Me Too

44

I fell asleep on the couch. My body too weary to make it back to my room. Existential crisis is what this is. Susan nailed nine out of ten of my biggest trials. She was only missing the day I was diagnosed with anxiety. That day knocked me down quite far. I was stuck in a rut for quite a while. From thirteen on, I've always been a girl with anxiety.

It's so easy to say that I have a mental illness, but it's so hard to say that I was raped. Why is there any difference? Both shaped me to be who I am, I'm stronger because of both of them. They both changed my life.

I can say I'm bisexual, but I can't say I have been sexually attacked.

I can say I'm an actress. I'm a blonde. I am a woman. I am human. But I can't take on the label of a victim. It is part of me whether I want it to be or not. I am a victim.

Embrace it.

The sound of a door jolts me at the crack of dawn. I snap up and look behind me to the white wood. I see everything a blur, but nothing moves. Next to me, on the coffee table, my phone buzzes, the glass table clattering. Startled, I grab it and see the screen says Sofia's name. I answer her call, my heart pounding. "Hey?"

"Good morning."

"Morning? Why are you calling?"

She clicked her tongue, "I am picking up Starbucks for Cameron and I was going to get you coffee, if you want it."

"Are you coming home?"

"Once I give him his bagel and decaf," she mumbled.

I rub my eyes, laying back down on the sofa. "Yeah. I'll take coffee."

"Did you have a rough night?" Sofia asked. "Chloe, I-"

"I had a friend stop by."

"Yeah? What time did you go to bed at?"

I scoff. "Make it seem like I have party, night owl friends. I went to bed around two. What time did Cameron let you go to sleep at?"

"For starters, he was passed out at like eleven. I finally laid down at like seven."

"Sofia!"

"I had things to get done, and it isn't a big deal." It is, she's torturing herself. "I love you, I'll see you when I get home."

I keep my mouth agape. "Sofia, you stayed up all night?"

"Bye, babe." She hung up.

She's insane. My girlfriend is going to lose her mind. Between stringing her emotions thinner than a hair and depriving herself of sleep, she's going to break. And what am I doing to help her? Nothing.

I set my phone in my lap and stretch out, taking a deep breath of our beach sand scented living room. I prefer this much more than Ryan's pine apartment. I am getting comfortable with this beach theme, it is not as harsh as the forest I lived in for three years.

Sofia and I live with the best neighbours, the best view of California and the real ocean, and our home has a lot of love. This is the perfect apartment.

I get up off the couch and head into the bedroom, grabbing a towel and starting my shower. As I begin picking off clothes, I find all of my imperfections. I need to love them. They make me who I am. The bright red on my face and neck, they help me connect to people; they show what I can't say, that's truly a gift that I was given. The mark above my lip, that was from a dog, I'm a fighter, and I made it through being hurt. My teeth are screwed up, but Sofia loves them anyway, people told me nobody would love me because of them, turns out they were wrong. The scar on my stomach reminded me of the pain I went through to get some really great memories, cutting myself with that sword on set was one of the first times Sofia had ever showered me in attention and to this day I smile, thinking of it. But it hurt like hell for several weeks. My chest that Ryan was constantly complaining about, Sofia appreciates what I have, it is just plush enough to lay her head on. My hips aren't perfect, they're not aligned to the eye, but that makes them sassy. Below my pelvis, my vagina, it's pale, not pink; Sofia doesn't know that, but will she care? My legs are toned differently, my left is smaller; it has less muscle on it, and it is shorter. I am short.