THE INVISIBLE PAIN
I’m falling apart right in front of your eyes but you don’t see me.
~ Anonymous
Willow
“WHERE WERE YOU all night?” I ask as Hazel enters my room and makes her way to my bed.
She frowns, scanning the boxes, and items littering the floor. “What happened to ‘I’ll fix this right away’?” Picking up the box of hangers, she places it on top of my unmade bed and opens it. “Yara can help us arrange everything.”
“The housekeeper is only here to prepare meals and do the basic cleaning, Willow.” I mock my grandfather’s voice. Hazel laughs. I open one of the bags. She continues opening the shopping sacks and perhaps judging the trivial purchases. “Hunter bought all the stuff I mentioned I wanted.”
Closing her eyes, she takes a series of breaths. “Wills, I didn’t come to your room to pick a fight.”
“Where were you all night?” I repeat my question.
She chuckles, opening her eyes. “Why would you assume I was out all night?”
I point at her yoga pants and the red Stanford hoodie that belonged to her ex. “Are you and Fitz a couple?”
Hazel rolls her eyes and laughs. “Where shall I start?”
She takes some of my dresses, walks to my closet and hangs them up, doing the same several times. My little sister isn’t in a good mood. She doesn’t snap or go bat-shit crazy. Instead, she has an entire conversation in her head before responding.
“Fitz and I are close. We went through similar breakups and understand what the other is going through.” She pauses, twisting her lips she swallows hard. “Last night we went to a Buddhist temple. My therapist recommended it.”
“Wait, therapist? Temple?” I lift my hands, leaning backward. “Whoa, why are you going to a therapist? I’m the crazy one.”
“You aren’t crazy. That said, you might want to go back to therapy, just saying,” she advises with a firm tone.
I snort, slanting my eyes. Is she for real? Like I haven’t tried that before. I’ve tried to find a cure since college, comfort or something, to make the emotional pain go away. Depression, said one therapist. You might be bipolar, said the second one. I refuse to go back to him. His diagnosis seemed harsh. Another one suggested my career caused the emotional turmoil and to search for another career. My last one fired me because I couldn’t go through one session without yelling or crying.
Not long ago, I met a wonderful lady at a bookstore. The bathroom of a bookstore to be specific. It was during a panic attack. She helped me through it, handed me her card, and said she might know what’s wrong with me. But since my grandfather cut me off and I didn’t have insurance, I couldn’t afford therapy. With my salary, I can’t afford to pay three hundred dollars a session.
“Why do you feel you have to go to therapy?” I ask curiously. We never talk about her emotional state. She fidgets with the sleeves of her sweatshirt. “If it’s to get rid of his shit, I suggest we burn it. I’ll charge you less than what you’re paying.”
She laughs, looking down at her ex’s large garment. I could offer to shoot him, too. The fucking asshole hurt my sister so bad, she was a ghost for a couple of years.
“Have you heard from him?”
Hazel shakes her head.
“It’s been two years since you broke up, maybe it’s time to move on.”
“The divorce has been finalized,” she mumbles.
My heart breaks when I see a tear rolling down her cheek. A part of me hates Elliot McFee. I wish the end had been different. Hazel and I grew up with him and his family. I witnessed their relationship, envied every moment they shared. For years, I wished to find someone who’d make me as happy as he made Hazel.
“Are we allowed to say his name?”
Pressing her lips together, she shakes her head. “Not yet.” She wipes the tears off her face. “It’s a long process. We made a lot of bad decisions. I focused my entire life on him. Our parents’ absence was a big factor.”
“What do you mean?” I try to breathe. Hazel and I have an agreement. We don’t discuss them.
“I filled their absence with his company. The pain of their neglectful behavior with the dream of having a family like his.”
“Like the stupid dream of having half a dozen children?” I arch an eyebrow, crossing my arms. Elliot has three sisters and a brother. “That’s fucking insane.”
She nods. “Insane, but doable. That’s something I might try to have some day.”
“Children?”
“Why not?” She shrugs as I give her a you don’t learn, do you look. “That’s what I mean. Our parents are good people, they just had no clue on how to raise us. I’m working on redirecting the way I think and to validate myself and my emotions. We were too small and didn’t know how to react to their behavior.”
“Be free little birdy,” I say, hooking my thumbs and pretending my fingers are a pair of wings flying around. She nods.
That might be true. Laila and Grant Beesley had a unique way to raise us. It began with the philosophy, “You’re on your own. Learn from experience.” For a small child, not having boundaries is scary. I wanted them to cuddle me, hug me, and kiss my scrapes. Instead, I stood up and kept on going. That’s the only way I learned to stand up for myself. Hazel had Elliot, his family, and me. I tried my best to kiss her boo-boos. Maybe that’s why she’s the normal one.
“I’m thankful for you, for everything you did to protect me from their . . .” She taps her head twice with her fingers. “Craziness?”
Staring at her feet, she speaks. “I make good money. I can pay for the therapist.” Her big puppy eyes open wide as she lifts her chin.
What did she just say? Her words let a flame loose inside my mind. Inside my head, I yell at her, Like hell will I let you take care of me. I take care of myself. If I’m here, it’s because no one wants me. The only help I need is to get a real job and out of your life.
Detaching from myself, I point at the door. “Would you mind leaving me alone?”
That’s much better than the words I want to blurt. You fucking bitch. You’ll never understand me. You’re no different than the rest of them.
Suddenly, I’m on the edge of a cliff, not understanding how I arrived there and looking into the abyss ready to jump. Touching my throat, I loosen up the tightness in my chest that prevents me from breathing. Hazel wants me to be perfect. I’m an old dog she wants to housebreak so our grandfather can accept me. I’m raging in anger, but the fear to express myself, because she might kick me out of her life, keeps me quiet. This is too much for me. I want to run inside the walk-in closet, and lock it tight. The intensity of my emotions, the rapid change from fear to sadness, and then anger, is killing me.
Searching for the box of bathroom items, I realize it’s a fucking mess. One thing my sister and I have in common is we can’t be around messes. They create chaos inside our heads. If my grandfather would allow it, I’d ask for his housekeepers’ help. A stupid thought, I’m sure he hates me. I instead look for my purse. I’ll walk to the pharmacy for razor blades. Then a public bathroom where I can release the turmoil created by Hazel. I stop as I find her light-brown eyes observing me, fearful.
I hate you, I think. If it weren’t for her, the pain inside me would be gone. Over. I’d be free from everything and everyone.
She gives me a pity smile. Maybe it’s sad. “I love you, Wills.” Using the sleeve of her hoodie, she wipes my face. How did I not realize I’m crying? Wailing like an unattended baby, I curl into a ball on the bed. Useless, at the mercy of the pain that won’t leave me, I heave. My sister hugs me tightly, though, I still feel alone.
“Everything will get better, you’ll see.” Her reassurance is futile, but those words loosen up my tight chest. If only they could take some of the pain away from me. My soul hurts as much as my heart.