Bash
Sometimes when you ask God to take your pain away, you want it to be instant, you want the hurt to be gone as soon as the words leave your mouth…but there’s a reason he doesn’t just give us what we want the way we think we want it.
There are lessons in the pain, there’s growth in the pain, there’s empathy gained in the pain, and there’s a need for him in the pain. There’s always a purpose in our pain.
I’m still slowly coming to terms with that realization myself.
Every time a breakthrough comes out of my pain, every time I end up in the right place at the right time because of my pain, and every time I see my growth happening through the pain, I get a little peek into his plan.
I have no idea what his end goal is for me, but just being able to let go of what I thought the process should look like, and all of my expectations, has been freeing in itself.
It takes this weight and disappointment away that can keep you from the healing that needs to happen.
I love being able to share that part of my testimony—still in progress obviously—on nights like tonight—Blue Light Night.
An event we put on for guys on campus to come and be a part of.
A night to just let go and let out anything you’re struggling with or trying to heal from.
Taking away this toxic masculinity mask put on men in our culture to keep everything inside, to not complain, not cry, not feel, and in turn never heal, never be the healthy version of yourself, never break generational cycles of pain.
We’ve tried to create a safe space for guys to be able to speak, share, and connect with each other.
They’re hosted several times throughout the year on a weekend night, in hopes of giving someone somewhere better to be than getting wasted and partying.
This is the last one before summer break, usually the biggest one.
Erik shoulders the door to the community room in our building, and I hit a couple of the small light switches, keeping it pretty dim in the room still. He tosses me a couple of bags of supplies, and I place them on the counter to go through.
“How have classes been going?” he asks, making small talk as we set up.
“Yeah, good…really good. It was pretty rough in the beginning; a lot of my own stuff has honestly been forced up that I tried to run from and ignore for so long, but I’m now kind of at the point where it’s obvious that that’s not the way to get better.
It only makes the bad parts louder and stops any progress.
Plus, if I’m going to be a therapist worth anything, I kinda gotta do the work myself that I want to help other people do, right? ”
Erik nods, giving me that look like he’s impressed. “So, after graduation. You still thinking grad work?”
“I think so,” I tell him, throwing a couple of things into the fridge for later.
“Maybe a couple of seminary counseling courses, trauma-focused mostly…I don’t know.
It’s the only thing that makes sense. I’m really liking the support group I’m doing for my clinicals right now.
I mean, dang, I think it’s been helping me more than I think I’ve been helping them, honestly.
The people I’ve met, stories I’ve heard, conversations I’ve had…
it’s really made me feel like I’m finding my purpose in the field.
It’ll be cool to do others in my classes next year, explore other areas of focus. ”
Ever since I came back from Christmas break, I’ve been trying, like really trying, to start healing. Some days, the darkness still wins. Some days it doesn’t. But that’s what progress looks like. It still hurts, just not…all the time anymore.
He softens when he hears that. I can see it in his expression. “I’m proud of you, man,” he tells me. “Proud of how far you’ve come. It’s crazy to think that the guy I met freshman year is the same guy standing in front of me now.”
I roll my eyes, a little amused at that. “Okay, now, not too much. I wasn’t that bad.”
Erik raises a brow at me. “You sure? Maybe you just don’t recall all the nights you’d stumble back into the dorm with some random chick, and I’d have to literally sneak out so I wouldn’t be front and center for how you were about to defile my personal space, and then I’d come back to you passed out for the entire next day.
I can’t tell you how many times I had to kick out some of those girls who would just linger around and—”
I wave a hand in the air for him to stop. “Okay, okay. You’ve made your point.”
We both start laughing, and he walks over, clapping a hand on my shoulder. “Fine. Point is, the growth is impressive, and it’s only the beginning, man.”
“Well, I honestly don’t think I could have gotten here if it wasn’t for how many times you pushed me to do better, or how many times you told me to just give it to God, and I just rolled my eyes at you. You never gave up on me, so I can’t give up on myself either, you know?”
“I did it because I was there once, too. And I’m glad I could be that to someone for you.
You know…she’d be proud of you,” he tells me, and it comes out so matter-of-factly, so easily.
And you know what? For the first time ever, hearing her be mentioned doesn’t make me angry, doesn’t make my stomach drop, doesn’t make me want to shut down. It…it actually feels good.
“I hope so.”
Erik drops another duffel on the counter in front of me. “I’m gonna call the guys, tell ’em to hurry up and get here to help, because these chairs aren’t going to set themselves up. Yell if you need me.”
“Got it.”
I’m pulling supplies out to set up when I hear a buzzing noise, like a phone vibrating nonstop.
“Yo, is that your phone losing its mind?” I ask, looking up to where Erik is standing.
He pulls the phone back from his ear and points at it, shaking his head in an ‘obviously it’s not mine’ way. He heads for the hallway, and the buzzing keeps going. Mine’s on the counter in front of me. Quiet.
Not mine.
It still doesn’t stop, and I can’t focus.
I try to pinpoint where it’s coming from, following the sound to the back corner of the large room.
There’s a small area tucked in the back with two couches and a TV that students rarely ever use.
The small lights we have on and the night sky right outside the window spill in just enough for me to see someone lying on one of the couches, hair spilled over the side.
Someone had a time, I guess.
Happens. People pass out in the main part of the common room all the time, actually. Late study nights, small kickbacks people use the space for, or just them sometimes trying to get peace from their wild roommates.
“Hey,” I say softly, already reaching for the closest lamp’s pull-chain. “We’re about to set up in here. You good? Need any help, or—”
The lamp flicks on, and her face glows in the light.
I know that face.
My heart does that thing I don’t know what to do with, like it recognizes her before my brain does. Her phone continues to buzz against her chest, screen light reflecting off her jaw, then dark, then light again. SIMONE flashes and disappears, flashes again.
“Lydia,” I murmur, kneeling down next to her. I touch her shoulder, and she shifts easily, like she’s passed out cold. “Hey, you good?”
No stir. No annoyed swat. Nothing. I nudge a little harder. She’s loose in a way that isn’t just sleep.
The memories flash quickly in my head and drag me backwards in time, standing in my sister’s bedroom doorway, my screams, Isabel’s lifeless body.
The world is hazy for a second like I’m actually back there, and then I pull myself back into the present moment.
Whatever is happening now. It’s not that… can’t be—
I shift slightly, and my leg bumps something. I look down to see a pill bottle on the carpet next to my knee. Unlabeled. Open. Empty.
“Erik!” The word tears out of me before I’m all the way standing back up. “ERIK!”
I force my eyes back to her face.
Focus. Check the basics. Wrist. Pulse. Come on.
There. It’s there, faint under my fingers. Barely, though.
“Lydia, hey. Stay with me. Please.”
Erik sprints in. He sees my face before he sees her, and it scares him. “What—”
“I think she might have OD’d,” I snap. “She barely has a pulse. Call 9-1-1!”
“Okay, okay, what do I—”
“Tell them we have a possible overdose on campus, female, early twenties, barely responsive. Give them the dorm address. Ask if they have Narcan…and see if the RA desk has naloxone in the AED kit.”
“On it.” He fumbles his phone in a panic and then gets it.
I press two fingers under Lydia’s jaw again. Still there. Still faint. I tip her chin and ease her onto her side in case she vomits. She’s limp and hard to move but I manage to get her into a better position. The phone is still vibrating against my arm. SIMONE again.
I answer with my shoulder while my hands keep working. “Hello?”
“Lydia?” The voice is already crying. “Lydia, please—hello?”
“Hey—this is Bash,” I say. “I—I found Lydia in my dorm’s community room. I think she overdosed.”
A broken sound. “Is she—” She doesn’t finish. Can’t say it.
“No. No, she’s…she’s not good, but she’s here. Pulse is really faint. We called 911. I’m taking her outside so the EMTs can get to her faster.”
“What building?” she asks, breathless and panicking. “Tell me where—”
I tell her, and she hangs up before I can say anything else.
“EMS is five out,” Erik says nervously. “RA is checking the AED. They think they have something, but they’re kinda freaking out. Said they’ll meet us outside.”
“Good.” My hands slide under Lydia’s shoulders and knees. “Help me.”
He moves a couple of boxes out of my path as I lift her. She’s so light it scares me. Her head falls against my chest. Her hair smells like shampoo and weed. The phone in my pocket buzzes again, but I just keep moving. The community room door bangs open as I rush out into the hallway.