Page 48 of Delayed Intention

Wherever I Go, There I Am

Returning to Lincoln, I can finally breathe when I pull into the garage.

As tension leaves me, it dawns on me that I’ve stopped thinking of this as my grandmother’s house.

This is my home now, not just a place I’m visiting.

For the first time in my memory, returning home is a safe place for me to land.

A place to regroup. With the bitter comes the sweet.

The trip to Estes was rash, and I never should’ve bothered.

Before I went, I felt connected to Josh in a way that now feels fractured.

I squeeze my eyes shut, not ready to get out of the car and move forward.

I’m not looking forward to unpacking everything that happened in that bar, but before I left Estes, I messaged Monica asking for an emergency therapy appointment this afternoon.

That was a minute before I decided to hightail it out of there.

I didn’t even feel bad about leaving Josh like that.

I needed to get the hell away. Right now, I’m numb, and I’m afraid of what will come after.

I look down at my phone and see a confirmation in my therapy app for my appointment.

For the hundredth time, I’m grateful that Monica has licenses in multiple states.

God is good. I could not break in a new therapist on top of everything else.

I may not want to talk it all out, but apparently, there will at least be an attempt.

What has kept bugging me since I left Colorado is that I admitted I loved Josh in that bar.

What’s killing me is the timing of my declaration.

I can’t believe I chose that moment to confess my feelings.

I mean, telling a man I love him when he was so cruel to me is toxic.

I’m not a mental health professional, but from where I’m sitting, I’m regressing.

I mean, I’ll love who I love, but responding to his verbal abuse by making myself vulnerable is a new level of insanity.

Since it’s already the afternoon, Nona’s likely taking her nap, so I head straight inside to pass out.

I’ve silenced my calls except for any from her or the house phone, in case she has an emergency.

Otherwise, I don’t want to talk to anyone right now.

Without even changing clothes, I flop down on my bed, embracing the security of this space.

I had no sleep last night, and the anxiety I felt on the ride home has worn me out.

As I drift off to sleep, I marvel that I had cured my fear of falling rocks—all I needed was to be utterly humiliated by love.

After about two hours, I woke up, attached to the pillow with dried drool.

Stretching, I force myself into the bathroom to wash my face.

I noticed I can’t seem to look at myself in the mirror.

To hell with it . It’s Monica, and only a video visit; I can straighten myself out later.

I brush my teeth, and it strikes me that I am nervous about therapy, which is weird.

She’s the woman who has heard it all from me, but I’m feeling…

off. I hear myself thinking of all the excuses to get out of seeing her the entire time I’m brushing my teeth.

But I do my best to ignore the voices in my head.

I won’t allow a man and my stupid feelings for him to undo all the hard work I’ve put into my growth. I glare at myself in the mirror.

I know what going backward would look like.

Going back to avoidance, putting my energy into my appearance instead of how I am.

Hiding out. Being careful not to make waves rather than being open about my honest thoughts or feelings.

And if I tried hard enough, I could pretend life is better than it is by using distractions.

But I’ve changed too much and had my eyes opened.

Lately, I feel driven to grow and face the truth.

The thought of losing that makes me nauseated.

For years, I lived in that place—hiding myself away.

It was as if life was happening around me, passing me by, while I struggled with inner turmoil on my own. No. I can’t go back.

I try to force myself to maintain eye contact with my reflection in the mirror, but I’m still finding it difficult.

Braving the universe outside my room, I walk out to find my grandmother and Georgette playing cards.

Because, of course, Josh’s mother is here.

I started to worry about what either of them might say to me, let alone what they may have heard about the last twenty-four hours; however, no one said anything to me.

Josh’s mother takes a careful look at me and sees something on my face that makes her look right back at her cards. Nona breaks the silence first.

“Hi sweetie—you made it back.”

The expression on my face must signal to my grandmother to keep it light because she says nothing more to me.

“Hi, Nona. Georgette.” I nod curtly at both of them. “I have an appointment on the computer in a bit, so I was going to make tea and a snack.”

“Sure honey, let me know if you need anything.”

Shuffling to the kitchen, I fix myself an herbal tea and slice a banana, eager to retreat to the safety of my room. If Josh chooses now to call his mother while I’m within earshot, I could make a run for it…but nothing like that happens.

Ahead of my appointment, I decided to try some writing, pulling out my journal. Inspired, I write a letter to Josh that I’ll never send to clear my head before therapy.

Dear Josh,

Where do I even begin? First of all, I’m not going to dignify any of your insults by putting them on the page here.

What I’ll say is that I can’t believe the way you threw one of the greatest tragedies of my life back in my face.

You were victim-blaming me, and it was reprehensible.

A stupid part of me can’t believe that you meant it.

The Josh I thought I knew would never say those things to me. I thought I was your friend.

Now, what am I?

I felt attached to you. I never thought I could, but I fell in love with you. The fact that I chose to tell you my true feelings after you were so nasty to me … that’s what is bothering me the most right now. I am enraged with myself.

The funny thing is, until last night I didn’t know my true feelings. I had inklings of something—but I couldn’t put the words to it until you hurt me the most. How fucked up is that?

I love you, Josh.

So now, I guess I am completely screwed.

You win.

When we were doing our benefits thing, I thought there were signs of something more between us. But I must have misread everything. I thought you could at least be kind to me, even if you are not interested in me as more than a friend. Talk about misreading a person, right?

Now, I’m not sure how to feel about us. Do I believe the person in the bar is you, or is the man full of remorse after we left the bar the real you?

Did you mean some of that horrible stuff you said to me?

Part of me can't believe that you don’t love me because it hurts too much.

Of course, it’s something I’ve lived with before.

I mean, if I can’t be good enough for my own parents to love, what could I possibly expect from you?

Okay wow.

That was… something. More than I expected.

As I pop a banana slice in my mouth my alarm chimes and I set up my tablet for the video call. As soon as the app opens, Monica’s smiling face is peering at me from over the rim of her glasses.

“Well, hello there Lily.”

“Monica.”

“You requested this emergency appointment, so I need to ask—are you in danger in any way? At risk of self-harm? Are you safe?”

“I’m safe. No immediate risk of harm. It’s just, I have a broken heart.” Which is when I burst into tears.

Monica waits for me to catch my breath before she continues. “Do you want to talk about what’s happened, or about how you’re feeling?”

“I wrote a letter. Can I read it to you?”

“Okay.”

I read her the letter. I told her about the bar. What Josh said, or at least what I heard.

“So, to clarify… the primary issue bothering you is that you chose to say you love him after feeling that he had said the most hurtful things to you?”

I nod.

“Why does that bother you the most?”

“Isn’t it obvious? It means I’m sick. I am drawn to toxicity.”

“How’s that?”

“He says the meanest thing he can say, and I respond by declaring love.”

“Let me ask you something. And try to be objective with yourself. Do you believe that Josh meant what he said?”

“Maybe. I don’t think he meant it, but I also don’t trust my judgment of other people’s motives. Whether he meant it or not, I think he was trying to push me away and he knew the most effective way to do it.”

“In other words, you could hear he was in pain and trying to distance himself from someone who cares about him.”

“I guess.”

“And so, it was clear to you, this person who you love was clearly in pain and trying to isolate himself. And your response was…”

“To tell him I love him. I guess that means… it was a loving thing to do, rather than a toxic thing.”

Monica waits before going on.

“So, Lily, how are you doing with him not saying he loves you back?”

“I’m afraid. I’m left wondering why I’m so unlovable.” My voice sounds small, nearly unrecognizable to my ears. It’s the voice of before . “My mother is not loving toward anyone. She doesn’t tell me she loves me. I’m afraid that this is what I am worth. Unrequited love.”

We talked, as we have before, about my mother and how she may not be capable of love for me and how that is not my fault.

We spoke about how my value as a person and my continued desire to develop and change are real progress for me.

That expressing my love aloud is a testament to my own growth, whether Josh is able to appreciate that love or not.

“Monica, I’m terrified.”

“We all have fears, Lily. Let’s focus on what helps you with them.”

“Well, being in touch with Abbie and Roselyn. And my niece. Saying my prayers during the day, counting my blessings. Working, being productive. Being around my grandmother. She’s like the human equivalent of a weighted blanket. She’s calming.”

“Let’s give you some credit as well—celebrate your wins, you know?” Monica’s favorite thing to wrap up with. I struggle not to roll my eyes. “You’re walking through things, even when you’re afraid. Fear doesn’t have to dominate you, which is a muscle you’ve been developing, does that make sense?”

“It does. I know you’re right—I can walk through things now that I couldn’t before; I keep proving it to myself. I know it intellectually anyway. But it feels fragile.”

“Lily, you’ve made so many big life changes since September—of course, it feels fragile. And that’s life sometimes.”

As we wrap up, I recognize my sadness and exhaustion, but I also acknowledge that I have many things going for me.

I share that I know I’m at home at Nona’s in a way I didn’t feel anywhere, most of my life.

When Monica and I finished, I walked out to the den to find Nona knitting in her favorite chair. Georgette had gone home.

I walk right over to her and smile. “Can I hug you?”

“Lily Shoshana,” she chastises me with a twinkle in her eye, “I have told you; you don’t have to ask. Come on over and hug me.”

She drops her knitting and stands to embrace me.

It’s loving, warm, and sincere. While I love hugging her, I realize I may never trust that it’s okay to go up and get a hug.

Growing up, I’d always have to ask my mother’s permission, and there’s no guarantee she would be in the mood.

Of course, she’d be super angry if I didn’t ask.

I don’t want to tell Nona all that, however.

How is this woman Ellen Mendes’s mother?

“May I ask, what this hug request is about?”

“I love you and I’m so happy to live here. I was talking to Monica and… I’m so grateful to feel at home.”

“I’m glad, dear.” She gets back into her with a small groan. Thinking of the hip fracture, I know I won’t have her here with me forever, and I intend to enjoy every moment I can. She interrupts my thoughts.

“Do you want to talk about it?”

Do I? Why not?

“I’m in love with him.” I plop down in the chair next to hers.

“He didn’t take that information very well.

He said some awful things. He was drunk and angry about his suspension from work.

” I lean back in the chair. “I never thought I’d love a man this way.

And as of now, I’m not even speaking to him—I need time to focus on myself, to settle down here. ”

“I thought you might be. In love with him, I mean. I’m sorry it isn’t a happy experience so far, but I suppose we’ll see. Sometimes these things have a surprising way of working out.”

Based on the trajectory of my life so far, it’s unlikely that this mess will sort itself out into some kind of happy ending.

But I’ve been wrong before. One thing I know for sure is I’ve no interest in a man speaking to me the way he spoke to me in that bar.

Whatever else happens, I know that much is true.