Acceptance of the Self

Book 1: Attunement of the Hearts

Chapter 8.e - Coming Clean

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[ - Saturday Sept. 07 2019, 11:15am, Dawn's house - ]

 

I stare up at a sloped beige ceiling, unable to fall back asleep after the strange dreams that'd woken me. I’d been on a cliff I think, with Anne maybe? The memories fade swiftly, and I’m left feeling frustrated and confused. 

 

It takes a few minutes before I recognize where I am and remember why. This is my best friend’s house, Dawn’s house. She’s a trans girl, and she knows I might be one, too. A mix of emotions flutters through my mind. The idea is bizarre, and yet I can’t stop myself from smiling into the soft morning light. 

 

I’m lying on her big leather couch under the west side of the peaked ceiling. Sunlight streams through a window set into the ceiling above me, keeping the morning chill off my blankets. I hug myself underneath the comforter, letting feelings of contentment and comfiness flow through me for as long as I can.

 

I can hear Dawn breathing evenly on the family air mattress beside me, even though her bedroom’s literally just down the hallway. This is unsurprising, as sleeping in the same room had turned into a kind of tradition between us when we were younger, though I never could figure out if that was because Dawn wanted the company at night, or she thought that I did. Either way I kind of liked sleeping near her, it made me feel safer than I ever did alone in my parents’ house.

 

Unfortunately, as I thought ahead to the rest of today I found it difficult to maintain my smile. The conundrum that’d been plaguing me all last night slid into the forefront of my mind. That being:  “How do I go about telling my best friend that I’m either losing my mind or experiencing something impossible?” 

 

I hadn’t had the energy to tell Dawn anything about Anne last night. I’d thought about it a bunch of times, but when I’d tried to act on the impulse, a swarm of anxieties had erupted from the recesses of my mind and shut me down. It’s honestly ridiculous. I trust Dawn, I know she’ll be able to help me with this craziness. Why can’t I just say something? Anything? 

 

Even now though, rationality does nothing to stop the fears that set my heart pounding when I think about telling her. The anxieties are stronger than my resolve. Because I mean, I had already come out to her as trans yesterday. Maybe I should wait a few days in between world-shattering revelations? Plus, what if I end up interfering with her coming out to her family? What if she sacrifices her own happiness for my weird bullshit? Besides, how can I even prove anything? All I’ve got is a voice in my head. Am I really ready to face the consequences of coming out to another person as psychotic?

 

Oof, even the thought of that word sends me scrambling to bury it. I’ve spent my entire life being told that those who suffer hallucinations are other, dangerous, bad. I did some googling before I fell asleep, and learned the clinical term for people like that: psychotic. I have a feeling that the rest of my worries are a smoke screen to cover up this culturally-ingrained shame, to keep myself from realizing that that’s what I’m going to have to deal with sooner or later: being made other in a way that makes me even less socially acceptable than my status as a trans woman might.

 

Every time I take a step towards opening up about all this bullshit to Dawn, some unconscious part of my brain slams the door shut. I close my eyes in frustration, and sigh into the silence of the common room. And then I hear a rustle to my left, where Dawn is passed out - or so I’d thought - beside me on the air mattress.

 

“Whassa matter?” she asks sleepily, her voice slurred.

 

I curse internally and try not to move, letting my breathing even out and hoping she’ll assume I’ve gone back to sleep. Lord knows she needs all the rest she can get, if she’s serious about coming out to her family tonight. 

 

“Er I know you’re -- fuck,” the last part is muttered under her breath, and she tries again, “E, I know you’re awake.”

 

I can’t help myself from smiling every so slightly, touched that she keeps correcting herself even though it’s a single letter’s difference. As trivial as it seems to most of me, it feels good to be seen. Even if I don’t really know what being ‘E’ means exactly.

 

“Go back to sleep Dawn, I’m fine,” I say quietly, hoping that’ll be the end of it. 

 

I hear the creaking of the rubber air mattress as she shifts around, and her head comes into view out of the corner of my eye: looking down at me as she sits up. My heartbeat speeds up in time to the pulse of anxieties rising up from the depths of my mind. I have a feeling she’s not going to let this go so easily.

 

“You don’ look fine,” she muses with a raised eyebrow. I make an effort to change that, unclenching my jaw and trying for a wry smile, but she continues unfazed, “I know you don’t want to talk about it, whatever it is, but I promise I want to hear it. You don’t have to tell me, I’m just letting you know my ears are open.”

 

I turn my head to meet her golden eyes, blinking and frowning at her. My heart's still pounding. It sounds like she's talking about more just one moody morning sigh. 

 

"Uh,” I say hesitantly, hoping I’m wrong, “it was just some weird dreams? Really I'm good, go back to bed."

 

She’s not so easily dissuaded. "I know you've got stuff that's been bothering you for longer than just this morning,” she says earnestly, “you haven’t been able to relax for more than a few minutes before you tense up again."

 

I try to shrug it off, though I’m shocked she’s been paying that much attention to me.

 

“It- it’s really not important,” I say, aiming for a casual tone but instead  landing somewhere near ‘severely constipated’. 

 

“Uh huh,” she says, unconvinced. Lying has never been my strong suit, especially not to her. 

 

I make a show of clearing my throat, as if that’s been the source of my problem this whole time. “Seriously, I’m good!” I reply with fake enthusiasm, adding a painful attempt at a smile. “I’ve got some stuff on my mind yeah, but I’ll tell you about it later. I think we should focus on you today. You still thinking of coming out to everyone at dinner?”

 

Dawn narrows her eyes. I sweat nervously.  

 

“Maybe I am,” she replies evenly, “we’ll see. First, I wanna know what’s got my best friend lying to me about her feelings. You’ve been distracted and worried since I picked you up from school, and you said it wasn’t about your parents or about coming out. If you really need to keep it secret that’s fine, but you’re acting more like you just want to put it off. I care about you! I want to know what's bothering you!”

 

I groan in defeat, and sit up, twisting and drawing my legs up so I’m sitting cross legged on the couch facing her. 

 

“Why are you interrogating me on this first thing in the morning?” I ask exasperatedly. 

 

“Because first of all it’s almost noon,” she says with a smirk, jerking a thumb to the ‘11:36am’ on the digital clock behind her atop the TV. Then her brows lower and she gets serious. “Second, it’s clearly still bugging you. We’ve got plenty of time to talk before my family gets back tonight. Can you at least give me a ballpark estimate of what kind of thing you're dealing with?” 

 

I frown at her some more, trying to think of a way out of this conversation. 

 

“Look,” I say uneasily, “it’s not an easy thing to talk about, okay? I really think I should handle this by myself for now. Maybe if I wait a couple days I’ll have a better idea of what’s going on anyway. And I’m serious that I don’t want to distract you. You have an awesome family, you deserve to be yourself around them as soon as humanly possible!”

 

Dawn slides her feet off the air mattress and turns so she’s facing me, a frustrated look on her face. “Okay, look, you don’t have to tell me anything E. But,” she stresses, poking a finger towards me, “I am your friend, and I want to know what’s up. I’m not ‘happier’ or less distracted or whatever just because you’re keeping your problems to yourself. You’re clearly not fine, and I’m gonna be worrying about you even more if I don’t know why.”

 

Her voice has a kind of urgent lilting rhythm to it, more serious this morning than I’ve ever heard her be before. I hesitate, feeling off balance. She’s so clearly concerned about me that my anxiety takes a step back, confused. I feel a weird little flutter of emotion in my chest. 

 

But it’s only a brief respite before I remember what she’s asking me to do. The fear surges back in, only now there’s a new worry at the front of the swarm: do I really want to risk losing Dawn over this?

 

I curl one of my hands into a fist, steeling myself. “I promise it’s nothing to do with you, if that helps,” I reply quietly, “It's a really personal problem. Even if you knew, there’s probably nothing you can do to help.”

 

She raises an eyebrow. “I bet getting whatever it is off your chest will help at least a tiny bit,” she counters with a small smile, "I swear I'm never going to judge you for something you're sensitive about."

 

content warning: panic attack

 

Dammit! Why does she have to make this so difficult? I want to tell her, I really do, but there’s this lump in my throat, and it’s getting bigger by the second. I don’t want to risk this friendship. I don’t want to risk all the history between us! What will she do if I tell her?

 

She’s just staring at me, waiting for an answer. I look down into my lap, my fingers clenching into fists as a hurricane of anxiety gathers speed in my mind. She'll be able to read between the lines of whatever I say. I’m having hallucinations and I believe them. She'll know that I’m delusional: that I’m psychotic. She’ll have to see that. And she’s a responsible person. If I tell her, she’ll tell others. I’ll have to go to the hospital. Maybe a psych ward. What will happen to me there? How long will I have to stay? Will I ever see my friends again? My breathing is fast and shallow. I feel like I’m being crushed between an unstoppable force and an immovable object. I don’t realize I’ve started to cry until I feel Dawn’s hand come to rest on my knee.

 

 “Hey, E, hey I’m so sorry hun,” she whispers to me. 

 

I barely hear her over the roar of my spiraling thoughts. I suck in a shaky breath, but when I try to speak all that comes out is a choked sob. I hug my arms to my chest, trying to hold in the emotions threatening to burst out of me. It's too much! Much too much too much. 

 

Dawn keeps her left hand on my right knee as she rises from the air mattress, shuffles around and slides onto the couch next to me. She keeps a few inches of space between us and gives my knee a slight squeeze. The sensation is like a rock I can cling to amidst the storm.

 

end cw

 

“I'm sorry E, I overstepped. We're done talking about this right now. Would a hug help?” she asks me softly.

 

I don’t have the presence of mind to question my actions, my thoughts are nothing but pain and panic. I need something to hold me together or I’m going to be blown to pieces. Numbly, I nod and scoot closer to her. She takes her hand off my leg and wraps her arm around my shoulders, gently pulling me closer to her. My head ends up resting on her collarbone, and I cry silent tears there. My nose starts running. I struggle to tell Dawn that I’m sorry, and she tells me there’s nothing to be sorry for. Fighting to keep myself from openly sobbing, I cry harder. 

 

She keeps up a steady stream of whispered reassurances and apologies to me, holding me close. Her free hand gently comes to rest on the back of my head, her fingers slowly stroking through my hair. I’m a complete mess, but the tenderness with which she’s holding me manages to calm me down enough that I stop hyperventilating. I feel immense confusion. I’ve never cried while in the same room as someone else without being told to shut up, to man up, to harden my heart. To be held and comforted like this is alien, but the shame I feel about it is lost amidst the torrent of emotions that are roiling within me. 

 

Almost absentmindedly, Dawn whispers, “It’s okay to cry. I’ve got you. Let it all out, it’s okay.”

 

I take a shuddering breath, feeling my head begin to clear. Her words almost make me start bawling, but I manage to turn the emotions into a choked laugh instead. “You can’t be this nice to me,” I say with a sniffle, “it’s illegal.”

 

Her arm tightens around me a little bit. “I don’t see any cops around,” she replies, “are you planning to arrest me?”

 

I let out a noise that’s half laugh and half sob. “Maybe later.”

 

I lift my head, and realize my tears and snot have left a damp patch on her purple t-shirt. “Fuck I’m sorry,” I say, trying to pull further away. 

 

Dawn lets me go, but she squeezes my shoulder a little and replies, “I’ve got other shirts E, you are way more important than clothes.”

 

I start to protest but she rolls her eyes and cuts me off. “I have final say over what my shirts are worth dork. Let me go get you some tissues.”

 

I grumble a bit, but call “Thank you!” after her as she hops off the couch and makes for her room. I work on getting a little more comfortable, hugging myself and sitting perpendicular to the back of the couch so I can lean against it for support with my legs curled up beneath me.

 

I don’t have to wait long. Dawn returns moments later with a tissue box and a little trash can, both of which I gratefully make use of. I feel super gross with all the tears and snot on my face, and cleaning up a bit helps me feel significantly more able to deal with being a human again. Dawn takes a seat beside me once more, and we sit facing each other in silence for a few moments.

 

I really don’t know what to say to her, how to explain myself. I let out a long sigh. And say, “Sorry again for... everything.”

 

Dawn lets out a gentle Shhhhh, and says quietly, “You’ve got nothing to be sorry for, I promise. I kept poking where I shouldn’t have even after you told me to stop. I’m the one who’s sorry.”

 

She looks stressed out about it, too. I shake my head. “I wanted to talk about it, I’m sure you picked up on that,” I reply emphatically, “it’s been eating at me all week! I didn’t even realize how scared and confused I’ve been about this whole thing until you asked me to tell you...” 

 

I take a deep breath, hold it for a few seconds, then let it out slowly. Dawn doesn’t look super convinced, but she seems to accept my reasoning. We both trail off into silence for a bit, and I get to thinking. 

 

Crying has actually taken a lot of the pressure off of my thoughts. The way Dawn had reacted to my breakdown makes me feel... safer, with her. Closer to her? I don’t know, but I do know that whatever it is, I like it. And I’m scared I’ll lose it if I tell her my secrets. But on the other hand I also feel like my faith in her, in our friendship, has been strengthened. I know if our positions were reversed, I would absolutely want her to tell me everything going on with her. And if she told me something as bizarre as what I’m going through, I wouldn’t force her to do anything she didn’t want to do. I want to at least try to explain my predicament to her.

 

Dawn clears her throat, drawing me out of my ruminations. She’s staring down at her lap with a serious frown on her face. “So, um,” she says, haltingly, “I uh, I know you like to be alone when you’re dealing with tough stuff. I-if you want me to drive you home, that’s no problem. Or I can leave for a while, give you space here if that would be bett-”

 

I reach out before she can finish her sentence, and she stops talking when my hand touches her forearm. She meets my gaze with worried eyes. 

 

“I want to stay here, with you,” I say firmly. “I think I need to tell you about what’s going on, I just might need some time to make peace with that first.”

 

Her face brightens immediately, and she smiles with relief. “Oh gods, that’s good to know!” she exclaims, “You looked so serious just now I was afraid you were trying to find a way to ask for space.”

 

I blink at her, and consciously try to relax my furrowed brow and slight frown. “Oh, no,” I reply hesitantly, “I was just thinking about whether or not I’m up for talking about it now.”

 

“Ah, gotcha,” she says with a smile, “take all the time you need then, cutie.” 

 

The word ‘cutie’ and her smile are like a one-two punch combo to my heart, which I’m pretty sure skips a few beats trying to recover. My cheeks are burning, so I pivot away from her and settle into a normal position on the couch.

 

“That’s a dangerous offer,” I say, slipping into the mask of 'aloof joker,' that's my usual go-to when things get heavy,  “but I’ll try not to need too much time.”

 

Dawn laughs, but leaves it at. My thoughts keep straying towards the memory of I, who is probably a girl, resting my head on Dawn’s chest, which is definitely a girl’s chest. This doesn’t cool my burning face down at all. I really do try to focus on other things, but I’m only mildly successful. 

 

We sit quietly for a few moments, side by side on the leather couch. Dawn’s got an elbow propped up on the top of the cushion she’s leaning against, I’ve got my arms loosely holding each other by the elbows. I don’t think I’m very successful at hiding my blush, but Dawn doesn’t comment on it. A glance at her reveals she’s looking kinda wistfully into the middle distance, which is fine by me. I lose quite a few minutes staring at her and thinking of how it felt to be held in her arms. 

 

Eventually, I manage to get enough of my brain cells firing again to actually come to a decision about my next move in this conversation. We only have the house to ourselves for the next six hours or so, and I think I want to tell her about Anne before her family gets back. 

 

“Okay,” I say slowly, trying to collect my thoughts while studiously ignoring the gusts of anxiety kicking up all across my brain as I contemplate this course of action. Dawn perks up, her golden gaze refocusing on me, and I find that her presence slows the worry winds in my mind down a remarkable amount. I shuffle around until I’m facing her again, drawing my legs up so I can hug them to my chest, and take a deep breath.

 

“Um, so, thanks again,” I start awkwardly, staring down at the space between us on the couch. “For letting me cry, and holding me, and, just, being you. Like I said, I think I need to tell you about what’s going on. It’s, it’s really scary for someone else to know, even you. If that wasn’t already abundantly obvious. But I really do need outside help.” I bite my lower lip, trying to steady myself against the howling torrent of anxiety.

 

“I think I-” my breath catches in my throat, but I force myself to push through the fear. “I think I might actually be going crazy,” I say. 

 

I wait for a beat, and, seeing that the world hasn’t ended and Dawn’s still sitting before me, I keep going. “I’m uh, seeing things, and, hearing things. And smelling, tasting, and touching things, that aren’t there for other people. Hallucinations, technically. All of it seems super real to me. Though I don’t know, maybe that’s part of the crazy?” I hazard, then pause for breath. A quick glance up at my friend reveals her still listening intently, a look of compassion on her face. She makes no move to interrupt me, so I continue.

 

“I know I should go see a doctor or something about this, but...” I furrow my brow, trying to figure out my logic as I say it. “It’s all very... coherent? And it hasn’t really made my life any worse. Like, I’ve still been able to go to school, and figure out my gender, hell I even feel pretty rested today. Plus there’s, um.” I swallow, and find my eyes darting down to the couch again. Oh boy, time to add more crazy to the pot. 

 

“There’s a girl that talks to me in these visions, or episodes or whatever,” I explain, concentrating on finding the words to explain everything I’ve experienced with Anne. “She ah, she thinks we’re connected through some sorta, magic I guess? Because magic is real in her world. And, well, she’s in a different world, I think? It’s not super clear where she is in relation to me. But she says she’s experiencing my world just like I’m experiencing hers, like we’re sharing each other’s senses equally for some reason that neither of us understand.” I frown, and un-hug my legs, sitting up a little straighter. “But you know,” I add frustratedly, “literally all of that’s impossible, so I don’t really know what to make of it. I’m terrified that I’m losing my mind. But I think I’m even more scared of what will happen if the rest of the world thinks I’m losing my mind. I haven’t exactly got a lot of faith in the american mental health care system I guess.”

 

I meet Dawn’s kind gaze again for a second, and see her nod slowly. I take another deep breath, to try and quell the anxiety back down to tolerable levels. For her part, Dawn looks equal parts concerned and intrigued. 

 

“Holy damn,” she says quietly, after I don’t make a move to keep talking, “that’s, that’s a lot to be dealing with on your own hun.” She sits up straighter as well, running a hand through her hair.

 

“Yeah, it hasn’t exactly been a relaxing week” I say, grimacing. “I’ve been wanting to tell you, but,” I spread my hands and give her a helpless look, “this isn’t exactly something with a coming out playbook I’m familiar with. I’m really scared this is too crazy to ask anyone else to deal with. Hence why, y’know, I broke down crying instead of talking it out to begin with.”

 

She nods thoughtfully. “Well thank you for telling me, for trusting me, now,” she replies sincerely.”I really appreciate it. And I have some questions, if you want to keep talking about this now? Or, maybe we should eat some food before we get to that. I leave that up to you.”

 

I hesitate. Not quite ready to keep talking, but also not quite prepared to leave this as it is between us. “Um, how about first I ask you a question?” I ask nervously.

 

“‘Course,” she replies easily, “ask away.”

 

“Can you tell me if you think I should go to the hospital or something?” I ask. Then I quickly add, “I know you don’t have much to go on. I’m just, I’m freaking out, and it’d be nice to know if I should prepare for going somewhere like that. I’m not putting that whole decision on you, not saying I’ll do whatever you say, I just want an outside perspective: do you think trying to learn more about this whole thing could be a bad idea? Please be honest.”

 

Dawn purses her lips, thinking. She lets a few moments of silence elapse between us, before she answers.

 

“It’s kinda impossible for me to say right now,” she says slowly, “I’ve only taken a couple psych courses for my minor so far, and diagnosing and treating people with psychosis has only been touched on a couple of times. But,” she says, holding up a finger for emphasis and catching my attention before I can descend into panic again. “I have heard that the best way to handle most anyone is to treat them with compassion. Whether or not you’re ‘really’ connected to a magical girl in a far away land, that’s the reality you’re dealing with right now, so that’s the reality I want to help you feel more stable in. Maybe you can fill me in more on what you know so far about all this, what you’ve seen and stuff, and I can help you figure out if there’s anything that doesn’t add up as we go? Does that sound good?”

 

I let out the breath I’d been holding as she spoke, my heartbeat still well above its resting rate. I feel myself tearing up again, an immense, almost overwhelming feeling of relief choking me up. I don’t trust myself to speak without erupting into more waterworks, so I take a few deep breaths to calm down. But I do nod gratefully in the meantime.

 

“Yes, please,” I say at last with a wide smile. “That sounds really, really good.”

 

Dawn’s mouth quirks up in a smile of her own. “It’s a plan then!”

 

My stomach chooses that moment to let out a loud gurgle, and my smile turns a lot more sheepish. “Maybe food before questions is a good idea,” I say.

 

“Very well then m’lday, lead the way,” Dawn says with a regal air, gesturing towards the hallway behind her.

 

I roll my eyes at her, but can’t resist mirroring her antics. “I’m afraid I must decline,” I reply, “I insist you go first Princess. We’re in your quarters after all.”

 

“Well then,” my friend replies with a mischievous glint in her eye, “it appears we’re at an impasse.” She gets up off the couch and puts her hands on her hips. “Last one downstairs has to decide what we’re eating?” she asks.

 

I grin as I get up to stand beside her. “Oh you’re so on,” I reply.

 

End of

Chapter 8 - Coming Clean