The Boy I Could Never Love

Hysteria

My dissociative amnesia released this occurrence as the first among many to resurface by the process of diving into my past. Some already found their way into previous chapters where you may have noticed markings. Reaching out to reconnect with people from this period, I sought to see if I made it up. When they offered little recollection, it left me questioning it further. Yet, with other remembrances occurring, coupled with a name to call the phenomenon, I concluded that the details remain too specific to act as a fabrication.

This I added here as it does not fit elsewhere. Towards the beginning of freshman year, I remember my friend's sister calling out to me from her bus, asking to give her brother a chance. I loved that little ray of sunshine and could refuse her nothing, but when I tried to leave my relationship, my boyfriend told me that without me he would kill himself, and I believed him. I didn't dare leave him, and I didn't tell him the reason.

A month or so after they arrested my father, I felt the weight of my situation and needed comfort. Going to my friend, I asked if we were still friends. He acted reluctant to give a reply. When I told him I wasn't questioning the friendship, I just needed to hear him say it, he said yes, and I requested a hug. My reason for asking in the first place.

Unexpectedly, his arms around me felt really good, and I started dry crying. The kind where your breath hitches but your tears refuse to come. I don't know if others experience it, but it became quite common in my teens. Expressing nervousness about his willingness to comfort me met with assurance and saw it last a while. I carry no idea how long we stood there with me clinging to him, but my boyfriend found us like that.

My friend told me he was there, yet I didn't care as I continued to take in the comfort of my friend's embrace. I never knew what transpired between them as I cried into my friend's chest. Surprisingly enough by blocking the memory coupled with my unfortunate photographic memory, I remember the conversation we carried in detail.

Scene...

My friend: Crazy's here. [Yes, my boyfriend's nickname was Crazy.]
Me: I don't care.
My friend: You should go to him.
Me: I don't want to. I don't want him.
{Silence surrounds us as I endeavor to sob as quietly as possible, trying to pick up any response and not draw more attention. Convinced my words could get my friend hurt, I continue.}
Me: I want you. (God, while extremely accurate, not much better.) Right now, I want you. My friend. Please, be my friend. Be my friend.

...end scene

The more he suggested going to my boyfriend, the more hysterical I became until I realized how it looked and gave up talking. I don't know if my friend felt uncomfortable with me or if my boyfriend behaved badly in the situation. They did call him Crazy for a reason, so any ill manner could very well have intimidated my friend.

Unmoved by his presence, I determined I really didn't want to allow my boyfriend near me at that moment. He made my situation about how it angered him what I went through. Though, he never blamed me, his anger felt more important, and I chose to remain unheard. Plus, his hugs never felt like what I stood there receiving right then.

Whatever they exchanged between themselves remains a mystery, but eventually, I ended up in the arms of the guy I was dating, and my friend hightailed it out of there. That's when I knew. If my friend could learn to step up and be the person to get me through this, I would be with him. I would love him like he wanted me to; if he wanted me to. I would leave my boyfriend and hope to the heavens his threat remained unfound as I stood by my decision.

I fell in love with my friend that day with nothing more than a simple hug. A hug that brought the comfort I needed when nothing else could. Yet, the same day I found out I loved him, I realized I held the potential to destroy him, and our friendship. Convinced he would never be strong enough to handle everything that came from being with me, I forced myself to accept what I could get and calmed down with Crazy holding me.

Everyone credited the reason I got better to my boyfriend, praising him for bringing me out of my hysteria. In truth, being passed off after saying I didn't want to, broke the remaining pieces I held on to. I simply chose to bury the pain where I no longer felt safe.

No one, not even those who cared about me, cared what I wanted. It proved to me that what I needed, what I wanted, didn't mean anything. Their needs rose above my own. I didn't matter. My feelings didn't matter. The sensitivities of others took presentence. I stood alone and needed to give in or become stronger to survive, and if I complied with their wishes I stood less chance of getting hurt. I didn't get better, I shut down.

I could never tell my friend what I did not remember. Yes, his arms made me cry, not because he made me feel pain but because I felt safe. For the first time in a long time, I felt safe. I felt seen, heard, appreciated, and loved. I felt loved, and I felt love. I fell in love with the boy who became my friend, and it saw lost him as well as my memory. The second year of high school came around, and the nervous breakdown went locked away. A friend brought it up, and I laughed at her.

Vote and comment about the best hug someone gave you.