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Itâs Frightening to Meet The Person We Could Have Become
Tonight I met the girl who I am nearly capable of being. She arose from within me, she pushed me toward the flame. For a brief time, I was vengeful - angry, inspired with rage. There was a flicker, a moment in which I did not recognise myself.Â
Earlier tonight, I wanted to hurt someone. Not anybody - somebody specific. I wanted to make him feel pain, I wanted him to feel frightened. I wanted him to hurt the way heâd hurt others, the way heâd hurt someone I knew. I wanted him to be scared, the way that she was scared.Â
I thought it unfair that those whoâve been hurt have to cower while their abusers run free. While they drink at the neighbourhood bar, laughing with friends - the ones whoâve theyâve bruised sit alone, in another, hopefully safer place. The ones that theyâve bruised are still hiding, afraid.
Iâd looked for him for a week before now. A few people knew to call me if he was spotted. Soon enough, there he was : on the corner, as if heâd never left. When the dust settles, the monsters crawl back beneath our bed frames. No one dares to stop them. I thought I would.
The call came - I prepared. There was a plan. There were pills crushed to powder, stashed in a tiny ziplock Iâd nestled within my purse. I changed clothes - swapped my stained jeans for an expensive mini skirt, name brand. I wanted to look valuable, like someone worth breaking. I put makeup on for the first time in weeks - blush, lipstick, mascara. Looking in the mirror, I thought, âI am ready to kill this man.âÂ
I laughed, but it did not feel like a joke.Â
I bring my puppy, Scar, to the bar. Itâs counterintuitive and premeditated - there is an image to create. âDainty Damsel totes Dime Sized Dog, falls Head over Heels for Dreamy Drug Dude.âÂ
In reality, I donât wear heels. Itâs good - heâs not as tall as Iâd imagined. The table next to him is free, and I feel him watch me when I sit down. I make a spectacle of myself, aided by the passerby patrons who try to chat me up. Not now, Iâm on a mission. Today, Iâm going to kill a man.
I thought heâd be more bold. I move around a lot, I give him something to comment on - drawing in a notebook, coloured pencils splayed about. I feel him watching me, but he does not speak. IÂ âdropâ an orange pencil on the ground and wait for him to return it. He does, but he does not inquire more - it is an act of good grace, no openers to follow.
An acquaintance from the neighbourhood enters - an older man, Jacob. I smile when I see him, and he joins Drug Dude and their friends. I did not know they were acquainted, and I am glad to discover the fact - it is to my advantage. I continue to play manic pixie dream date in the corner until Jacob goes inside to the bar. I wait a minute, then follow.
âWho is that boy youâre with?âÂ
He smiles.Â
âItâs a long story. Iâll join you in a moment, I need a whiskey first.â
I am intrigued, returning to my table. It isnât common knowledge, whatâs happened between the boy and my friend. In fact, it is Top Secret Info. So whatâs the story, too long to express without a drink?Â
When I sit down, I notice the boy is leaving. We make eye contact, but my courage fails me for a beat. What am I to say?Â
âStay, so I can drug you!âÂ
But that isnât the plan at all. It has to be him first, I need him to hold an illusion of power. I let him leave.
Jacob joins me, now nursing his whiskey. He begins to tell me the story. This boy, heâs just come out of a horrible relationship. Truly violent. (So it is known, there was violence). More than being beautiful, he is kind, and intelligent. Jacob thinks there is a sadness within him. He tells me that the boy does too many drugs, but when he is not wasted, he is a wonderful soul.Â
Jacob is confident that I am shy, that I am tail between my legs nervous about winning over the Dreamy Druggie. He tells me that he think Iâd be good for him, because I am kind, and I donât drink, and maybe someone loving like me is exactly what DD needs in this moment. I swallow my saliva.
âIn any case, heâs gone now. I was too nervous to say hello.â
âI know where heâs gone, I can give you the name of the bar.â
I pause, something strikes me. The feeling passes.
âWould you go with me? I donât want to do it alone. You could introduce us.â
Jacob smiles again. He is drunk, and happy to play Cupid. I suspect that he is also happy that Iâve placed my trust in him - we were not friends before tonight. He throws back his whiskey.Â
âAlright then, letâs go.âÂ
The bar isnât far, about a 5 minute walk from the last one. Still, we have time to chat - and I let Jacob do the talking. Heâs a photographer, and he tells me that he wants to take photos for DDâs portfolio. He tells me that DD doesnât think he is beautiful enough to model - objectively, this is untrue. Apparently heâs told Jacob that his âteeth arenât nice enoughâ to have photos taken. Jacobâs solution? Donât smile.
The new bar is loud. From wall to pavement it is crowded with drunk and sweaty college students chanting in unison about the football match. âKarim! KARIM! KARIIIIM!!â To be there is to be exhausted.
My puppy is scared - she is either too young or too old for this nonsense. I tell Jacob Iâll wait outside, lighting a cigarette and projecting an air of disinterest. He returns quickly, DD in tow. Showtime begins. I am nervous once more.
âAsha, Iâd like to present you to a friend of mine. This is Wren. Wren, this is-â
âAsha,â he finishes. My name sounds funny coming out of his mouth - heavier. His eyes are big, like mine. He holds my gaze, and for a moment - I think he knows what Iâm up to. Then -Â
Jacob is smooth, busying himself with someone beside him without looking like heâs fucking off to give me time to run game. Whether his smoothness is appreciated or not is unapparent, for Wren does not seem to notice his departure.
âDo you live in the neighbourhood?â
Already he is trying to trap me, pre-strangulation analysis. Does whether Iâm local play a factor in where heâll choose to hurt me?
âTwo blocks from here, and you?âÂ
I already know where he lives, but itâs nice to ask.
âA bit further, near the bar we were at before. Do you remember me?â
Freeze.
âHave we met?â
âWe havenât, but Iâve seen you many times. I thought maybe youâd have seen me, too.â
Narcissist.
âNo, I donât think so. Iâm sure I would have remembered you.âÂ
Itâs a cheap line, but it works - he smiles.
âYou have nice teeth.âÂ
Iâve seen the bite marks they leave.
âThank you. Would you like a drink?â
I shake my head.
âI donât drink, thanks.â
âWhy not?â
âI donât like who I am when I drink.â
He pauses, studying my face. I donât know where the words came from, theyâre completely misaligned with my charade of innocence. Some part of me decided to offer its truth without consulting the rest, and Iâm not sure which part of myself deserves a kick.
âI understand that. I donât either, usually, but Iâm not sure how to stop. It doesnât make me feel better, but I already feel bad anyway.â
Now itâs my turn to pause. His words feel honest, and it disturbs me. My mother told me once that abusers will wear their vulnerability on their shirtsleeve, like a pin. This is how they keep the âpoor meâ narrative running, this is why we feel sorry for them rather than angry. I am in the process of reconstructing this knowledge into walls around me when he speaks again -Â
âWhat are you when you drink?â
What. Not who. What?
âViolent.â
âYeah, me too. I donât want to be, though. I want to be good for people.â
âAre you? Sometimes?â
He crouches down to sit crosslegged on the pavement. Immediately, Scar walks to join him, resting her head on his leg. Two against one, I join them on the ground.Â
âSo?â
âI was thinking. Itâs easier here. Yes, sometimes I am good for people. More often, some people are good for me. I try to learn from them, and it works sometimes.â
âWhat about when it doesnât work?â
Wren winces, withdrawing his pack of cigarettes from his shirt pocket. He pulls out two, offering the first to me. I accept, and he lights them both before speaking again. I inhale.
âSometimes Iâm too angry for anything to work. Except the people Iâm angry with, theyâre not around anymore. So the people whoâve stuck by me, they get my rage. Itâs fucking backwards. Iâm fucking backwards.â
I look up to the sky. It is night, but the sky isnât fully dark - it never is. Light pollution shifts the black to blue, adding in a reddish tint. There are no stars to be seen.
âWhy are you telling me this? Is this how you usually flirt?â
He shakes his head.
âIâm not flirting, Iâm talking. Because I think youâll understand me. You donât need to flirt with people who understand you, thereâs not a game to be played. Flirting is hiding. When I look at you, I see the same thing that Iâm talking about in me. Itâs in your eye, the left one : rage. But more than that, you are soft. I see you choosing to be soft. So I trust you, because for some people - it is not a choice. It is much more powerful to have the option to be wicked and choose not to be than to have been kindhearted all along. I am trying to choose that same power.â
âWhat stops you?â
âExhaustion.âÂ
I feel a sharp and sudden pain grip my chest, like a hornet sting to the heart. I reach my hand out without warning and grip his tightly.
I cannot explain what happens now, not properly. There are lights, flashes, a lifetime before me. My surroundings disappear. There is a chorus of memories that are not my own. I hear glass shattering and raised voices, I hear door slams. I taste blood in my mouth, my whole body aches. I feel drunk, distorted, disgusted, disgusting. There is a stained mattress, abandoned house, paint peeling. I feel myself making love to a woman, many women - my body is not my own, it is pale, it is Wrenâs. I feel decades of tears rushing forward like a tsunami, pouring out of my eyes, filling up my mouth. I feel like I am being waterboarded with saline and screams, writhing and fighting to get out. Finally there is a climax, a tipping point - I manage to pull back, break free.
I am back on the street. Shaking, I look at my hands- they are my own once more. I look up to Wren and see his huge brown eyes, staring back at me. It occurs to me that I have just experienced every pain heâs ever suffered, and now I believe him to be deserving of love. It occurs to me that now, I think I may love him.
âWren--â
He closes his eyes and places a hand up, stopping the rest of my words before they can meet the air. For a moment he is silent, pensive. Then, finally --
An Open Letter to Those Struggling With Imposter Syndrome
How did I get here? Iâm such a fraud. If I slip up for even a moment, if I make a single mistake â everyone will know that I donât belong here. How long can I keep on like this? I feel so under qualified. Does everyone notice that my being here is a mistake? How long until they discover it and get rid of me?
For someone suffering from Imposter syndrome (or as I like to call it, Imposter Illusion)â this is just a peek at the endless cycle of self-debilitating inner conversation we deal with daily. But what is imposter syndrome?Â
Imposter syndrome refers to an internal experience of believing that you are not as competent as others believe you to be. This can manifest as a fear of success and/or failure, engaging in self-sabotaging behaviours, and constant feelings of self-doubt.
As a long time self-described imposter, Iâm all too familiar with this painful cycle. However, with awareness and constant vigilance, I have been able to ease my symptoms of imposter syndrome, and now Iâd like to have a chat with yours. So, tap in, tune the critical mind down, and let the following words touch the part of yourself that wrongfully tells you that you are not worthy.
Hey, dear one. Youâre doing it again, huh? Downplaying your wins, dramatizing your losses. Youâre pretending that youâre worthless again, right? You think all your successes (if you can even admit that you have them) have been based on circumstances. You think, right place, right time. Itâs the people you were with, the mood you were in, the situations youâve endured and pushed through that have created the illusion of your brilliance. Right? Wrong.
I am here to remind you of one particularly important piece of information that is so often forgotten by us who need to hear it most. Listen to me when I say that every moment of grace, every blessing youâve received, every proud moment that you dismiss so readily â all of that is your doing. Despite what your mind may try to convince you, the only reason you are where you are is because you deserve to be. On your life path, you are the invaluable factor. It is not about proving to yourself that you deserve to be in the room you are in â it is about realising and affirming that without your presence, the room would not exist.
You have paved the way to be exactly where you are today. Where is the point in playing small? No one else could do what you do. There is no traffic on the road that is meant for you. There are people on this earth, in your industry, who are far less qualified than you, who are surpassing you every day because they have the confidence to take up space. How long are you going to let the loudest person in the room win simply because you are afraid to make noise? You owe it to yourself and everyone else to hold your head up. You are not here in error; your placement is not due to an oversight.
I have an affirmation that I use when I find myself faced with a situation that I feel undeserving of or intimidated by. Iâd like to share it with you now. Repeat after me:
If I did not deserve to be here, then I would not be. I cannot walk through doors that are not open to me. I am exactly where I am meant to be. No one can take my birthright away from me.
Iâd recommend incorporating this affirmation, or one like it (sometimes it can be more powerful to create your own, one that is special and unique to you) into your daily practice. The power of suggestion is an incredible tool in changing the pathways your mind is used to using. The more that you repeat self-
empowering phrases, the less likely you are to fall into the trap of self-deprecation, and the easier it will be to snap yourself out when you do.
I hope this pep talk has given you some confidence in yourself and that you were able to take some comfort in knowing that you are not alone in what you feel. You can always return to this article when you are starting to doubt yourself, and these words will always be here to remind you of how brilliant and deserving you truly are.