Wake Me Up When September Ends

It took me years and a whole arsenal of recovery initiatives to break free from focusing on the burdens that were slowly and painfully poisoning my life. When I figured out how to cut myself free from these weighty loads, I felt alive in ways I’d never felt alive before. You’re probably wondering what my breakthrough moment was, right? It was realizing I should let the dead bury their dead. In other words, I needed to stop allowing things beyond my control or influence, even things I couldn’t change, to distract me from living my life in the here and now. There’s more to this, and I promise I’ll come back to it in the next chapters.

Wake Me uP When SePTeMBer enDS

Well before Green Day coined the phrase, “Wake me up when September ends,” I’d adopted the sentiment as my seasonal motto. I knew this place of intentional slumber. September’s been a difficult month for me to get through for as long as I can remember. The culprit: September was the month I was date raped the night before the homecoming dance. It wasn’t my first sexual or physical assault, but it was the event that killed what remained of my hope for my future. I became trapped under the weight of what-ifs that came to visit every September.

What if we hadn’t been under the influence? What if I hadn’t worn my favorite mini skirt that night? What if we hadn’t gone up to that room to make out? What if my best friend believed me when I told her what happened? What if I refused to go to the dance, even if it meant my friend couldn’t go either? What if my parents found out? What if I’d gone to the cops? What if they’d blamed it on me, too? What if I was alone when I passed him in the halls at school? What if I never stopped seeing his cryptic expression when I closed my eyes or the smile he flashed at me over the years when our paths crossed? What if he does it again? Gets away with it again? My God, what if people still blame me for the whole thing? What if . . .