Novel

Just wanted to throw some stuff on here today that I'm working on right now. Just a side note about writing something especially difficult... it's hard for me because I have to place myself back there again, in that place where I was constantly afraid, where I was constantly hurt.
For anyone that has ever been through a similar situation, you know what I am talking about. The same feelings of helplessness, anxiety, and that ever present feeling that I cannot breathe begins to return.
Anyways, the writing is slow-going at this point... but I wanted to include a few little bits in here... bits of a life from long ago. Pieces of me.
**NAMES have been changed**
All of my life, I have wanted to be a part of something, bigger than myself. I watch all the popular kids talking about sports at school-who is going to play varsity volleyball this year and who got injured and whose serve can't be beat. There is an excited tone in their voice, and I listen in .. ..

I don't know anything about volleyball-except that you're supposed to hit the ball. When it comes roaring at you, you grasp your hands together, evenly, pushing upward as the ball comes downward at just the right angle, not too much, to send the ball forward-not straight up, and definitely not behind you. A volleyball always wants to move forward. At least, that's what it looks like to me. There's something about the whoosh it makes as it sails through the air and the resounding smack as it makes contact with eager hands who want to send it to the other side of the net.....
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There's something else about watching volleyball that makes me anxious. It's about more than the excitement rising like a heat wave through the crowd, more than about the popularity it seems to bring those that play. There's something about the way I see all the parents showing up to watch their kids play that makes me sad. The way the parents seem to dote on their children, cheer them on from the stands, give them hugs and tell them how proud they are. It's more than that, and I know it. Volleyball represents yet another thing that I cannot do.....
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Perhaps that is the reason that I find myself eager to try and play every chance I get. I try and tell myself, as the ball sails over my head, or I miss my shot, that I'm not on the team, I don't have to care if I mess it all up; but all the same, I do.....
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Perhaps I'm not as good as I'd like to be. Sometimes I get picked last for the team when we play during school hours for PE. But I don't care, at least I'm getting to play. ....
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It's not just the fact that I'm bad at volleyball, I could probably get better, but the fact that I'm not allowed to play. I'm not allowed to participate in any sports at all. She makes up all kinds of reasons. On the right day it's because she can't afford it, or so she says as she pours herself another drink. On the wrong day, it's because I've done something wrong again. I don't deserve to play sports. I don't deserve to have friends. I don't deserve to live. ....
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I come home every day from school on time, anticipating her daily call home. If I am not there to answer the phone, she will call again and again, and grow angrier with each unanswered ring. Today, I manage to get home on time to answer her call.....
"What are you doing?""I just got home from school.""Where's Sandy?"....
"I don't know. Walking home with Amanda I think."....
"Why didn't you wait for her."....
"We get out of school at different times."....
"You need to wait for her tomorrow. I don't want her to walk alone."....
"She's walking with Amanda."....
"Well don't forget to do your chores. I have to get back to work right now. I might stop at the bar after work tonight. So make sure you do all the chores before I get home and fix yourself and Shauna some dinner."....
"But there's nothing in the fridge."....
"Isn't there some hamburger?"....
"We used that up a few days ago."....
"Well there's lots of food in the cupboard. You're not helpless. Figure it out." The frustration in her tone is showing. I can't let this get out of control, can't let her think that anything is wrong or we'll pay for it when she gets home. I have homework to do and I'm glad she said she was going to the bar tonight. I need a night of peace."Okay Mom." I choose today not to argue with her.....
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There's nothing in the fridge, but I don't tell her that. Sandy and I ate pickle sandwiches last night, made a game of it. We carefully sliced dill pickles into four long strips, piled the slices on the stale left-over wheat bread we had thawed from the freezer, and carefully and gently placed our pickle slices on the bread, added some ketchup, mustard, mayo, and that was our dinner.....
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