The Trials of Maturity
*written April, 2017
I’ve always found it interesting how easily excitement is tarnished. As children all we want in the whole wide world is to grow up, yet once we’re there and grown, staring adulthood in the face, we’d give anything to go back. Go back to innocence, back to dreams without boundaries, back to a home where food miraculously appeared on the table each night, and clothes were magically clean and nicely folded the exact day they were needed, and there were smiling faces to greet us every evening. Adolescence is so utterly impatient. Everything so on the brink of importance, yet with a steady climb ahead holding us back from the future. An eagerness to summit the mountain of childhood and enter into the much coveted “next chapter of your life”. What a cliché. The whole thing. Bogus. Immaterial. Impractical. Asinine. Paper thin. It’s all a façade we’re fed from a young age. That independence is beautiful, perfect, exciting, a breeze. What they neglect to teach, or maybe we neglect to pay attention to, is the pain behind that smile, the at times, excruciatingly hard work, the long nights, the mental breakdowns, the heart break, the growth, the sweat, and the tears.
It’s day one of college and I distinctly remember my thirst to move on with the day. I regret that now, what was supposed to be a happy time ended up plagued by my incessant need to kick my parents out of my room, out of my life. Once we got to the goodbyes it hit me, I’m not going to see these people, my parents, the people who gave me life, who I had a tumultuous relationship with for the past 18 years of my life but whom I dearly and wholeheartedly love, for months. As my dad pulled me into one last embrace, he fought with all his energy to fight back tears that welled up in his eyes, suspended there as we locked eyes for one last time. All of the frustration and annoyance at the duration of the moving in process immediately left my body and was replaced with a mixture of regret, anxiety, sadness, and excitement. And with that I took my first shaky steps into the next chapter of my life.
Fast forward three months and he walks into my life. He who should not be named, he who forever changed the way I view the world. Yes it was wonderful for a while just like any first love. He grew on me like vines on a beautiful old mansion, sweetly at first, adding a new kind of haunting beauty to my life, but eventually the vines became overwhelming, daunting, and binding as they take hold of something that was once breathtaking and turn it into something vicious and toxic. He had this hold on me, on my life, I was wholly devoted to him even though our relationship was toxic and we were acting inappropriately. A break-up should be just that…a clean break (or even a messy one, but it implies a break). We never had a break. It’s difficult territory immediately following a break-up. Being best friends works great while the relationship is strong but afterwards it’s messy and oftentimes uncomfortable. It makes it easy to slip back into the relationship roles, it’s comfortable, it feels warm and welcoming. But it also feels wrong, like gut-wrenching, lump-in-throat wrong. It’s my mistake, I should’ve seen it coming. The day when our unorthodox relationship bit me (or rather bit both of us) in the ass. It was a drunken mistake, something I immediately regretted but something that haunted me for months to come, still haunts me now occasionally. This event has become traumatic for me due to the ramifications, and looking back, I understand that the relationship was unhealthy and just how hypnotized I was by him, just how in love I was. I often think that him walking out of my life was the best thing that ever happened to me. It allowed me to finally move on with my life, I just wish I hadn’t lost so much time. So much valuable time.
Love can do things to a person. All of a sudden my whole world revolved around him. This from a wildly strong and independent woman. Someone who is content with solitude, who takes pride and enjoyment in the little things. The soft breeze of summer, a nice afternoon run, a glass of wine with a good book in a bubble bath. My life substantially changed once he made an appearance in it. As things started going south, I shut down for a time, unable to go to class, unwilling to do classwork, finding it ever more difficult to even get out of bed in the morning. College is supposed to be the “best years of your life” when really it’s the most difficult part by far. Here begins my journey of self-discovery. Plagued by poor decisions and wrought over the first love of my life all but destroying me, the rose-colored glasses I saw college and the rest of my life through were suddenly shattered leaving me breathless, stripped of my sanity, and exposed to all the insecurities and scrutiny I never thought I could experience.
It’s funny how one experience, one mistake can change everything. Everything about how you feel about yourself, how you see the world, how you see the future, your identity story. It’s a black area of my past now. I rarely think about it, and thanks to God and I guess him, I rarely think about him anymore. It’s just a closed chapter. But let’s open it back up just for today. We’d been broken up for about a month and a half at this point, we were still spending all of our time together and acting like we were together, and so to him for all intents and purposes we were together. Even though he had told me multiple times I was free to do as I wished with whomever I wished, he obviously didn’t mean it, not that night anyway. Plans are a fickle thing. Had I gone over there like I was supposed to after the party, had I gone over there instead of the party, had I gone over there despite his angry cancelation of plans, maybe we’d still be together today. Had I not gone over there but not slept with someone, had he not slept with someone, maybe we’d still be together today. We were broken up at this point mind you. These thoughts have cycled through my mind over and over, like a wheel endlessly spinning, with such aggression it scared me even then. I don’t give it much thought anymore, but I know those events changed my life forever. And it’s no longer just about my love life falling apart, it’s about who I am and who I chose to be. I stopped drinking for a month after that. I wasn’t raped, not in a traditional sense, but after a heavy night of drinking and going in knowing I didn’t want to have sex, the unraveling of events were shameful at best. Regret immediately seeped through my body as I stepped out of that bedroom. Oh how I wanted to hate the girl who brought me there, how I wanted to blame anyone but myself, but that’s not who I am. Hatred isn’t an emotion I deal with very much. I think it causes wrinkles. Looking back now, I know it was one night, one night that was blown out of proportion, one night that I regret, but a night that I wonder if it was meant to happen just that way. I wouldn’t be here today, stronger, happier, or more resilient if it wasn’t for that night. I’d still be under the thumb of my ex. I’d still be at his beck-and-call, running myself dry, into the ground, to please him.
The resentment, the loss, the destruction isn’t what’s important. What’s important is how it affected my life. My least favorite phrase has always been “He never gives us more than we can handle”. For a time death seemed like the only option. I was so disenchanted with myself, with my life that I didn’t want to be a part of it anymore. I’d sleep 12 hours out of the day, I skipped class, I couldn’t see the point in anything anymore. How can anyone say that God only gives us what we can handle? Why then, does suicide happen? Why then is life unfair? I can’t count the amount of times I thought longingly of death the past eight months. The world was on my shoulders, everything was my fault, he thought so, I thought so, the world seemed to think so. The toxic nature of the situation seeped into my worldview and I went through a period of deep depression, barely able to live my life day-to-day much less hope for any sort of future. It was during these dark days that in a way I found my strength. She took form in my beautiful, strong, and resilient roommate. Out of darkness came light as I slowly but yet all at once placed some of my burden on her and allowed her to carry some of the weight. Leading up to this point my suite had been in a quarrel. The silent kind fought without words or fists but with glances, vibes, and the ever-so-unnecessary passive aggressive post-it-notes. I felt like a stranger in my own room, I even spent a solid week avoiding the toxic energy. There was no place I could go that felt like home, except for him. No matter what he put me through I always found myself back there, in his arms, wrapped in the promise for a better tomorrow. I won’t deny the good he did for me, though it still doesn’t outweigh the bad. At semester break, a future in the same suite seemed bleak but nonetheless I wasn’t ready to give in just yet. With no one on my side I called a suite meeting. The first attempt ended in flames, wires were crossed, assumptions made, no communication present. We didn’t even get to talk to one another before feelings were hurt and hurtful words hurled at one another as if made of stone, able to break the person aimed at. I sure as hell felt broken. But I persisted, headstrong into the dawn. After a tearful night away from my suite, another date was set and on into the meeting we went. The hatred from my suitemates was obvious, with my roommate trying her hardest to be neutral but also aiming to avoid scrutiny from the side with the most cards. I watched as she softened her tone, rounded the edges of her language, never standing up against the suitemates. Over time she and I began to see eye-to-eye as our suitemates continued to push us out of their lives and she slowly let me back in, to the chagrin of Tweedledee and Tweedledum who take pleasure in causing drama and dividing others. I still, to this day haven’t gotten a straight answer as to why they hate(d) me so much. But out of this war I gained an ally, a never-breaking, effervescent, determined ally in the ways of life. I gained a best friend. The kind you always dream of having but never think you actually will. The decision to stay in my rooming situation regardless of how isolated I felt, the decision to stay and work through our problems instead of leaving and ignoring them, remains one of my best decisions. It’s the only way I got the roommate relationship I’ve always wanted.
It’s through these hardships, through these losses, and through the growth that follows that life happens. Thinking realistically is the only way to get through life with all your hair still intact. College isn’t the best time of my life as I thought it would be. It’s proving to be the toughest time of my life. The time when I’m supposed to figure out who I am and what I want and where I’m going next. The time when I’m stressed 18 hours out of the day and sleeping the other 6 (when I’m lucky). The time when my diet is the worst and my mental and emotional stability at its lowest. The rose-colored glasses are gone and my future is looming but at least I have a future. A couple months ago I almost ended it all. If it wasn’t for my best friend sleeping in the bed across from me, I would have. Nowadays thinking of the flat in LA or Philly complete with a reading nook and wine rack, running each morning, bartending in the evenings, and taking classes as a law student, maybe even fitting in some auditions on the weekends keeps me motivated for the future I’ve always dreamed of. Life always finds a way of working itself out, no matter your view on God. All I know is I thank God every day for keeping me here on earth and not giving me more than I can handle…at least not yet.