“People will make fun of me for the music I like.”
“I’m a disgusting porn addict. If anyone finds out they’ll know how disgusting I am.”
“If anyone finds out I believe in conspiracies they’ll think I’m crazy. No one will ever want to talk to me again.”
These are just a few examples of thoughts I’ve had.
I’m afraid of ridicule.
So I hide the things I think people won’t like.
I’m trying do undo that now.
Forcing myself to disclose things I think people won’t like.
Maybe I will lose some friends. I hope not.
But maybe some friendships will grow stronger.
Maybe I’ll gain some friends, too.
Then I broke down the door.
She hadn’t show up to the party. We were all waiting for her.
She’d had a terrible week. The last few months weren’t the best, either.
No one else seemed concerned.
I asked one of her roommates for her key. I drove to the house they were renting.
The door to her room was locked.
I tried to talk her into opening the door. She refused. She sounded distraught.
I thought I smelled blood.
I did what I had to.
Once I was in I saw them. Ibuprofen tablets scattered around the room.
I tried carrying her up the stairs. I made it almost all the way up. I wasn’t quite strong enough.
She got away from me.
I called my friends for help.
After what felt like an eternity they arrived.
So did the paramedics.
So did the Bishop.
The paramedics took her.
We went through her room. We made sure there were no more pills stashed away.
We went to the Emergency Room to check on her. She seemed much calmer and happier.
Eventually all the roommates moved out.
She moved away.
I heard she got married. Then divorced. Then married.
I hope she’s doing okay.