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Every. Single. Damn. Day.
Feeling ashamed, I quickly look away from the mirror, shut the light off, and close the door behind me.
I venture into my new room and rummage through the dresser until I find my favorite old, tattered oversized T-shirt and throw it on. It’s a concert tee that belonged to my dad back in his rock and roll days while growing up in California. Whenever I had sleepovers as a kid, I used to bring this T-shirt with me so that I wouldn’t feel homesick, and it usually worked. So, I’m hopeful that it will help me get through my first night on my own.
A loud, growling noise vibrates throughout my stomach, telling me I need to eat before I go to bed. After putting on my fuzzy bathrobe, I go into the kitchen to preheat the oven and take a pizza out of the freezer. I see the wine sitting on the counter that my mom left but decide against it and pour myself a glass of water instead. I plop myself on the sofa, which used to reside in my parents’ basement, and start flicking away with the remote to see if there is anything worth watching on TV.
After about thirty minutes of scrolling through movie options aimlessly and wolfing down half of the pizza, I close my eyes while pulling the folded blanket on the sofa over my legs. But suddenly, my eyes open in a panic when I hear yelling outside the apartment building.
I get up to peer out the wall-sized window in my living room, down the five stories, and realize it’s a bunch of college students who look to be having fun. They’re coming from the direction of the baseball stadium nearby, and from the loud cheers and screams, I am assuming they are celebrating a win.
A tiny part of me thinks I should be down there having fun and making friends. And the fact that this thought even crosses my mind surprises me. I keep staring out the window until I see a group of guys with beer cans in their hands being rowdy. They’re climbing up light poles and smashing bottles, which causes an anxious feeling to build inside me.
Everything is fine.I close my eyes and take a deep breath.You’re safe.
But then my dad’s stern voice echoes through my head, saying,always keep your door locked at night,and that’s all I can think about.
A heavy sigh escapes me as I make my way over to the big metal door with my blanket still wrapped around me. I recheck the bolt I had locked after Jason left and then attach the chain lock to the top. As I start to walk back to the sofa, I get the idea that pushing the bookcase in front of the door might be a good fail-safe if the locks aren’t enough to keep someone out.
Just in case.
After struggling for a while to move the massive bookcase, I finally get it directly in front of the door. Probably not to fire code standards, but it seems like the best option at the moment.
I then go into the kitchen and make sure the oven is turned off, shut off all the lights, and finally head to my bedroom.
The enormous white cloud in the center of the room calls out to me. Taking a few quick steps, I jump into my new bed, which is layered with an oversized white comforter and several grey throws that I picked out just days ago. My head fits comfortably on one of the many pillows as I turn onto my side and stare out the window, which presents an incredible view of the Charles River sparkling from the reflections of the city lights.
I know how lucky I am that my parents can afford a place like this and feel extremely fortunate, but as I look at the view, I’m somehow reminded of this past year, and it makes me feel a little sad.
Or I guess the truth would be that thinking about this past year makes me feel … lonely.
My lifelong friendship with my best friend, Vanessa, had ended. I was forced to resign from the tennis team after missing too many matches. And after getting asked to prom by three different guys, I chose to spend my prom night safely in my room with a box of pizza and my Netflix account.
The sad truth is these things are all my doing. There is no one for me to blame — no one to point my finger at. And if I ever decide to point my finger at anyone, I better look in a mirror.
I spent the past ten months isolating myself, preferring the comforts of home and a good book over any high school social gathering. The only positive came from my rising grades since I spent most of my time studying at the local library. It became a place of comfort for me.
A place where no one could find me.
Most parents would probably interrogate their child over this kind of behavior with assumptions of drugs and alcohol to blame. But my parents knew that wasn’t me. They reminded me that they were always available to talk and knew I would eventually work through whatever I was going through. I just needed time.
Not to say they weren’t concerned. They both constantly tried to get me to join them on their weekend outings and made sure the four of us ate dinner together every night.
However, one morning after my mom slipped printouts of a few local therapists under my door, I knew I had to make more of an effort. So, I began joining my parents on occasional outings and consciously smiling whenever I was around them. Eventually, I became quite good at pretending everything was ok.
I knew that time would help me. With every passing day, I was feeling more and more like my old self. And in this new city, I was determined to — eventually — really feel ok again and no longer pretend like I was.
But tonight, I just need to get through being alone for the first time, especially since there will be many lonely nights to come. So, I close my heavy eyes and pull the covers up around me, hoping to sleep through the night as I let exhaustion win.
* * *
A few hours later, I bolt upright in terror.
Sweat is dripping down my forehead, and my heart feels like it’s ready to pop out of my chest as I throw off my covers to escape the engulfing heat. I put my hand to my forehead, trying to catch my breath, and begin practicing some breathing exercises I’ve had to do so many times before. It feels too hot in here, so I get up and walk across the room to open the window.
The cool air that whips into my room brings me back to reality, to the present moment, where I am safe from the horrible night trapped inside my memory.
I stare outside, realizing how silly it is of me to think that my nightmares wouldn’t follow me here to Boston. But, of course, they did. I’ve had nightmares continuously for the past ten months, and no matter how many at-home remedies or tricks I try before bed, I can’t get them to stop. They are always about the same thing, bringing the past back to haunt me, no matter how hard I try to forget.
