Thinking back on the events of my life, how I got here, became who and what I am.  I remember the events that molded me. I remember those things that seared me. Those things that had burned my soul to the core, until I was the iron willed, calculating and cold eyed person that most can't fathom.  I remember learning how to hate with a lack of caring and concern that should have frightened me, but didn't.  I remember how it all started and how you lost yourself in the bottle and the lure of cocaine.  You were determined to conquer and control me, to own me.  When you couldn't break my spirit you punished me and tried to break my body.  I remember hiding the bruises on my face and throat with heavy make up.  My clothes hiding the rest of my battered and torn flesh, no one would ever see or know.  I remember hearing my mother's words that I had to just make the best of things and not embarrass the family.  To tolerate and endure silently with no hope of solace or help.  It was my fate for having chosen so poor a match. A private family matter that no one talked about or acknowledged.  And you slid deeper into that bottle and the monster that arose was merciless. 

I remember the day our son died and you changed from the heartless, punishing tyrant into a weak and mewling kitten.  My shattered heart was replaced by a lump of stone.  I found a kind of strength in not feeling, something that propelled me forward to become ... more.  I remember waiting those long days for the coroner's report.  I waited with a loaded gun, ready to simply put a bullet between your eyes.  To see the look on your face as I squeezed the trigger, payment for having killed my child.  The authorities suspected and also waited for the final report, ready to arrest you.  But I was waiting, quietly, as mercilessly as you had been for two years. Fate was kinder to you than I would have been, science saved your life that day, you were innocent - of that.  I didn't care and told you of my plans.  I watched the color drain from your face as you looked into my eyes and saw your own death there.   I waited for the blow, for the punch that always came but this time didn't.  I watched you crawl weakly into that bottle again and cry yourself to sleep.  Sleep was not my friend that night but I was strangely calm.  I didn't fear you, you couldn't hurt me anymore.  I had won, but at the cost of something too dear.  My heart was still stone.

I had you removed from my home, papers were filed and I was finally - legally free.  I worked hard, trained hard, became the perfect Marine.  Strong and cold and the best at everything.  I out ran, out swam, out shot and out fought every man in my unit.  My drive and determination was daunting. I strove to find meaning and to chase the elusive sense of feeling that I had lost.  My comrades spoke in whispers with concerned looks on their faces. Unsure and a little afraid of the steely resolve that was my daily demeanor.  My superiors shook their heads, waiting for me to crack.  Granite doesn't crack that easily. 

I slowly learned to laugh again, to love again, and to feel again.  But never as innocently or as completely as all those years ago.  I still have a small piece of granite lodged within my heart.  It keeps me from getting too close, always holding a bit back.  Never letting anyone get behind those walls, not completely, and never to the core of me.  My children are the only ones to ever come that close, that deeply, and that completely.  My life events that changed a young innocent girl into a strong and hardened woman.  I sometimes catch myself absently touching the faint scars, are they still there or only in my memories? 

Oh yes, my metamorphosis.... no frail lovely butterfly here unless you consider wings of steel a thing of beauty.