I drop my letter to FC in the mail and return to my bed, thankful I called in sick today. I worried entirely too much about the fact that he doesn’t want me to use my phone to contact him anymore. Justin even stayed over after our date, which was an utter disaster. Counting the number of panic attacks I had last night makes anxiety swell within me all over again.
My first one was small, if attacks can be categorized that way. Justin asked if I would be up for having dinner with his parents. Sure, it’s been four months, but I’m not sure I’m ready for that. That’s one of the reasons I declined to go on vacation with him; his family would be there. That’s a huge step and my soul urges me to run far far away.
But my soul needs to go to hell. The damn thing is still stuck on FC and it’s not helping me out any.
My second attack didn’t seem to have a cause. At least, not one I could accurately pinpoint. By the time we got back to my apartment, it was all I could do to change and fall into my bed.
And the third was a motherfucker. I was lying in bed with Justin’s arms around me, in that space where I’m almost asleep, but semi-aware. My thoughts drifted to my conversation with FC. He sounded apologetic, but at the same time, it was as if there was no emotion coming from him at all. Pain stabbed me in the chest as my heartbeat took off as if it needed to build up to a high enough tempo to race right of of my chest. My hands shook hard enough to get Justin’s attention just as my breathing turned into short gasps. When the tingling started in my fingers, I knew it was officially game over.
Justin kept talking to me, but I never heard a word. All I could hear was FC saying he was sorry and then hurrying to tell me goodbye so he could hang up. My chest hurt so bad, I wasn’t sure if I was having a heart attack or if my heart was breaking at finally realizing what it would never have. At some point, I began to cry. I don’t even know how the attack ended. One minute FC was running through my thoughts and the next, I was tossing and turning in a restless sleep until I woke up this morning.
“Do you want breakfast?” Justin asks as I pull the blankets up to my chin. He doesn’t go into work until tonight and I apparently scared him enough last night that he’s spending the day with me.
“I’m not hungry.” All I want is more sleep.
He kisses my shoulder and settles in behind me with an arm over my waist. “I don’t know what you need, but I’m here. Don’t forget that, okay?”
I grab his hand and squeeze in appreciation.
When I awake hours later, I’m semi-rejuvenated and hungry. Rolling over, I discover Justin is no longer in bed with me.
“Justin?” I call out. I relax at hearing footsteps and seeing him walk into my room. “You’re still here.”
“Yeah. I’ve been cooking dinner.”
Dinner? I glance at my clock. I slept all day! Wait. “You need to leave! You’ll be late for work,” I tell him.
Justin shakes his head. “I called in earlier to see if I could get someone to switch shifts with me.”
“You don’t have to stay here with me.”
He walks over and holds out his hand. “You’ve had me worried. It’s either worry about you here or on the job and I’d rather do it here. Come on; let’s eat.”
I hug him when I stand. “I’m glad you’re here, even though you really didn’t have to stay.”
“We’re in this together, sweetheart.”
I grab my phone and check it out of habit. Nothing, not that I should be surprised.
“Expecting to hear from someone?” Justin asks as we walk to the kitchen. “You look upset that it hasn’t gone off.”
“No and sort of.”
He raises an eyebrow for me to explain as we sit down at my already set table.
“FC said we can only write letters now; that’s what I mailed this morning, a letter to him. I don’t know why, though. All he would say is that under no circumstance can we talk over the phone. He said he couldn’t explain and that he was between hell and a hard place.”
Justin shrugs. “Well, I can’t say I’m upset about this development. He’s probably doing this because I’m right in that he has feelings for you and he needs to distance himself from you. He probably has to do it to keep his relationship intact too. I can’t imagine she’s happy about him running down here to see you and talking to you so much. The less you talk to him, the better.”
My mouth drops open and Justin hurries to add, “I know he’s been your friend for a long time, Idaline, but y’all are too close. I can promise his girlfriend doesn’t like it, and I already told you I don’t like it. You may not see it that way because you’re sweet and innocent, but FC knows. Trust me,” he mutters. “Maybe this is a sign that you shouldn’t talk to him at all anymore. It sounds like you’ve reached a point in the friendship that it’s coming to an end.”
I don’t even know where to start. How do I process all of that? FC wouldn’t sacrifice our friendship for a relationship he knows won’t last. There’s no way.
Right?
Plus, Justin again brings up that FC has feelings for me, and my soul latches onto that while my brain dismisses it.
One of the most important things here is that Justin thinks FC would get rid of me for his girlfriend. That’s incomprehensible. There’s no way.
Oh, god. That might be it. She must have her claws in him so deeply. He’s told me it’s complicated. I don’t know how, but whatever that is must mean lessening my contact with him. He’s not happy; that much is clear when he comes to my apartment for an escape. Why is he choosing her over me?
Maybe even though it’s complicated and they’re obviously going through a long rough patch, he loves her so much to deal with it and do what he’s doing. To do what Justin thinks he’s doing.
But he’s always telling me to end my friendship with FC completely. My heart shudders at the thought of such a thing. I don’t think I could do that. If it meant losing Justin, could I? How am I in this predicament anyway? I shouldn’t have to choose between Justin and FC. I don’t want to do that because I’m not sure who I’d choose.
“Idaline?”
Swallowing hard, I look at Justin. “Maybe you’re right. And if you are, then it’s good for everyone.”
That’s what I’ll remind myself of any time I think of him and wish I could talk to him.
“Will you stop talking to him then?” he asks, pushing the issue.
“I don’t know.”
Justin frowns, but doesn’t say anything else.
My “I’m not sure” to Justin about having dinner with his parents turned into a “yes”. To say he’s thrilled is an understatement. He talks about it for a week before we drive over to his parents’ house. Not going to lie, I was hoping we’d go out to a restaurant where I could escape easily if needed. There’d also be more noise and people. But my luck is nonexistent.
I hold tight to Justin’s hand as we walk up to the large wooden door. He kisses my temple and whispers, “Don’t be nervous,” which is helpful for all of five seconds. Standing just inside the door are not only his parents, but also his older brother and younger sister. This just became a family dinner.
Anxiety, run away because I definitely don’t need you here tonight.
His father steps forward to greet me with a standard handshake while his mother hugs Justin. They switch places and I stop breathing when she says, “It’s so nice to meet you, Idaline. And don’t you worry one bit. Justin already told us about this thing with your anxiety. We won’t do anything to make you uncomfortable.”
She pats my hand and releases me before I can even think of a response. He told them about my panic attacks? What the hell? I can’t believe he’d do that without asking me first. And what the fuck is his mother talking about? This thing with my anxiety? It’s called a disorder, lady! It’s serious and real and not something that can be brushed off.
The introductions to his siblings are a blur. Will they analyze me throughout dinner, looking for me to fall apart? There’s a sense of betrayal in my heart, reminding me of what Justin did with every heartbeat. You don’t casually tell people this, especially without asking me first, or at least letting me know! I’m a helluva lot more nervous now than I was before.
We migrate into the dining room. I’m lost in my thoughts as dinner starts and they catch up with one another. This time should probably be used to learn more about everyone as they talk, but my thoughts are so scrambled, I can’t focus. All I want to do is eat this meal without making a fool of myself and without choking. I can do that, right?
Do you hear that? That cackling, hysterical, evil laugh? That’s my anxiety laughing at me.
When they focus on me, my mind turns to mush.
“You’re a nurse, right? How do you like that, Idaline?” his mother asks me.
I blink back as my inner voice answers with, “Uhhhh.” Every pair of eyes focus on me and I stumble, “Oh, um, yes, I like it.” They stare as if they expect more from me. “It’s a good job,” I add.
“What’s your family like?” his father asks, thankfully moving the conversation forward.
“They’re all great. I’m especially close to my grandfather.”
Thankfully, seeing that I’m struggling, Justin takes over and explains what my family does for a living. I stare at my food as he talks, my mind zoning out. Everything slows and stills and silences. My heartbeat even quietens until I can barely hear the steady rhythm. My eyes constantly find something to focus on, blurring out everything in the periphery.
Before I know it, Justin pulls me to stand and we’re saying goodbye to his family.
“What the hell happened in there?” he asks the moment we’re outside, walking to his car.
“Why did you tell them about my anxiety?” I counter.
“I thought it would help if they were aware you’re an anxious person,” he replies as we slide into our seats.
I roll my eyes. “It was so helpful that she brought it up to me and made my anxiety so much worse. So, if you want to know what went wrong, it’s that. You should’ve asked me first, Justin.”
He doesn’t apologize. Not about that, anyway. “I’m sorry for trying to help you, Idaline. What a shit first impression.” He shakes his head in disbelief.
“It didn’t help that it was more than just your parents either!” I snap. He’s seriously pissed that I had a panic attack? As if they are so easily controllable.
“Don’t give me that excuse, Idaline. All you had to do was go, smile, and speak. Instead, you were a fucking mute and stared off into space the entire time. You made me look like a fucking idiot to my own family. You’ve never acted like that before when you’ve had your anxiety. If you didn’t want to go, all you had to do was say so.”
That hurts. No one has made me feel so terrible and stupid over my anxiety, but Justin has. He apparently even thinks I’m faking it now. I stay quiet the rest of the way to my apartment. Once there, we mutter a goodbye, and he heads to his own apartment. I check my mail since I forgot to do so earlier and feel relief when I see a letter from FC. It seems like it’s taken forever to hear back from him.
I rip open the envelope as soon as I walk inside and begin to read.
Idaline,
I never knew it would be so hard to revert back to writing letters after talking to you so much. I feel like a part of me is missing knowing that your contact isn’t even in my phone any more. (Don’t worry, I have your number memorized if I ever need it.) But you’re right that this does feel like when we first started writing one another. Your letter made me smile and I can’t thank you enough for that.
Things here are normal. I’m doing my best to stay sober. Every day seems harder than the last and every day I’m sure I’ll drink, but by some miracle, I haven’t relapsed. My mom and dad are doing their best to keep me straight. I call them when it’s real bad. When there’s a bottle of tequila in my hand, or maybe just a shot, or when I’m in the parking lot of a bar. I think of my future and I call them to help me stay sober, even when the temptation overtakes my every thought.
If I relapse, there’s no hope for me. You and my mom may think differently, but this is something I know for sure. After my first relapse, I know if it happens again, I won’t be able to climb out of the drunken bliss. If you pray or anything like that, pray I’ll stay strong and sober. It’s more important than you know.
There are so many things I want to tell you, but at the same time, I don’t think I’m strong enough to do it. On one hand, I wish I could go back in time and change so many things, but on the other, I should hate myself for wishing such a thing. Damn it. I’m sorry for rambling.
How are you? How’s it going with Justin? How’s your head? Tell me everything, Idaline, but especially the good parts.
P.S. FC doesn’t stand for Forrest Calvert
I find a piece of paper and pen and sit down at my dining table to respond. I reread his letter, wondering what exactly he wishes to tell me. What would he change if he could? With too many thoughts swirling in my mind, I begin my letter.
I’m sad to report Mrs. Fish died today. My monkey was a terrible guardian angel and now Mr. Fish is lonely. It wasn’t fun disposing of her (even though I made Justin do it), so I’m not sure if Mr. Fish will remarry or remain a widower.
Right now, things with Justin are so-so. We were supposed to have dinner with his parents, but his siblings were also there. On top of that, Justin told them about my head issues. So, I didn’t make a good impression because as soon as his mother told me she wouldn’t make me uncomfortable with my “anxiety thing,” I started having more anxiety. We had a big argument and I feel terrible about what happened, but I’m sure we’ll make up soon.
I have complete faith in you that you can stay sober. You ARE strong enough to take the urges and resist the temptation of taking a drink. Don’t worry about tomorrow and take one day at a time. One second at a time, if you have to. I’m glad you have your parents supporting you, too.
I hate to bring this up, but it’s been on my mind since the day you told me this would be our only form of communication. Why can’t you tell me? You know I’d understand whatever it is. I won’t walk away from you. Why don’t you trust me enough to tell me what’s going on? I’m worried about you, but I have no idea if my worries are warranted or not because I don’t have a clue what’s happening.
The only thing I have to go on is what Justin thinks. He thinks you’re distancing yourself from me in order to please Lila, who may be jealous with how much we talk, but by writing letters, you’re still keeping me in your life. He also thinks you have feelings for me, but that’s for another day.
I can’t accept his theory, FC. If you don’t want to tell me what’s going on, fine. But please tell me that you aren’t sacrificing our friendship for her. You told me you know you won’t be with her forever, so I know that can’t be what you’re doing, but I can’t stop thinking about it unless you confirm it for me.
But if I’m semi-wrong, and you are doing this, tell me it’s because you love her so much and you’re doing what it takes to make things work. I most certainly don’t want to make your life worse, but I can’t believe you’d choose her over me when it sounded like you’re in a relationship that’s going nowhere and it’ll soon be over.
I’ll do whatever I can to make your life easier. Please do the same for me and answer this one question.
Talk soon,
Idaline
For three days, I debate if I should send my letter before finally dropping it in the mail.