I don’t think I’ve had a friend that I’ve confided in since I met G in 7th grade. We shared everything—from our little victories to our not so fond memories of our childhood—I finally felt connected to someone in a depth that I so desperately craved. We would talk deep into the night about anything that popped into our heads. What’s mine became hers and what was hers became mine—no secrets. Then came the toxicity. The photos of her slit wrists; The plans that she made the days when she felt the lowest. I too shared my desire to escape and never look back. Countless nights we lay awake talking each other down until the sun came up. Though we put on a show and pretended to hate each other at school, we always went back to the same old Google Chat where all of our relentless thoughts hid. This went on for four years.
I am now in a place where I can confidently say that I confide in more than one person. My best friends, my roommates, and especially my girlfriend. Gone are the days where I slept next to a bottle of pills, longing for the day when I was finally brave enough to make my escape. It’s a weird feeling letting people in—letting yet another know how I truly feel. “It isn’t safe”, 12 year old me says. “They’re going to leave”, 4 year old me states. “Shut the fuck up”, 19 year old me whispers, but the doubts never end. Arguments left stale and apologies left unsaid infiltrate my thoughts.
Immediately the consequences of Anger permeate my mind. My mom forcing 6-year-old me to kneel in the corner for hours on end—only a bathroom break to ease the pain of my aching knees. My dad driving 5 hours home, his shirt torn from a woman screaming at him to “get the fuck out of her house”—the same woman who gave me life. Heading my mother almost lose her breath by the hands of my father at age 4–only to be scolded for taking a mere 3 minutes to will myself out of my safe bed and pry his constricted arms off her neck. Countless childish fights with my ex-girlfriend ending in a hole in the wall and me on my knees pleading for forgiveness that was never mine to ask.
Anger is bad so I’ve deduced, but what is the alternative? I’m still trying to find a solution. One of the seven unsolvable (math) problems feels easier to understand. I try to be better at expressing my feelings everyday, but my better isn’t perfect. Better may just have to be enough for now—just until I get the hang of it.
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