The Lake of Lost Girls

by Katherine Greene

Childhood trauma, table for one, please.

My parents and I existed easily together for the most part. Dad gave me all the space I could have ever wanted, my mother all the nurturing I had ever needed.

I loved them both. They had always been the most important people in my life, which is why, at thirty years old, I still lived at home. Some adults may find it suffocating, and if I was being honest with myself, some days I did as well, but mostly I appreciated that I could depend on them for anything.

I had never cared much about having tons of friends or going out every night of the week. Even as a teen, I tended to stick to myself, and was happy to do so. I never felt I was missing anything. I had always been content with my life. I had to be.

I was a girl who toed the line. I did what was expected of me. But that skin was starting to chafe.

“It’s hard to escape the memory of someone who has become perfect through the very act of remembering them.”

I had tried therapy a few times, but had never stuck with it. I knew it had to do with my fear of opening up and exposing all these ugly thoughts that I kept staunchly hidden away.

But I found once the floodgates had opened, I couldn’t stop myself. That was the danger in sharing.

One recollection led to another, then another. And before I knew it I’d be slicing myself open

Who knew all it would take for me to start releasing some of this pent-up darkness was for someone I didn’t know, with no connection to me or my trauma, to provide a listening ear and to make me feel seen and heard for the first time?

enjoyed these new impulses, even if they threatened to drown me.

People are willfully blind if it’s something they don’t want to believe.

Eventually, our roads would diverge. I knew he dreaded it as much as I did. So, for now I called him. And he was always there, as he promised. It was a pact made with love and tears.

trying to remember what it felt like to be young and carefree. Before life led you down ugly paths and the people you loved twisted into someone unrecognizable.

I should have felt worried. I should have felt guilty. I should have felt anything other than a complete and total emptiness.

It was hard to care about something that was quickly becoming less and less important.

“So, he hit a wall. That doesn’t mean—” “Jess, a man that can destroy things can just as easily destroy you. That’s all I’m saying.”

food. I never ventured far from these safe and familiar roads. I wondered, deep down, if I’d ever escape. If I’d ever build a life outside of Mt. Randall. I felt destined to remain. Forever a part of the dirt and trees. Maybe that’s all I deserved.

I needed someone to talk to. Someone who would understand. But I had no one. My isolation had never felt more pronounced.

I could never summon my anger when it counted. It only ever came out in wild, unpredictable ways. But the people, the men, who deserved my rage, never received it. I was conditioned to want their regard. Their tenderness. As much as I loathed to admit it, I would turn myself inside out in my desire to claim it.

You’re special.” He seemed so sincere. But I had heard these sentiments before. Men like him threw around words never knowing their true meaning. They did it to conquer. To make themselves feel better. To get what they wanted and damn the consequences. Damn the victims.

had a hard time doing what was best for me. Needing to be loved above all others would be my downfall.

For the first time in weeks, I was stone-cold sober. I had gotten used to the welcome numbness that took my mind off … everything.

“Our relationship was like a roller coaster. We were up and we were down. At the time, I loved the ride. But now that I’m older, I can see how toxic it was. We weren’t good for each other. No one should love so hard it hurts.”

That as the months passed and my life continued to teeter on the edge of the abyss, the things that had mattered only a short time ago no longer did. Sometimes, I wondered what it would be like to disappear. Not a poof and you’re gone kind of moment, but a slow fade. Is that what I was doing now? Would no one notice until I was no longer here?

This is why I hated being alone. I couldn’t trust myself—my thoughts. They always went to dark, uncomfortable places.

We loved each other … but at a horrible price. And his temper was something awful to behold.

We need to talk. Please, this is getting serious—” I hung up. When it immediately started ringing again, I stood up, stumbling back from my desk chair. Why couldn’t he leave me alone? The phone stopped ringing and then immediately started again. I covered my ears with my hands, letting out a soft, anguished sob. I wanted to talk to him.

The pull was immense. The love was there … my god, the love. But it was tainted with heinous things. “Leave me alone,” I keened.

My insides felt shaky. I was both flattered and suffocated. I wanted his love and attention, but sometimes it could be too much. There was no such thing as space with him. Boundaries were blurred and pushed.

felt numb. “Sure, Ryan. I want that, too. You and me and no one else.” He seemed to brighten. All I felt was dread.

Lies were my family’s love language.

But, I decided then and there that enough was enough. I was sick of the endless cycle of fear that we, as women, live in.

“This place and these men, and the fucked-up world we live in where a woman’s life is valued only by what she can provide to others. That’s what happened to Jess.”

Hell, I come from a family that would rather take a bath in acid than give you a hug, so what do I know?”

I had lost control of my life, of my future. I couldn’t see a way out of the mess I was in. I couldn’t breathe.

I had made my choices, no matter how rash they had been. And those decisions, made in the heat of the moment and fueled by pain and misery, were destroying me.

I was tired. Incredibly tired. So, I forced that little girl inside me to disappear. In her place was a woman to be reckoned with. I stood up straighter. I felt my spine stiffen.

This time my anger was directed at the right target. I welcomed it with open arms. It decimated my conditioned submissiveness. It stomped my need to please into the ground.

“I think it’s too easy to cast suspicion on a faceless villain. No one wants to blame the very real evil that may be right there in front of you. Oftentimes, the truth is something you don’t want to admit to yourself.

“Then so be it. I need to put these ghosts to rest.”

Had I been purposefully blind to the reality of the people around me? When I thought about it, really thought about it, that picture perfect childhood I was so sure about, was anything but. My life had been constricted and restrained. I grew up feeling both smothered and an afterthought. I had manipulated my own memories to make them palpable. To make them seem healthy and genuine.

I hated the sound of his desperation. It broke my heart. It made me feel worse than I already did.

I wanted to sob into my pillow. I wanted to scream and smash everything I owned. My rage had no outlet. It needed direction before I made another horrible mistake.

Of course her worry was laced with criticism.

I loved how much she felt about everything in her life. Her fury was no different.”

And for the first time, I was thankful. I didn’t want this kind of love. The kind that could choke you.

“She wanted to ruin me, but in the end, she ruined herself.”

She was hurting. She was full of so much pain that she didn’t know how to handle it other than to hurt others. Those she felt were to blame for the mess her life had become.