43. Chapter Forty-three
Chapter Forty-three
Samantha
Over the next few weeks, Nate and I got to know each other in a whole new way through emails, saying things that were difficult to share with our voices.
His first one came as a surprise a few days after he’d asked for space. I was at work, going through vendor emails, when his name popped up.
Hey, Sammie,
How are you?
It’s been a few days since we talked. I’m working on not being panicked over that. It’s not easy. I hope it’s been easier on you.
This morning, Dr. Larkin and I were talking about my habit of editing out the ugly parts of myself around people I love. I have to stop doing that.
This is going to be the hardest email I’ve ever written.
You and I have never really talked about my first depressive episode. You would have listened. I don’t doubt that for a second. But I don’t talk about it with anyone. It was never about keeping things from you.
I always thought I was ashamed I’d tried to kill myself. Turns out, that wasn’t actually it. I was ashamed because becoming depressed meant becoming Louise.
And I never wanted to become the next Louise to my brothers.
Adrian and I talked about that this week, and he told me I was stupid for ever thinking that. He was legitimately pissed at me. Are you even a little bit surprised by that?
Weirdly, it made me happy he could be angry at me. He wasn’t treating me like I’d shatter if he raised his voice. He was just…my brother. I didn’t realize how much I’d missed that.
I’ve gotten to a place where I believe they won’t hate me. Believing I’m not a burden has been a little more difficult. I never want to be that to them or you.
When I was unmedicated and undiagnosed, I saw signs in myself that reminded me of Louise, so I buried them as deep as I could. And, Sammie, I got good at hiding.
Nobody knew I was disappointed every morning when I woke up. I tried to wait it out, but the hopelessness was relentless. It would not leave me alone.
The night I’d tried to kill myself, Roman came home early.
For months after that, I’d wake up in the middle of the night, and he’d be standing in my doorway pretending he was getting water.
It took a year for Roman to take his eyes off me.
Even longer not to feel like he was on edge.
I was on my best behavior so he could live his life without fear I’d end mine.
It worked for a long time. I took my meds, went back to classes, got a girlfriend. But I could never quite get the hang of life. Therapy would have helped a whole hell of a lot, but I was trying my damnedest to be “normal,” and normal people didn’t go to therapy.
The meds I was on for over a decade had left me so muted, when I’d tried to taper off, all the emotions they’d been keeping at bay came flooding in, and it had been all I could do to battle back the guilt, fear, paranoia, and anger every day.
This time, I wasn’t disappointed to wake up in the mornings. Not when you were there. It was the nights that got me. I was terrified to fall asleep and not be any better when I woke up.
I’m learning a lot about myself in therapy. I wish like hell I’d started this when I was younger, but it’s never too late as long as I’m breathing, right?
I don’t want to spend the rest of my life trying not to feel.
When I leave here, I want to be ready to experience the full breadth of my emotions.
The terrible days. The ordinary ones. The ones where I laugh until my stomach hurts.
I have to feel the bad to finally experience the good the way everyone else does.
I’m working hard, Sammie.
I never want you to get to a place where you wish you’d never met me.
Yeah, I overheard Rosalie say that to you, and my brain latched on, deciding it was the only true statement in the room. I let myself forget everything you’d said after.
Thank you for saying it anyway.
I still don’t know if I deserve you, but I’m working on that too.
How lucky am I you’re being patient with me while I do?
Love you,
Nate
When I wrote him back, it wasn’t to tell him he wasn’t a burden. He knew where I stood. Where I would keep standing. Now, it was his job to make himself believe he was loved and wanted.
Instead, I wrote to him about Kelly. Not everything—just enough that he wouldn’t feel shut out. I still caught myself trimming off the sharp edges whenever I talked to him. Making my hurt smaller. Easier to carry.
Old habits die hard.
I couldn’t say I was at a place where I felt good about my decision, but I was certain it was right.
Nate replied quickly.
Sammie,
Proud of you.
Now that you’ve given me a very clinical explanation of what happened, why don’t you tell me how you’re feeling? Don’t hold back from me.
Remember, I’m not going to shatter.
Love you,
Nate
Adrian walked by me on his way to his office. When he spotted me digging the heel of my hand into my eye, he stopped in his tracks, frowning at me.
“What’s with the sourpuss?”
I laughed, looking up from my screen. “Who says ‘sourpuss’?”
“People who want you to laugh.” He rolled his wrist impatiently. “Spill it, Samuel.”
I rolled my eyes. “Not everything is your business, Andrea.”
He folded his arms and gave me an imperious look. “You’re my business as long as Nate’s away. Lay it on me.”
“I’m working. Go away.”
“You’re wasting time arguing with me. You know I’m going to get my way eventually. You might as well give in now.”
With a sigh, I leaned back in my chair. “I was contemplating how to reply to Nate’s last email. I told him about Kelly and—”
“Oh, does he want to throw a party? If so, I’ll supply the confetti.”
I glared at him. “Do you want me to tell you what’s wrong or be obnoxious?”
He cocked his head to the side. “I choose both.”
“I choose for you to take a long walk off a short pier.”
“That’s not nice, Samuel. I don’t think your boyfriend would appreciate you bullying his baby brother.”
“Don’t be a tattletale.” Adrian was annoying, but damn if he didn’t make me giggle. “Since you’re so curious, I was contemplating how much I should tell Nate. He wants me to tell him how I’m feeling, and I don’t know…”
“Hmmm.” He perched on the edge of my desk, scratching his chin. “Does that mean you don’t trust him?”
I opened my mouth. Closed it. That wasn’t what I’d been expecting.
“I trust him.”
“It would make sense if you didn’t. He basically lied to all of us.” Before I could say anything, he held up a hand. “I’m not saying it’s his fault, but he did; that’s a fact. It’s up to you to decide whether to trust him now.”
“Do you trust him?” I asked.
He lifted a shoulder. “I think so. What’s the alternative? Constantly watching him? Counting his daily smiles? That’s no way to live. Not for either of us.”
After he left me to my own devices, I decided he was right. What kind of relationship could Nate and I have if we couldn’t be honest with each other?
If he told me he wanted me to unload on him, I had to believe him.
Hi, Nate,
I’m scared, okay?
Really scared.
I know I’m not alone. Rationally, I know that. But I feel it anyway. We both know feelings aren’t always the most rational.
The craziest part is, functionally, nothing has changed.
Kelly’s gone, but she was barely around before the whole Josh fiasco.
I don’t even know if my mom or dad are aware I’ve written them all off.
It hurts more than it should to know they’ll just go on with their lives like normal while I feel like a flag flapping in the wind.
I’m not even sure if this is a new feeling. I think I’ve always felt this way.
At least now, I know they can never make it worse. They can’t leave me anymore. This time, I left first.
Don’t tell Adrian I said this, because he’ll be super smug, but he was right about something he said a while ago. He told me I choose men who have as little regard for me as my father, and if I ever let myself be loved for real, I’d have to admit he never did.
Here’s me admitting it.
You love me for real. That’s how I’m sure he never did.
I’ve spent my dating life being the version of myself men wanted me to be. That’s why none of my relationships lasted long. Either I got sick of pretending, or they realized I wasn’t who they thought I was.
With you, I couldn’t pretend even if I wanted to. You’ve known me most of my life, and you’re still here.
I’m still scared, but a lot less so when I think about how you love me—the real me, not some prettied-up version I think you’ll like.
I love the real you too, Nate.
Let’s always be real with each other.
The good, bad, ugly, let’s love all of it. Let’s know each other to the very core. Can we do that, love? Can we be real?
Love you so much,
Sammie
Like he’d been waiting at his computer for my email, his response came within minutes.
Sammie,
Yes, sweet girl. Yes to all of it.
You’re never going to be alone. I’ll remind you as often as you need it.
I love the real you. I want you to love the real me.
Let’s be real.
Always.
Love you,
Nate