some things just stay broken…

She kicked her leg out of her Coleman sleeping bag. The cell phone vibration had stopped and the obnoxious chime began, forcing her into full wakefulness. If not for her pressing bladder, she would have slept in another 15 minutes. She stood staring at her expensive Ikea queen-sized mattress in contempt. It was barely 2 years old. At first it seemed firmer than the one she had  returned just 60 days after purchase but her nagging lower back pain told another story. When the muscle relaxant provided only partial relief, she decided to try the floor; hence, the sleeping bag. Dark blue polyester outside, paisley red cotton inside. It survived 5 consecutive summers of stream-side camping in the Poconos. It was one of only a few childhood mementos she still had. Still treasured. As a child, her possessions would disappear. Taken to exact punishment (or perhaps revenge, for being born alive). Although she had 2 bachelor degrees and was working on a 2nd masters; she knew she couldn’t form meaningful bonds because she learned at an early age that anything she cared about could be taken from her in an instant. Just because you know what caused the damage, doesn’t mean you can fix it. Some things just stay broken.