birthday would’ve been a dream to most, but for me this was in no way a vacation.

I spent my sixteenth birthday hiking in silence. I trudged up the volcanoes, ignoring the breathtaking sights and staring at my hiking boots. Once in a while I would feel a single tear gush from my corneas, a tear that I would quickly wipe away with a dirt streaked hand. I simply could not fathom the fact that I was spending my birthday like this.

Our group takes a moment to rest and we are ordered to reflect in our journals. I remember laughing, How does one force another to “reflect’? I open up my framepack, rifling through my sweaty socks and cans of tuna until I found my notebook. I opened the soiled journal and realized, I have a lot to say, and no one to say it to. I began writing a stream of consciousness, aggressively scribbling down every thought of contempt I had for the day I was experiencing, allocating blame on to my parents for doing this to me. I thought of how I would’ve spent this day at home in a drug induced haze, with people who barely knew my authentic self. This thought was still appealing to me.

We were not allowed to know dates or even times in wilderness. The only reason I knew today was my birthday was because I had been tallying the days with a pen on my sunhat. Today marked the twenty sixth day of my stay. I saw those twenty six tallys and sighed as I put my sunhat on and embarked upon the rest of our hike. My legs were aching and weak. Sweat was dripping from my forehead, I could feel the dirt dissolving into my pores. There wasn’t an ounce of birthday happiness in my being.

At last, I had finally reached the end of our hike for the day. Although hiking was strenuous, that was, by far, the least challenging part of my day. Today I had therapy. I saw my therapist out of the corner of my eye and cringed. I heard her say the words “Happy Birthday!”, I saw them as the vocalization moved her lips, but in now way could I process them. This was not a happy birthday.

“We’re going to do something different today” My therapist said. I groaned, anticipating the next worthless activity I was supposed to do that was suddenly supposed to cure my yearn for drugs.

“I have your impact letter” she said.

The sensation that took hold of my body was debilitating. I knew what this meant. I opened the two letters; one from Mom and one from Dad. Tears streamed from my eyes in a way I didn’t know was humanly possible. I read each word and realized the traumatizing effects my behaviors had on the two most important people in my life. Each letter was two pages, crammed with destructive behaviors I had as habits for the past two years. I opened my mother’s last. I knew this would be the most difficult to read, difficult because I could not bear to read the horrible things I had done that had affected the person I looked up to most. I got to the last paragraph and read a sentence that would forever be engraved into my mind.

“I just want my little girl  back.”

Those five words created a whirlwind of thoughts. I realized that the person I was acting as for the last two years was not me. On June 27th 2016, I made a vow to my sobriety. I read my letters repeatedly, finally taking accountability for the detrimental impacts I had inflicted upon my parents. I no longer wanted to live the life I was living twenty six days prior.

I looked up at my therapist bleary eyed. I politely thanked her for our session; the way the authors of my letters raised me to do. I swallowed my shame as I stood up from the dirt, mentally preparing for the pain that comes with self-improvement.  I was abruptly stunned by her warm wrinkly arms encasing my body. It was a hug. For the past 26 days I hadn’t been allowed to even talk to anyone besides her, and the guides, let alone touch someone. I felt her physical body against me as I melted into her platonic touch. She pulled away as I gathered myself, not wanting her to know that her hug was the best present I would have received. This simple motherly act of nurturing was all I needed.

“I hope it was an impactful birthday.”