Objective Correlative

The other day in my American Literature class, we were discussing T.S. Eliot's "The Wasteland" and Eliot's view on objective correlative. For those of you who do not know, objective correlative is using objects, ideas, or moments to remember emotions (basically).  My prof asked us if we had anything in our own lives that could be an objective correlative.



As soon as she said the words, all I could see was the shelterhouse at Crawford County State Lake.



Such a lovely thing. To the untrained eyes of others, a simple shelterhouse on the shore of a lake is just a thing, a summery thing, a simple summery thing.


To me, it is a lost thing, painful memories, and a bittersweet peace.


Just four years ago, the Crawford shelterhouse was my sanctuary. It was the only place I felt truly at peace. All my worries just melted away. I could spend all day out in the fresh air, relishing my freedom.

I had no idea how much my life would change just in a year.


The next time I visited my shelterhouse, it was May 2010. My family was celebrating, not just summer and Memorial Day weekend, but my father's recovery. He had been diagnosed with a rare brain tumor in January. After going through surgery, he had made a full recovery. I couldn't have been happier. I remember we planned to take some of my senior photos by my shelterhouse. I remember my mom spending most of the weekend hiding away in the tent, saying she felt sick, or faking a smile. I couldn't figure out what was wrong but my mother's mood swings weren't new to me. I pushed them out of my mind and concentrated on spending as much time with my dad as possible.


It was only a few days after returning home that I learned my dad had been having an affair and was choosing to leave me, my mom, and my two younger siblings for this other woman. My mother found out the morning we left for the campground. That weekend with my family by the lakeside was the last good and happy memory I have with my dad. After that, it was yelling and anger and crying and despair. I was lost. I remember feeling betrayed once I found out, not just because he had lied to us but also because he had acted like everything was okay the weekend before while my mom suffered from the burden of knowing.

My sanctuary lost a little bit of its glamour that year.


The next year, it hurt so much to be back at that place that I made a rash decision. I asked my cousin to help me forget. Not exactly in those words but he understood. He and his friend had access to alcohol. Between the three of us...well, yeah. Personally, I had two beers, two red Solo cups filled with a Mountain Dew Voltage/vodka mix, and another Solo cup of lemon-lime margarita. I was feeling pretty good after all that...all bubbly and easy-going. Shockingly enough, I did not feel sick. I remember everything that happened (unfortunately...I'm getting to that part). I remember being really giggly but I could walk in a straight line and I didn't slur my words. Apparently, I can hold my liquor. So could my cousin. He was perfectly fine the entire night, only passing out after his fourth of something (that I do not remember). His friend, on the other hand, could not. Before the alcohol, this friend had made it clear he found me attractive. At the time, I had a boyfriend (had actually just gotten him back) so I was uninterested and tried to avoid the guy when possible. With alcohol in his system, he got cocky...or horny...one of the two...or both. Either way, he tried making moves. Nothing besides trying to hold my hand or put his arm around my shoulder while my cousin was awake...but once he was asleep, the guy got ballsy. At first, he asked. "Can I see your boobs?" "Will you let me touch you?" The more I said no, the more demanding he became. "Let me touch you." "Have sex with me." This is how I know I was able to handle the alcohol. I did not cave in nor did I end up in a position I did not want to be in (well...anymore than I already was). Instead I slapped him and told him if he touched me, I would remove his favorite appendage. Thankfully, he listened then. He moved to the other side of the shelterhouse and fell asleep. After awhile I did too. Not much later, I was awakened by my cousin. It had rained and was now too cold to sleep in the shelterhouse. He wanted me to know that there was room in the back of his parents' van if I wanted to be warm. I didn't want to be that close to his friend but at the time, it was four in the morning, I was wet and freezing and I didn't want to wake my mom. So I climbed in. My cousin, sensing my discomfort, put himself between me and his friend. I am so thankful for that.


There are many reasons I don't talk about that night. In fact, the only person who knows what happened that night besides my cousin and his friend, is my best friend. And that's because I had to tell someone. Just to get it out there. I was so ashamed and confused by what happened that I couldn't even tell my boyfriend at the time. I knew he wouldn't approve of my drinking. The whole thing with my cousin's friend would have made him see red and he'd be out for blood. I feel as if I'm risking a lot by writing about this now because that boyfriend is now my fiance and he reads this. I know he'll see it...eventually. And I am honestly terrified of his reaction. I'm terrified of what he'll think of me for this. I want everyone to know that I regret everything about that night. I regret the drinking. I regret finding myself in the position I was in. I regret forgetting that there is more to life than the pain and hurt I was wallowing in at the time. Please don't be mad or disappointed in me because of it. Trust me, I've hated on myself enough for it. I wish I could go back and redo that night...but I also know that it was that night that started me thinking I needed a change. If it weren't for that night, I wouldn't have started facing my problems at the time. I was tired of hurting and had tried to find a way out of it. Instead, I realized there is no easy way to get rid of pain. It was a rough lesson but one I needed.


The next year, this past year, I was hoping to erase all of my unwanted memories concerning the shelterhouse. I brought my best friend and my fiance with me, the two people who had been there for me through everything even when they didn't realize it. I had hoped it would be another weekend of fun and freedom. But I was wrong. Turns out bringing two people who are very important to you, whom you love with all your heart, is a bad idea. I constantly felt like I was being torn in two. She wanted me to go exploring with her, go for walks, go swimming and fishing, just plain summer fun. He wanted alone time, romantic time, me and him time, time away from the heat and the bugs and probably my mother as well. I wanted both. There was lots of crying and yelling and arguing and stomping off. On top of that, we learned something terrible, something that still breaks my heart to this very moment.


The day we drove down to the campground, we found out that a friend from back home had disappeared while out for her run that morning. We did not know until much later that evening what really happened. Our friend had been stalked, hit by a car, put in the trunk, taken to a field, abused, and left to die in a creek in a field mere miles from my house. The man responsible was caught that night but it really didn't stop the hurt. Brenna, my lovely Bren, was dead. She had just graduated high school. She had big, beautiful plans for life. Instead, she left this world, cold and alone. It's been almost a year and I still tense up when I hear her name, I cry when I see her family, I crumple whenever the song "Beautiful Things" is played (that was her song...they played it at her funeral).


Once again, my shelterhouse was the setting. I still remember everything about that night. I remember getting the call from a friend back home. I remember having to tell my friend and fiance what happened. I remember sitting on the rocks and crying so hard I started to choke. I remember hearing my little brother call for my mother, "Mom, come quick! Chrissi just found out her friend died and she's crying!" I remember looking up at the stars and wondering why in the world would God take such a beautiful soul from this world when she could do so much good. I remember seeing her murderer as a monster who needed to die to make up for what he did. I remember it all.


All of those memories...triggered from a simple shelterhouse.


I won't be going back to my shelterhouse this summer. I will either be in Missouri with my fiance's family or I will be working in my home town. I'm still undecided on how I feel about that. Part of me feels hurt...I've been to this shelterhouse every summer for the past...six or seven years. It's the sign that my summer has truly begun. But at the same time, I'm glad I'm not going back. I need a break. I don't think I can face that shelterhouse right now...not after the past three summers.



This post was really hard for me to write. I actually started it yesterday right after my class but I had to stop. When I started writing it again, I kept having to take a break. I cried...a lot. I've sat staring at the computer, lost in memories, for minutes upon minutes before I realized I was in the middle of a word and I need to finish my thought. It was so hard to write all this down, to talk about the pain of losing my dad and Brenna, to relive my night with alcohol and him...to remember it all. I may not have wanted to write any of this but now that I have, the load upon my shoulders feels lighter. I'm still fighting the urge to delete this whole thing and I probably will every time I see it in my post list. But I won't. It needs to be here.


This needed to be said.



Please, dear readers, don't think any less of me for what I have said. This has all been in my past. I cannot change it now. I can, however, take the lessons I have learned and the pain I have felt and use them to make myself better. That is what I'm trying to do now.



"I finally got some sense knocked into me...and I've got the bump to prove it." - Simba


Yes, that is a Lion King quote but it fits right now. My eyes have finally opened to what was wrong in my life. I have the experiences, mistakes, and pain to prove it. It's time I change. And I'm going to do what needs to be done to make that happen.


Enough heavy talk for tonight. It has been an emotionally exhausting day. I need to go to bed so I can wake up fresh and rested for Bacon Friday in the morning. I'm even going to make the extra effort to look fancy. It's a new dawn, a new day. I'm ready to get better.


Starting now.


Goodnight. Sleep tight. And don't let the bedbugs bite!