The Point of No Return

6 September
If only, if /only/ there was a way to swallow your words. To take back something you regret saying; whether spoken out loud, written down, or implied through actions. Even if there was a window of about 10 seconds – for when words or actions bring an instant remorse – so they could be gulped down and forgotten about. But there’s not. Once you do something, it’s done.

I e-mailed Charlie today. I’ve made this a habit, spending much more time than is generally recommended on my laptop writing long e-mails - about my classes, work, my roommates, my favourite food, what movie I watched the night before, and any other little tidbits he might find interesting. This time, though, was a little bit different. For some unknown reason explained to him my family. When I say “explain” I mean “tell a long story in a few short paragraphs, leaving out many details”. Charlie had asked some fairly personal and difficult questions, and something drove me to answer them honestly; not that I would have lied to him, but I admit I /was/ tempted to avoid the questions altogether. But despite my reservations, I made a command decision. Charlie should know. Anyone who is particularly close to me should know, at least vaguely, my background and where I’m coming from…that way, they will know why I do/ say the things that I do. I typed it up, re-read it a couple of times to make sure that it didn’t sound stupid (I’m not sure my re-reading it helped much though), and reluctantly hit the “send” button. My instant reaction was horror. I e-mailed my Hannah, panicking:

“Hannah, now he’s going to think I’m a freak. What do I do? I cannot believe I just did that; I cannot believe I actually wrote all that, I cannot believe I actually sent it. [Insert panic-driven expletives here] What if he never wants to speak to me again or resents having to read that long rambling e-mail or thinks I’m just stupid and weak, as he always tells me I am? And he’s right…I /am/ weak, Hannah, I /am/ weak. I put on a face but really I’m just terrified…the nightmares are /so/ real and they don’t stop just because I wake up. Hold me.”

Hannah, my darling Hannah, wrote back and assured me that Charlie didn’t think I was a freak, that he would still speak to me, and that she herself was always there for me. It’s what I needed. A friend, someone to comfort me and allay my fears of being cast aside because I’m too much trouble to deal with. Charlie, sweetheart that he is, ordered me flowers – huge yellow roses – and had them delivered to my door. All the way from Arkansas, apparently. Accompanying the flowers was a note, saying simply:

“Don’t underestimate me. – Charlie