Isabela

**Today**


Once, I saw my friend asking why life hits some people so hard while others never even know what pain feels like. Lately, I wake up wondering the same thing...
In this vast, mysterious universe, is there a god? If he's out there, does he see us, these tiny sparks of nothing compared to all he’s created? And does he care about our pain? Does he pick and choose people he thinks have thick enough skin to endure countless blows without breaking? Or am I profaning something sacred by doubting divine wisdom as my life crumbles around me for the thousandth time?
It's been a week since my mom died. I know everyone thinks I shouldn’t have cried for her, mourned at her grave, or brought flowers to her burial. How can I tell my heart not to love her? How do I erase the memories of her reading me bedtime stories or braiding my hair? All my feelings for her are tangled: hatred, anger, love, longing for when she was less terrible. And how do I say I'm relieved she’s gone? I don’t have the family I was born into anymore—maybe I never did. I don’t have a father, a mother, or a grandmother. All I have now are the new people life has given me. I know I’ll have a family with Nate someday. Actually, the two of us and our kitten already make a home. But this bitter wound of feeling alone, with no one to turn to when I’m hurting, is unbearable. No matter how dysfunctional your parents are, having them alive is better than having no one. You feel like a shadow, alone, abandoned by the world. There’s only one person I know who understands exactly how I feel, and that’s my friend Ana. I know one day I’ll have a baby and feel less lonely, like she did after having Julia. But right now, I just feel empty. So empty that I miss Nate all the time because he helps me fend off this overwhelming sense of abandonment.
A few weeks ago, I found out Hellen stabbed me in the back. I’ve been going to therapy three times a week because I’m in such a messed-up emotional state. Most people go to therapy once a week, but during crises like the one I’m going through, you might need more frequent sessions.
There’s one thing I’m proud of: my wrists were never an option. I run to Nate or Ana and Cristina, but I haven’t heard the whispers of the razor blade in a long time. At least therapy is helping with that.
Something else happened. I was so messed up and filled with rage after discovering everything Hellen did—or didn’t do—that I made a blog and exposed my stepfather and grandmother. I wrote about all the desperation I lived through, posted photos I had saved in my drive of bruises, and videos I secretly recorded of Marcos hitting my mom. I had been accused of creating a blog I didn’t make seven years ago, but now I actually made one to expose the people who ruined my life. The blog blew up after Bianca shared it on her Instagram, and I even did a live stream on my Insta to answer questions and encourage anyone with information about my stepfather to come forward and expose him too.
It wasn’t what my lawyer or Nate wanted me to do, since there was a whole legal process underway to go after my stepfather through the proper channels. But it was an uncontrollable impulse. I was thirsty for revenge. My boyfriend asked his college classmates to share the blog link, and many of them did. Some girls even posted on Twitter to boost a hashtag: “Justice for Isabela Lenhard.”
Those were horrible days. I wanted to sleep and only wake up when someone told me Marcos was in jail. I spent agonizing hours watching as my case was discussed by YouTubers, covered on TV, and waiting for something to happen.
We filed a lawsuit against Marcos for assault, attempted rape, and other bullshit. There was so much crap piling up that I’m amazed my mind didn’t completely collapse. I think the love of my life, standing by me, giving me strength, kept me from breaking down. My stepfather wasn’t immediately arrested, and I felt like throwing my TV out the window when I saw him surrounded by reporters, showing up at the police station for questioning. He was with his new wife, a young blonde girl pushing his wheelchair. Another Diana for him to destroy.
A glimmer of hope grew in me when the first accusation came from a former intern at his office. She claimed that Marcos harassed her multiple times. She was just the first. In total, twenty women came forward, accusing him of attempted rape, sexual and moral harassment, and even physical assault. They had all been silenced for years, afraid of his power and position. I wasn’t alone anymore—I wasn’t the only one. Marcos had his arrest warrant issued a few days ago, but the bastard is under house arrest “due to his physical condition.” That was the judge’s excuse, probably some friend of that scumbag. Whatever. At least his face will forever carry the public stain of his crimes.
Oh, and there’s Hellen. I exposed her on Twitter about the cases she won with Marcos’s help. She’s screwed now, tangled up in the justice system with the whole mess surrounding the side effects of the drugs her lab sold. I hope she pays somehow for abandoning me, for choosing to leave me in the hands of a man who wanted to destroy me.
I’m sitting in front of a huge glass wall, in a cushioned red reading chair, watching the students on the college lawn below. The sun is weak, but it makes the view stunning. The energy of this place is surreal. It’s incredible how much I love being here...
I know I’m in a dark and sad moment, but I still have to acknowledge that this is something good. I’ve got back the boy I’ve always loved. Every day he’s fighting more for his mental health, trying to make me happy in every way he can. There’s been significant improvement in how he controls his emotions. I had a “consciousness” session with his psychologist. He explained to me that, with Borders, it’s important for the romantic partner to always be aware of their condition and be understanding during moments of crisis. José also gave me strategies for how to act in such situations. I loved the session and hope I can always be someone who brings good to my love, someone who can bring out the best in Nate. Because he’s already managing to polish me in a good way. I’m a rough diamond, darkened by pain, and yet he can still see me as a jewel, something valuable and worth fighting for. I feel so lucky to have him with me, or I don’t know how I would face this whirlwind.