But Too Well

LXVI : Amends

MY NEW APARTMENT isn't as big or as well-furnished.

It feels foreign and unfamiliar to call this place home.

I miss my old kitchen, my old sofa.

Yes, I remember the bad stuff. I remember being pressed against the glass wall of my shower, I remember being brutalized and beaten in my old bedroom, on that old mattress.

But with a warm, far away glow I can also recall the soft, ragged carpet of my living room where Caleb hovered over me that one time, whispering words of affection against my skin, my hands tangled in his golden hair and his head buried between my legs.

I remember countless batches of cupcakes, remember laughing my head off with Shauna, confiding in Natalia, bantering playfully with Caleb over a cup of hot coffee.

I remember Nero's arms around me, the things he mumbled into my hair as I straddled his hips while he leaned back into the couch, the bright, heavy haze of brilliant emotion that hovered over us.

Dr. M says that it's a good thing, to have fond memories like this. Because it means that the pain doesn't, will never, completely overshadow the joy. It means that I don't have to hurt forever, it means that I'm well on my way to recovery.

So yeah, I miss the muscle memory of my fingers reaching reflexively for the light switch by the door. I miss the angle of the sun's rays that shone into my studio, illuminating bright acrylic streaks as my brush swept across canvas.

But at the same time, this place feels like a fresh start. And I really need a fresh start.

•§•

WHEN MY FACE has healed and my finger splint is removed, I go back to work.

I focus on my clients, on my projects, digging into the design and aesthetics, measurements and templates and mock-ups and concepts, custom typefaces and obsessive kerning.

It feels good to be useful again. Sitting in front of my computer with Adobe splayed across my screen is comfortable and familiar.

I am capable, I can do my job well, I can make a living for myself.

Make a note of situations and tasks you feel in control of. List activities you are able to complete competently and confidently. I can hear Dr. Maneck's rhythmic, factual voice describing my homework for the week.

You control your own actions. You decide what to do and what not to do, in any given situation.

It's surprisingly comforting, following that type of thinking. I feel empowered and stronger. I wish I had started CBT a long, long time ago.

•§•

I THINK THE hardest part of therapy so far is asking for forgiveness.

Shauna, Daniel, my parents. The ice between us still hasn't thawed completely. They love me and they care about me but they are still confused and hurt, and if I were them I would feel the same way.

I have to make amends. And it's not going to be easy.

Two months after the attack, I invite Shauna over to my new apartment for the first time. She's been distant, hasn't texted much, and I know she's still processing it.

But the secrets are out. There's no more hiding, no more lies, and what I want, what I need, is to have my best friend back.