DAY 3
I woke up from the chirping of birds. The sun was just beginning to rise as I crawled out of my tent. As I stood to my feet, I stretched my arms out and inhaled deeply, filling my lungs with the morning air and the love of the forest.
After yoga and breakfast, I spent most of the morning laying on my panic blanket, reading "Wild". No matter how many times I've read it, Cheryl Strayed's words would always move me. Her tragedies made me sad. Her struggles made me sympathetic. Her triumphs brought me joy. Her joy gave me hope.
My journey may have been similar to the author's but not the same. I did have a rough childhood growing up half-white/half-indigenous, bounced around from home to home since I was seven after my mother died and never knowing the white bastard that was my father, where I started abusing drugs and alcohol at a young age, but not before having sex at a way too-young age.
One difference between my journey and the author's is what she did by choice, I did it by accident.
It happened one night when I was twenty-seven. I was an addict and an alcoholic, working as a stripper or as a hooker so I could pay not just for my drug habit, but my abusive boyfriend's habit as well. We were driving down the highway after getting blazed at a drug party. I was slipping in and out of consciousness in the passenger seat while my boyfriend, let's call him Nick, drove his crappy, faded blue truck.
In the times I was awake, I was furious with Nick. When he brought me to the next town and to a rural house where the drug party happened, he neglected to tell me that I was the only girl there and the dealer wouldn't supply the drugs unless I gave him a blow job. I wanted to leave but I knew Nick would just persuade me, usually by yelling or/and beating me, to stay and give the dealer what he wanted.
So, I gave in and went into a room with the dealer, a hairy-armed, less-than-appealing, middle-aged man with a long and thick beard and horrific body odor due to lack of regular showering. From there, I took off my top, got on my knees, and went at it. It took at least ten minutes to finish but he was satisfied with me.
But the humiliation didn't stop there. Nick forced me to perform a striptease for his friends. I knew if I didn't, not only would Nick beat me and maybe rape me, but he would lock me out of the house, preventing me from the party favors I desperately needed.
The living room had only an old, worn-out couch and an old wooden table, so there was plenty of space for me to dance. The music I danced to came from a ghetto blaster with a broken cassette player and could receive only one radio station. I was halfway through the first song when I took off my top again, exposing my small breasts to the five seated men, yelling out catcalls while getting blazed. One of them made a rather unflattering comment about the unimpressive size of my tits. I looked to Nick for support or at least threaten the asshole, but he was already wasted. So, I decided to let it pass before pulling down my skirt as the second song began. Instead of waiting for the third song like I usually do on the stage, I decided to take my panties off, leaving me completely naked for Nick and his friends to ogle at me like a slab of meat.
Nick finally rewarded me for my obedience by allowing me to partake in the party favors but kept me from getting dressed. Soon after a few bumps and a few beers, I didn't mind being the only one naked with Nick's drug-using friends. I didn't mind them groping me. I didn't mind giving them lap dances. I didn't mind one of them forcing me on the table to rape me.
With the drugs and booze I took, I didn't care what they did to me just as long as my lifelong personal demons were kept at bay, even for a short while, the humiliation and degradation I suffered were worth it.
Almost worth it.
On the drive back home that night, the highway was through a forest that went for miles. However, the road home was not a straight road but had many twists and turns hard for anyone to safely drive at night. Nick in his state was driving recklessly. He managed to make the turns to keep his truck on the road several times. But his luck ran out when he accelerated and failed to turn and run into a deep ditch.
As the truck keeled and crashed, I hit my head on the dashboard. I was still conscious but severely dazed either from the drugs or the booze or hitting my head or all the above. In my state of mind, I managed to get out of the truck without checking on Nick, not knowing if he was still alive.
Unable to so much as think, I started to wander aimlessly towards the tall trees. From what I can remember, I walked for hours as I slowly began to regain my senses only to realize that I was hopelessly lost in this big, dark, and cold forest. The trees surrounding me were tall and thick enough to block the stars in the night sky. Not that I would be able to find my way out if I could see them. The trees also blocked any moonlight for me to retrace my steps.
Before that, I haven't been anywhere bigger than a city park. I was never a Girl Scout, I never went to summer camp as a kid, and I never learned anything about surviving the so-called great outdoors.
I started to panic. Running wildly, not knowing where I was going. Yelling for help at the top of my lungs. But it proved useless as there was no one to save me. Then my panic turned into depression as my demons plagued me as they've done many times before. Usually, when the bliss from the drugs, alcohol, or sex begins to fade, I would just take one of the following vices, but without them, I am reminded of the shitty life I have led, making me more depressed.
After hours of aimless wandering, I followed the torrents of water which led me to a river. The river was wide and deep, shored by large rocks which the water loudly splashed against. As I walked towards the near-deafening river, I noticed a wooden bridge across the river. As I got closer, I could see the bridge was narrow, made only for people to cross. It was clear the bridge hadn't been cared for in years with the loose or missing boards and the wood rails rotted or covered in moss. But the bridge seemed sturdy enough.
I walked on the bridge and stopped in the middle. I looked down at the dark, rapturous waters below me. In my dark moment, I thought of ending the shitstorm that was my life. The drinking, the drugs, the abusive boyfriends, the shitty jobs where I must be naked. Letting it get worse year after year until I die of an overdose or another drug-related accident or something worse.
Unless I end it. Just jump into the raging river and end it all.
I leaned against the wood rail to see how deep the river was. With only a crescent moon in the partly clouded sky at night, I couldn't see past the restless waters, causing me to lean more on the rail. But suddenly, the old wood rail creaked and broke from the bridge to fall into the river. I instinctively tried to regain my balance but the edge of the floorboard I stood on was rotten and crumbled beneath my feet. I screamed as I plunged into the mighty river.
Not only was the water cold but cruel as well. I was caught in a powerful undercurrent, forcing me down the river without mercy. Even though I wasn't much of a swimmer, I tried to get to the surface before running out of air, but the river would not make it easy for me. Like a helpless leaf in a storm, I was rolling around underwater, hitting rocks and scrapping against the rocky riverbed.
As a final punishment from the river, I was forced to roughly roll on the rock and sand-covered bottom of the river until the river had no bottom. Suddenly, I was free from the unforgiving river but to my shock found myself in mid-air after being flung from a waterfall. I screamed again as I plunged downward, this time from a higher altitude to the river below. I hit the water harder this time, causing me to slowly lose consciousness.
Completely submerged in the dark waters, I realized how I tried to save myself from the vicious river after contemplating suicide only to be nearing my end. Almost funny.
But in the last few seconds, before I peacefully slipped away for the last time, I felt a pair of hands of someone grabbing hold of me, pulling me up to the surface. I was glad someone took time away from their moonlight swim to rescue me before I blacked out.
After my trip down traumatic memory lane, I put my book down and reached for the baby oil for a session of self-loving. I rolled on my back and spread my legs. I closed my eyes and took several deep breaths before I squirted the oil on my stomach. With both hands, I gently slathered the oil around my stomach and hips, moving to my breasts and my neck. I added more oil to my lower stomach, below the belly button. I massaged my outer thighs, my ass, my inner thighs. My oily fingers gently slid between the soft folds of my labia, slowly arousing me but I didn't go in deeper to masturbate.
The self-loving I performed was not about getting myself off but exploring my body and its mysteries underneath to discover what it desires and what pleasures it can bring, strengthening the connection between my body and my mind. During this, sexual energy expanded in my womb, and traveled up my spine, cleansing my chakras, connecting my spirit with my body and mind, forming a triangle of enlightenment, fulfillment, and serenity.
While I continued loving my pink petals with my fingers, I squirted more oil for extra lubrication before I engaged in further exploring. I performed a perfect wide-leg split and slid my fingers down from my labia to my perineum. I took a step further sending my oily fingers down my ass to my sphincter. I massaged the rim before pushing a finger, up to the first knuckle. The sensation was mild but enjoyable. I pressed my finger deeper to the second knuckle. It felt better.
