MEMOIR OF THE SPLINTERED

SEVEN

Impulsive and often dangerous behaviors, such as spending sprees, unsafe sex, substance abuse, reckless driving, and binge eating.

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That unshakeable discomfort.

No matter what I tried to do, I couldn't shake the discomfort I always felt. And not being able to put my finger on exactly why I felt uncomfortable was extremely frustrating. This was years before realizing my discomfort was gender dysphoria, because I was uneducated on what that even was. So I didn't have a way to deal with the discomfort, because I didn't even know what I was dealing with.

The only way I knew how to deal with it was filling the void with distractions. But they had to be big to fully distract my mind.

One night stands with strangers.

Speeding down the road while swerving through traffic and blaring music.

Getting drunk with my friends, even if I was underage.

Anything my mom would be mortified to hear about. Anything that could distract me from the freezing cold emptiness in my chest.

I had never thought of myself as impulsive. In high school, I was always the "mama bear" of my friend group. Everyone came to me with their problems, because they saw me as the rational one.

I didn't hate it. In fact, I rather liked being needed. But after we all graduated, no one... needed me anymore.

Lost without a purpose, the discomfort within myself became too great to ignore. It was overwhelming, and I didn't know how to chase it away.

That's why I began turning to impulsive acts. The thrill caused a warm rush of adrenaline to flow through me, temporality blocking out the cold.

One particular night, I was feeling even more empty than I usually did. When I received a message from a guy I met online, asking me on a date, I accepted without a thought. I didn't really want to go, but it was better than moping in my bedroom.

We went for coffee. He was nice enough, but not the type of person I could see myself dating. Still, that didn't stop me from accepting his invitation for a walk.

A voice in the back of my head told me to not go with him. Hadn't I learned my lesson about meeting up with guys I barley knew? But I couldn't find it in myself to care. Whatever happened, happened.

Fortunately, nothing bad happened. Awkward, yes, but not traumatizing. We hooked up — consensually — in a gross park bathroom. It was dark and no one else was around. I was numb the entire time. All I could think about was how that didn't make me feel any better. I was still cold inside, still empty.

We parted ways after that, and I ignored his messages when he wanted to meet up again. What was the point? I didn't like him, and he didn't know me enough to like me.

Part of me knew it was wrong to hook up with someone I had no intentions of seeing again. But a bigger part of me didn't care. I just wanted to be distracted from my own discomfort, and I didn't care about how I did it.