Awaiting my order, I looked up from my phone, temporarily distracted by a girl who had just come into the store. With short blond hair and stargirl bangs, she was quite pretty. However, what truly caught my attention was her top—it was a fitted, babydoll blouse, with a long ribbon tied at the back, entirely patterned in soft green roses. I really wanted to find out where the top was from, but as the thought crossed my mind, something in my chest tugged me back.
Though I was a well mannered, friendly sort of girl, I lived in partial darkness, forced to spend my days accompanied by an unwanted companion, something terrible that followed me wherever I went. Call it what you may—a shadow, a manifestation of fear, a figure of terror—whatever it was, whatever it chose to be, it resided in the deepest recessions of my conscious mind like a parasite.
It was a crippling fear, but oddly enough, it never struck when expected. It was the smallest of moments, the most mundane of interactions—talking to a cashier at a supermarket checkout, finding my seat in the school auditorium, getting food in a cafeteria, or even just walking down a sidewalk—where it rose from its terrible slumber to bite me, numbing my senses and paralyzing my muscles. This phenomenon started to show itself in middle school, where suddenly, day to day interactions became terrifying. I would feel it in the way my heartbeat would pick up, the way my hands shook, the way my breathing hindered. Why was it that I could recite a poem from memory in front of thousands of people in a magnificent city theatre, but I could hardly look a waiter in the eye? In school, when my mother would drop me off early, instead of heading to the cafeteria where my classmates typically congregated, I snuck upstairs to the biology bathrooms and spent the entirety of the hour staring into the mirror, biting back tears, wondering what the hell was wrong with me. And everytime I searched my eyes, I could see the shadow grinning back at me, victorious. It was like getting kicked to the ground and climbing back to a standing position, only to be kicked right back down.
My reprieve came seven years later. It was homecoming, and the thought of attending the dance was so terrifying, I found myself dreading it. It shook me so greatly that when I thought about it, I would find myself holding my breath like a character in a horror movie, hiding from a killer—picking out a dress felt more like picking out a noose. My friends were giddy with excitement, and I tried to mirror their glee, but I felt like an imposter. Then the night came. I pretended to be sick and spent the night in bed, too stunned to even cry. I could feel the shadow watching me, sitting back with its arms crossed behind its head. I’m just trying to protect you. But it was in that moment, when I held my shaking hands to my tired, beaten heart, that I realized I had been deceived. The shadow wasn’t trying to protect me—it was just as scared as I was. It was a coward. It feared the fall. No, I responded, gritting my teeth. You’re not protecting me anymore. The shadow reared back, furious, but my resolve was stone.
It wasn’t sudden, but slowly, the shadow began to recede into the back of my mind.
Now, sitting at a side table in my favorite bubble tea place, I stared down the girl standing in line. I watched the barista behind the counter lift the cup with my name on it, lining the side with chocolate drizzle and rainbow sprinkles, filling it to the brim with milk tea, and topping it all off with a dollop of whipped cream. I was so excited to get my order, because each time I licked cream off the top, it made me so happy. I was on my feet before the barista had time to call my name. I thanked her and wished her well, then eagerly scanned the line for the blond girl. I spotted her and made my way through the throng of people, gripping my drink tightly. As I walked to her, I was overcome with both pride and peace. This used to be so hard, and now, I felt free. I came up right next to her, smiled brightly and said, “I love your shirt, where did you get it?” I waited for her response, but she stared straight ahead, unresponsive. Confused, I spoke again. “Hey! I love your shirt, where did you get it?” No response. And all at once, my heart jolted, and my hands began to shake. Alarm swept through my body with vicious fury. I was right in front of her, I knew she could hear me, I saw her face twitch the second time I spoke. But she ignored me, and I felt myself freeze. Suddenly, it was as if every single person’s eyes were on me. My stomach turned, and I begged my feet to move, begged my legs to work again. By sheer will, I moved away from the girl and walked straight out of the store, pressing my fist deep into my chest in a desperate attempt to slow my heart.
Out of the corner of my eye, I looked back and saw her smirk to herself. Then I saw my drink, spilled across the floor, sprinkles crushed beneath the unrelenting mass that was the line of consumers, oblivious to my pain, bystanders who only cared about themselves. This time, the tears that came were small, but by far the most painful.
A shadow fell across my face.
Hello, old friend.