"If I had a box just for wishes
And dreams that had never come true
The box would be empty
Except for the memory
Of how they were answered by you"
Song: Time in a bottle - Jim Croce
***
Shame.
It's a wretched hell of a thing.
It's that internal disfigurement you pray no one discovers but swear everyone can see.
The secrets and internal indisputable truths we chant to ourselves that you try to conceal because if you were to show it to the world, we fear the disgust and rejection that would surely follow - whether true or not.
Even though their disgust could never match the one we carry towards ourselves.
Shame is the inescapable feeling that everything you were created as, is defective. There's an incurable flaw. You. Your existence is wrong.
The most heartbreaking thing about shame that I've realized is it isn't something we are born with but something we all feel. It always planted in us from the outside. It is not meant to have a home in us, and yet someone has let it break inside your soul and bury itself as deep as it could go.
Young children at first have no shame.
They're like shameless little alcoholics. Shitting themselves as it suits them, vomiting everywhere, crying and screaming whenever they feel like it; saying whatever they want in total honesty with not a care about how they look or what others may think. There is no shame in their bodies - they would walk butt naked through a crowd of strangers like it's the most natural thing in the world.
... And then at some point, maybe they're two, maybe they're eight or maybe a teenager, at some point someone, or several someone's did something to instill shame in them. Something happens that triggers that first feeling of humiliation. The first internalizing that something about them is incorrect.
Maybe it's the mother that shames her daughter's body, constantly comments on it's weight or shape.
Maybe it's the father that ridicules his son for preferring dolls over dirt bikes, or because he cries when he's upset.
Maybe it's the kids at school that mock the child that struggles with a stutter, or the one whose skin is simply a different shade. Mocking something natural that they deem as 'different', and then different becomes synonymous with 'wrong'.
Variety becomes vilified instead of celebrated.
None of these things are ever something to feel ashamed of, and yet the world can plant the most damaging, self loathing torment inside of you over it. You're convinced your existence is a sickness you can't cure yourself of.
The main thing that breeds shame is the secrecy, the feeling that 'no one can know' . Don't talk about it. Hide it at all costs. Never ever show your shame.
The irony in all of it, is the only way to rid shame is to shine light to it. Share it.
The world is the one that planted that pain inside of you to carry alone, and once you realize that, you have the choice to dig it out of yourself and hand it back to them - it can't control you.
They created it, give it back to them, let them carry it.
Although that's far easier said than done.
If we only shared the parts that made us feel so alone, we'd realize we aren't alone at all.
Shame is something I've thought a lot about recently, and something I've spoken a lot about with my psychologist over the years because I'm riddled with it.
It affects every part of my life. It affects all of choices, it affects me not making choices.
Shame over the illness in my mind. Shame over my body. Shame over the things people have done to it. Shame over the way I grew up. Shame over the situation I'm in. Shame over the things I've done to escape the pain I'm in.
Ashamed that I'm even in pain at all, ashamed of being weak.
Of not being enough.
My mother has still been at my sisters all this week.
The shame that has followed that has been crippling, again, carrying weight that has been put in me by other people.
It's been a rough week of dealing with the anxieties, guilt and exhaustion of not caving in, of ignoring the countless messages from both her and my sister; detailing just how awful and selfish I am.
How dare I not apologize.
How dare I not grovel.
How dare I treat her like this.
It's made that war my head wages harder to fight this week, even though for the most part I have been doing a bit better with it. That's how it goes though, it goes higher only to crash back down and I have to climb back up again.
I think that's the biggest load of shit you're sold about trying to get better, or trying to repair the damage inside of yourself.
It's never a straight incline. You don't just magically keep moving forward when you decide to work on yourself.
It's a cluster fuck of ups and downs, loop arounds and bends. It's a step forward and then you may collapse and be stuck for weeks before you can take two more steps, and then it may be a step back after that.
It gets disheartening because usually you can't even tell if you're improving until you've improved.
At the time it can feel like you're not moving at all until one day you realize you've actually taken ten steps, you just couldn't tell because that fog was too thick to realize how far of a distance you'd actually covered in front of you.
When you're battling hopelessness that can be one of the hardest parts. It's hard not to sink into that despair when you can't notice the progress until you've already arrived. It's hindsight.
It's looking back with that new perspective to see the difference.
At the time though, when you're immersed in it. It feels like drowning. You're too submerged to realize whether you're sinking or floating upwards.
It's only when you break the surface and come up for air can you feel the difference.
Things have felt like that with Harry as well this week.
I'm unsure what's happening. I can't tell if I'm sinking or floating.
He did exactly as he said, he drove me to work and picked me up each day. He was early every single time.
I wish it made me feel better. I also wish I didn't feel so fucking guilty that he was helping me.
In some weird way it hurt more, because things didn't feel the same. We were still in that limbo.
I still missed him even when he was in the same car as me.
It felt like being homesick for a house you had only seen in your dreams.
I could tell he was treading carefully, even our conversations had changed. We weren't talking like we used to.
Talking with him was still effortless everyday, but you could feel the overwhelming tension and underlying sadness between us. That effortless thing suddenly felt like it was disguising that it felt like we were both pulling teeth. Hiding the things we wish we could both say.
Neither of us were saying what we really meant.
That magnetic pull I have to him felt physically painful because we couldn't touch each other like we did before, that unspoken permission wasn't there anymore for the kisses and touches we had both become so familiar with. It felt like an invisible brick wall between us.
I hated it.
I also hated that I was still so wary and terrified. I was fighting my natural instincts every day to shut down, to lock myself away and push him away.
The worst parts were when he would drop me at home, and that moment when I would say goodbye before i'd get out of the car was agonizing.
There was always that moment where he would stare that bit longer, watching like there's a million things he wants to do or say but couldn't, or simply didn't know if he was allowed to or should.
There'd be a shattering silence that made it hard to breathe while his eyes wouldn't waiver from me.
Each night the urge to kiss him became more and unbearable, which had me breaking my neck to get out of the car last night. A fraction longer and I wouldn't have been able to stop myself, and I don't trust myself or him to know if that's a good choice or not.
It all feels so confusing. I'm still hurt.
But that small gesture and the effort he put in this last week has helped more than he realizes, because while my trust and heart are still in pieces... I do feel like I can rely on him.
I'm just not sure if I can rely on him not to break my heart again.
I kept up with my promise to have dinner at Frankies tonight, and aside from the barrage of messages I had received from my mother before Harry had picked me up - it had actually been a good night.
Blocking her number didn't work, because then she would message from my sister's phone. I would've blocked my sisters number as well but I still had some irrational fear something might happen and they wouldn't be able to get a hold of me.
I still carried that suffocating feeling of obligation and responsibility.
I may be holding my ground at the moment, but it's not like snapping your fingers and that fixes everything. I've taken baby steps but she still has her claws dug very firmly into me. A babies steps are really fucking uncoordinated.
You don't undo 26 years of damage in a couple of weeks.
A lot of days I wonder if there's undoing any of it at all.
I guess tonight has also gone as good as it could've with the glances from Harry he didn't think I noticed. It was impossible not to notice, I could feel them.
It wasn't helped by Frankies not-so-subtle accusing looks between Harry and I every time he caught us catching glimpses of each other.
He didn't even need to say what he was thinking, you could see the thoughts turning through his head.
Thankfully for my sake, he didn't say them aloud, and the night was filled with sarcastic banter while we all ate and Alex filled me in on everything he had been doing with work.
Watching how smitten and happy Frankie and Alex are was bothersome in a whole new way than it had been before. It was a really successful way to rub salt in open wounds over the state of things I was in with that bullshit dimple having cousin of his.
I tried my best to keep up my brave front, and not let the stress from what had been going on with my mother and also the torture of being in the same room as Harry.
It didn't work.
Frankie did notice, but he did what I love him for and didn't prod, instead when we were in the kitchen he simply asked if I wanted to talk and when I shook my head; he followed it up with a joke and carried on as if he hadn't noticed that I was in pieces.
Harry's approach was very different, because he made it obvious he'd noticed too.
That's how we've ended up sitting on the hood of his car at the edge of town in a small remote clearing surrounded by trees in the wooded bushland, with his radio playing from the car.
When the night was over and he'd offered to take me home, he asked if Gizmo could stay at Frankies the night and if I minded taking a small detour on the way.
Curiosity got the better of me, and to be completely honest, so did the ache to be closer to him, grasping at more time to be next to him. To listen to his voice, because I miss our phone calls that still don't happen.
I think I'm the one torturing myself.
"You know, in horror movies this is how people end up dead," I say looking over at Harry, trying to lighten the mood and the silence since we've gotten out of the car and hoping he'll give me a clue as to why he's brought me here.
Harry laughs under his breath, looking around the secluded area and the trees surrounding us; then glances up to the dark sky that's contrasted by the bright stars staring down at us.
"I think we'll be alright, usually it's the virgins that die in these scenarios," he sounds like he's forcing himself to sound more light hearted than he actually is, "We both know we're the furthest thing from that."
"Speak for yourself, I'm as pure as the virgin mary,"I throw back in mock offence, using my humour the best way I know how as I hug my leather jacket closer to me. Staring at his denim one he has his hands stuffed into the pockets of, that he'd argued with me over giving back to him.
I only wore it home and gave it back to him the next day after he gave it to me when he came to pick me up for work.
It's not that I didn't want to keep it longer, I fell asleep in the damn thing that night. But it hurt too much having something that reminded me of him and everything about him when things felt the way they do between us now.
Harry stares at me, raising a brow, "So I hallucinated those sounds you make when you come did I, heartbreaker?"
As soon as his words leave his mouth, my stomach tangles into a knot that tight I'm surprised I didn't roll off the hood of the car and Harry looks like he wishes he could pluck them out of the air and shove them back in his mouth.
He hasn't spoken to me like that since everything went ass up between us. It's been weeks since I've heard a single suggestive or sexual remark from him.
"Sorry - I'm sorry, I shouldn't have said that. Old habit," he says glancing down to his lap and looking like he's cursing himself in his own head, "I didn't mean to make you uncomfortable."
As quick as my stomach coiled from that first question, it unraveled and sunk so low I'm sure it left my body at his phrasing. 'Old habit'.
The way he was with me is an old habit now.
I miss that habit.
The way he's been doesn't feel like him. It feels like he's treading on eggshells every second he's around me.
"You didn't - it's okay," I shake my head, and I force a small smile even though my heart is aching tight in my chest, "I think the amount we traumatized Gizmo is proof enough you didn't hallucinate them."
Harry steals a quick look at me, with his lips tugging up into a smile that doesn't light up his eyes like it usually would. His stare goes back up to the sky and he pauses for a moment before sighing, "Most days it does feel like I hallucinated it. It feels like it was all a daydream now."
It really does.
I wish I could have bottled all of those memories with him. I wish they didn't have to end.
It's a daydream I wish I never had to snap out of.
He's making my feelings and organs act like absolute crack heads again, and I'm not sure what to say back because my heart feels like it's lodged itself in my throat.
I'm not sure what I expected to happen or for him to say out here because the talk in the car had been the usual general conversation we'd had all week. The pointless conversations masking the things we really really meant.
You know, last week I was ready to run a million miles away from a conversation like this. Hide from the pain and discomfort.
I don't feel like that right now though.
"Why did you bring me out here?" I ask instead, twitching my brows in confusion when I watch Harry pull a packet of cigarettes from his pocket and take one from the packet to perch between his lips; before taking out a lighter from the same pocket.
He cups his hand close to the end of the cigarette while he sparks the lighter, igniting the end with a bright glow that reflects against his facial features; before drawing back in inhale and exhaling a steady stream of smoke from his nostrils and stuffing the lighter back into his pocket.
"Like I told you the night I took you to the top of that building, sometimes people just need to get away from things -- you looked like you might've needed that and to kill some time," he extends his hand with has his cigarette perched between his pointer finger and thumb, offering it to me, "I needed it too, and as I said before there's no one else I'd rather kill time with - even though there never feels like there's enough time with you."
There's no one else I'd rather kill time with either.
I give him a questioning look, and hesitate before I grasp the cigarette between my pointer and middle finger to take it from him. He watches my every movement with his eyes fixated on my mouth when I bring it to my lips to drag in a slow inhale from the old bad habit I'd taken part in more than I'd like to admit recently.
God these taste disgusting and make you feel like shit, but it's never-ending what we do to ourselves to distract our pain with vices.
Killing ourselves slowly so we can bear being alive.
I'd wondered if I'd seen Harry smoking last week for the same reason that I had been.
"You know Smirky, these things are bad for you," I say gesturing to the cigarette as I exhale and holding it back over to him.
Harry smiles properly this time at my teasing over those same words he said to me the day he caught me smoking in the alley next to my work, after that girl slapped the soul from him.
He also seems to have perked up over the use of my nickname for him, that has gone from an insult to a term of affection from me.
I wonder if he still thinks it's an insult.
"Yeah well so is my dick getting me into messes my heart can't handle," his lips form a lazy half smile, while he takes a drag on the cigarette, then shrugs his shoulder when he exhales, "plus the stupid choices my brain makes when it's scared is probably worse for my health than these right now."
There's that fluttering in my chest and dropping in my gut again. See? Sinking or floating. I can't tell.
I noticed the way he changed the phrasing of that jab I'd had at him months ago, and I'm trying to process in my mind how to feel about it.
He takes another drag of the cigarette, exhaling through his nose and as I watch the pale clouds float up into the air; I for some reason decide to blurt out a thought that's been going around in my head for weeks.
"I know you were scared - I was too, but I realised something recently... If you push people away before they get the chance to leave, they'll never have the chance to stay either," I take in a breath, before breathing it out in a heavy sigh hoping it'll expel my crippling nerves.
Harry's movements are paused, with his eyes locked on the side of my face while I stare straight ahead picking at my nails to distract myself.
"You go and say things like that and then wonder why I'm so infatuated with you" he says sounding like my words have punched him in the face, "You're right by the way."
Harry hands me back the smoke, and my heart stops dead over each time our fingers graze together with each pass; but I decide to deflect his statement with another question,"Why did you bring me here this time though? Instead of the building we went to? How'd you know about this place?"
Harry leans back against the hood on one hand, and looks at the trees surrounding us,"I came here with Alex once, he was thinking of buying this block of land to build a new house for him and Frankie in this clearing...," he then focuses his gaze on me, with his eyes sad but that dimple dipping into his cheek nonetheless, "And I didn't think standing on the edge of a building was the best thing for either us at the moment."
I swallow when I notice his gaze dart to my mouth; staying there for a moment so I give him a sarcastic pout to hide the way it's making my pulse hammer a hundred mile an hour, "Worried I'd actually push you off this time?"
Harry chews on his lower lip for a moment, watching me before sitting up straight again and stubbing the half smoked cigarette out against the bottom of his boot he rests on his knee.
"I wouldn't blame you if you did..." he exhales a heavy breath then messes his fingers through the front of his hair and there's a brief silence before he speaks all of a sudden, "I fucking hate how things are between us now. I know it's my fault, but I hate it."
I look down to my lap, and start twisting and fidgeting with my fingers until I feel the skin burning while my brain races over what to say back to that.
I want to say I hate it too, the words are right on the tip of my tongue but it's like my lips won't let them out. I also feel ashamed with myself that I'm so close to caving with him already, after all the promises I'd made to myself.
At my silence Harry continues to talk, and I can feel those eyes that haunt my memories burning into me, "I keep wracking my brain over how to fix it - but I'm so lost with all of this. I hate that you don't trust me anymore, I hate that I'm on that list of people that have hurt you now."
I can feel my adrenaline and blood rushing through my body and ringing in my ears; everything in me is yelling to run away from this or ask him to take me home. But I don't.
"Harry... I - I don't know what to-"
Harry cuts in, as if he's trying not to chicken out of what he wants to say "There's another reason I brought you out here," he clears his throat, and shifts on the spot, "Frankie said one of the ways you build trust back is being vulnerable... So I've been working up the balls to tell you something."
I'm too nervous to look him in the eye, so I let my eyes go to focus on his jacket to show him he has my attention even though I'm having an internal crisis over what he could possibly be going to say.
I'm also not used to someone trying this hard with me, or really trying to fix things at all. I'm used to being hurt and told it was my fault or that it didn't happen to begin with.
Harry moves a fraction closer, with his own voice giving away how unsure of himself he feels, "I've never told anyone. Not even Frankie knows... But I'd like to tell you... Can I tell you?"
His question sounds so insecure that it hurts, which makes me finally look at him with the most reassuring look I can mustre while I'm having a meltdown on the inside, "You can tell me whatever you want Harry, but don't feel like you're obligated to tell me if you really don't want to."
He shakes his head, "No I want to. You're one person I always want to talk to, which is also what scared the shit out of me with you."
I turn to face him more, and the small action looks like he helps his nerves somewhat, "Go on, you can tell me. I'm listening."
This feels like he's about to tell me that he's pregnant. I have no clue what he's going to say.
He brings his hand up to scratch at the side of his head with a frown as his lip pucker in thought, like he's running over in his head how to best go about this secret that's eating my nerves alive.
Was he born with a tail or something?
"I was in a motorbike accident back in England, not long before I came to stay with Frankie. I'd been drinking and got on my bike - went riding around my parents property. They live on a large block of land, in a rural area outside of town, and I hit a tree. Broke some bones and totally fucking destroyed my bike... I scared the hell out of my mum and dad, my friends - everyone. They were so angry at me afterwards - relieved I was alive, but angry.." he talks slowly, careful of his wording and his eyes stay fixed anywhere but my eyes.
The air stops in my lungs, for some reason feeling like I'm reacting as if the news of this accident is something that happened today and not nearly a year ago.
"Jesus christ Harry that's terrifying," I say truly meaning it, unable to hide the concern in my voice. But then I bring my hand up and swat it against the back of his head with a warning, "that's for driving drunk. Don't ever do that shit again or I'll kick your ass."
I do mean that, but I realise it's far less out of anger over him doing that and more over sick to the stomach grief stricken worry.
This makes him smile at me for god knows what reason, while he runs his fingers through the front of his hair to fix the way I'd messed it up when I smacked him.
"I won't do it again," he promises, then takes a breath and watches for my reaction as he continues to talk. Obviously not done with his story,"That's actually why I had said to you that I don't really drink. I stopped drinking after the accident... because I drank a hell of a lot, for a long time before that happened. It got pretty bad but no one really knew that either... well knew it was a problem.."
That feels like a slap, because I think back to the times Harry had been blind drunk since I'd known him. I think about the night he took me out and then got the tequila shots just so I'd warm up to him even though he hadn't planned to drink that night. Or the night he went on that date and got so wasted he came home with one shoe... not to mention the night he turned up on my doorstep.
I'd been so caught up in that confidence Harry had, and his cheery disposition that I hadn't thought too much into it - I didn't put those instances together as something that went a lot deeper, or maybe there's a pain there that I wouldn't expect in someone like him.
I feel like an asshole for not asking if he was okay, or just assuming that he was. I know better, I know these things don't have a certain 'look' or way to act... I know what it's like to be good at hiding it.
I'm not quite sure what exactly he's telling me though, and my voice has a gentle tone to it that hasn't been there for weeks, "So Frankie doesn't know you had the accident? Or is it about your drinking?"
Something about Harry's demeanor changes, he becomes more stiff, and he refuses to look at me again.
"No he knows about the crash I had, not so much about how bad the drinking was..." he shakes his head in a slow motion, clearing his throat and hesitates while he chews on his lip before speaking, "But he doesn't know the crash wasn't an accident."
It feels like time has stopped along with my heart, and I swear to myself I didn't hear him properly.
"What?"
Harry is silent again, and his gaze goes to his hands in his lap where he is twisting his rings around his fingers like he wants to rip them off. When he finally speaks his voice is quiet, full of shame and leaves me feeling like all the blood drains from my face.
"I hit the tree on purpose."
***
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I'll have the next chapter posted in a day or so.
Appreciate you all, thank you for giving me your precious time. I'm sorry if I hurt your heart, lemme hug it.
*sad bum pats*