… so he says.
What if you didn’t? Will you leave?
My heart dipped a little and I cautiously returned his smile with a slight smile, my eyes betraying the turbulence of emotions stewing inside me. I wondered indeed, what if my monsters got the better of me? What if I were not my peppy chipper self? Memories of me splayed on the bathroom floor, in a dingy motel room, in a dark place somewhere, wailing and howling in an attempt to let go of my pain, flooded my mind. It takes a herculean effort to remain poised, tethered and controlled, and unsuspected of being “un-normal.” I’ve worked hard at hiding the parts of myself that winces at every micro-expression and slip and clue that tells me he’s caught on to my act, that I’m a high-functioning imposter barely able to hold it together. That maybe at some point, I will crumble and fall to pieces and he won’t love what he sees.