I am WONDERFUL.

~Whatever happens, happens, and everything happens for a reason~


I was a good friend to her this weekend. I did something kind for her knowing full well she probably wouldn’t have the nerve to do for me, and I was OK with that. It didn’t matter that she wouldn’t do it, because she’s my best friend, and I know she has and she will again to other things that are just as important.

I am strong, because I was absolutely terrified, but I did it anyway. I didn’t run away or cover my ears. I lay there, closing my eyes not to block it out, but to focus my energy on fortifying my inner strength. I thought of every calming and encouraging song I could think lf, and repeated them to myself over and over, reminding myself that it WOULD be okay, that whether it happened or not, both of us would be alright in the end. Still I was scared. My heart beat so hard and so fast, no matter how many deep breaths I took. The adrenaline made my stomach feel sick, and my throat was so dry that I could hardly swallow. The thought crossed my mind that maybe that was a good thing; maybe if I threw up – first, even – then I would have my precious Empathy, my Understanding. But I stopped myself before I could get too trapped in that pattern. Stop it, I told myself. That’s not going to fix anything. Just be here, where you are, and relax. Be still, my heart. Shhh… Try as I might, my heart would not stop pounding. I decided to take a Taoist approach, and accept the situation – and the fear that came with it – for what it was. Yep. This was really happening. And, yep. I didn’t like it. I was terrified, or at least something like it. I was definitely filled to the brim with anxiety, but it was a completely different anxiety from the phobic panic on my past. Then, the fear was indiscriminate and purely based on the action itself; it didn’t matter who it was. Now the fear has nothing to do with the action itself, and everything to do with the person affected. I could stand in a room full of strangers and not feel a thing. Not a thing that would hurt me, anyway. I’m sure I would feel disgust – I’m not made of stone – but I wouldn’t feel fear. In years past, I would have been overwhelmed by fear. I would have run for my life, dropping everything and fleeing in panic. I wouldn’t do that today. I would wrinkle my nose, make an offhand comment about something in the water, and calmly walk away. I could probably eat my lunch within fifteen minutes.

But not if it were one person I really care about. I’m both extremely protective, and extremely empathetic. I hate seeing people I care about in pain or misery, especially when that misery is related to the thing that was once my greatest phobia, even though the thing itself doesn’t scare me anymore. In fact, hate doesn’t even begin to cover it. I can hardly even deal with it. The only reason I can handle it at all is because I have no choice. You can run away from a scene, but you can’t outrun the truth. The scene used to scare me. Now it’s the knowledge itself, whether I see it or not, and so there’s nowhere for me to run. Nowhere but inside myself, to my inner reserves or bravery. Superchic[k] once said, “The only way out is through everything she’s running from.” I know these to be among the truest lyrics ever written. Running won’t get me anywhere, especially since the thing I fear the most isn’t the external circumstance, but the internal helplessness. A lack of control; I think that’s what it all comes back to. I hate dealing with things I can’t control, especially when it means people I love are miserable and there’s nothing I can do about it. Fundamental part of life, lack of control. I know that. There are very few things in life you can control, I know. Doesn’t mean I like it. But one thing you can control is your reaction. So I have to choose, and I did. My mind and body reflexively respond in fear; my thoughts start spinning; my heart starts pounding; my stomach starts twisting. That much I can’t control. So I could only control what I did. So I told her I was there for her, and said nothing about my pounding heart, hoping she wouldn’t see my hands shaking. And when she asked me if I wanted to go with her, I didn’t hesitate for a second before saying simply, “Yeah.” So we went. And laughed about how absurd and improbable the whole situation was. I happened to catch her watch out the corner of my eye at 11:17 – well, actually 11:14; she said her watch was three minutes fast. We grinned, wondering if it would happen at 11:48. I laughed, and ran to get my watch, which I knew to be accurate.

“You ready to finally see me in action?” she asked, a little sarcastically.

“Yep.” I don’t remember exactly what I said, but a million thoughts of phone calls and days after rushed through my head as I realised, with something between nervousness and amusement, that I was about to actually witness it after all our years of friendship. Given our personal rates of occurrence and how often we see each other, I suppose it was statistically bound to happen sooner or later.

She’s frustrated. Waiting sucks. I know. I’ve been there; I’ve been that frustrated. The weirdest thing is that every word that comes out of her mouth voices a thought I know I’ve had before… so by definition, I know that I know exactly how she feels. So in an absolute sense – if not a temporal one – I do have my understanding. That’s comforting. She feels something I know I’ve felt before if not now, so I think I can live with that. It’s something, and it’s all I’m getting; it’ll have to do.

Several minutes later, she decides it was a false alarm, and we go back to my room. My heartbeat slows down a little, but my mind is swirling and my body feels hot. Being brace is hard work.

Thirty-six hours and thirty-two minutes later, my mind is still in trauma mod, playing the scene and the words over and over, refusing to let me rest despite the fact that it’s over. That’s OCD for you. These last thirty-six hours and thirty-four minutes have been impossibly hard. I only made it because there was no way not to make it here. It hurts like hell, and I feel so conflicted. I’m glad it happened; it needed to; I need the opportunities to grow. I’m flinching in the residual fear/panic/protectiveness/what that awful feeling is. I’m proud of myself for being strong in the face of fear. I’m ashamed and aggravated that I have this bizarre complex in the first place. I’m afraid that she and anyone else that saw my blank stare will try to protect me and hide the truth in the future. I hate being protected. It only makes me feel weaker to know people don’t want to inconvenience me by showing me my weakness. The only way out is through, and to be strong enough someday that it doesn’t hurt… I’m going to need practice. It hurts to think people don’t believe in me enough to let me even try. Yeah, I was miserable yesterday, and thirty-six hours and forty-three minutes later, I still just want to break down and cry. But I’m one trial stronger than I was thirty-six hours and forty-eight minutes ago. My emotional muscles are so sore they can barely crawl, but as time goes on, the pain will fade, and the strength will be made manifest.

I am wonderful. I am a good friend.

I am brave.


~ And though I can't understand why this happened
I know that I will when I look back someday
And see how you've brought beauty from ashes
And made me as gold purified through these flames~