Final Room

30 | wendy collier

CHAPTER THIRTY | WENDY COLLIER

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          As days go by and I get busier, losing any opportunity to care about anything else other than not falling apart and falling behind on schedule, I realize something important, courtesy of my surprisingly fulfilling conversation with Mrs. Chang. Difficult conversations won't stop being difficult or disappear from existence just because you don't feel ready for them.

          Much like how I know now that hardships don't necessarily have to build character or make you stronger, I also know that these confrontations, for lack of a better word, don't need to be planned in advance to the most infinitesimally small detail or be fulfilling to complete their purpose or enlighten you about your past, your present, and your future. Sometimes, you just have to have them if you want to move forward with your life, no matter the size or the importance of the obstacle.

          Even my conversation with Claudia during the New Year's Eve party, one that wasn't predicted or considered, served its purpose. Though I can't call us close friends and I still sense a slight cold distance between us, especially when her other friends are around, she's still someone I feel at ease around, and it's taken me months to feel this way around people besides my family and my closest friends in Juneau.

          It brought to light issues I wasn't aware of before, behavior that I don't think is appropriate. Most of what I do now is excused by a deep desire to protect myself from potential threats, but I never stop to think about how it comes off to other people, regardless of whether they're aware of this and my past or not.

          I knew I didn't talk to Claudia for a period of time there, out of fear she'd judge me for running out on her, but I didn't think about how she'd feel about getting the cold shoulder out of the blue. I don't want to feel bad for choosing myself and my well-being for once, so I don't, but I also make a mental note to be more considerate of other people moving forward. Balance. Balance is good.

          Giving people a chance also involves giving myself a chance. It involves granting myself forgiveness that shouldn't even be needed in the first place, but the thing about guilt is that it's not always proportional to the trigger. It involves placing myself in someone else's shoes, even all those other Final Girls; I would never blame them for surviving something that awful, so why am I punishing myself for it?

          It's not a perfect solution and there are times when it doesn't work, as my anxious brain can always find flaws in my train of thought to use against me, not to mention how cognitively demanding it is to fight against deep-rooted belief systems. I try to convince myself it matters that I'm at least trying instead of giving up after the first disappointment, and sometimes that has to be good enough.

          Forgiving myself, in turn, involves forgiving myself for the little things, not just the biggest conflict of my life. When I realize I've forgotten about Doctor Albott's birthday, I come back during the session immediately after with a cream cheese bagel in a paper bag, wondering about whether it's inappropriate to give your therapist a belated birthday gift or not, and swallow my embarrassment.

          "You didn't have to get me anything," she tells me, with polite caution.

          "Is this inappropriate?" I ask, fidgeting with the anti-anxiety ring on my thumb instead of biting my nails. "I feel like it's very inappropriate. I'm sorry."

          "It's debatable. At least it's a bagel and not, like, expensive jewelry, or something, which I definitely couldn't accept. A bagel, though . . ." She opens the paper bag, peers inside to determine whether it's poisoned or not, and calmly sets it aside. "It's ethically questionable whether therapists can accept gifts from their patients, but I don't think this will affect our therapist-patient relationship too much. It's thoughtful of you."