Page 11 of Rewriting the Story

I stare at my computer for five more minutes, trying to figure out how to reply to the email. I can’t seem to write that either, so I turn my computer off, take a deep breath, and head to the kitchen to make a cup of tea.

Tea has always been my go-to beverage to try and help the brain fog clear. I know this one cup isn't going to magically fix all my problems, but maybe it will get something going.

Maybe, maybe, maybe.

Deep down, I know the words are unlikely to come. If I can’t even write a simple email, then how can I expect myself to write a whole novel again?

4

Getting Older by Billie Eilish

AsIgetthroughcustoms and see all the people embracing, part of my heart lurches.

I wish I had people here to greet me. I wish I had that, but I’m the reason I don’t.

Which is why you’re back, Ames, I remind myself, trying to keep my head up. I grab my phone out of my pocket as I head to baggage claim.

Amelia: Landed safely. I had a lot of time tothink on the plane.

Dr. Elyse: What were you thinking about?

Amelia: How terrifying this is.

Dr. Elyse: It’s a disruption to your routine, so that is normal. Remember to breathe and remind yourself once you’re settled, we’re going to figure out a routine that works for you in Virginia.

Amelia: I’ll try my best.

Dr. Elyse: That’s all you can do, Amelia.

Dr. Elyse: And your best is enough. Don’t forget that.

Part of me wishes I could jump a few months into the future, to when I’ll hopefully have all the missing pieces of my life figured out. Not only did I quit my job in England, but I also left everything I didn't think I would need. I’d say I left some friends behind, but I didn't get close to anyone over there. Besides the people I worked with, I had no real friends. Nobody. I didn't do anything on the weekends. I barely left my place after work. I didn’t have a life.

I’m moving back here with two suitcases and that’s it. I’ve left my curated routine behind, and now I have to spend the next few months trying to figure out what’s going to work best for me over here.

I’ve quite literally decided to give myself another fresh start. I don’t know if you would call it a fresh start, considering this is where I grew up, but that’s what I’ve decided to name it. A fresh start for the girl I’ve become over the last year.

I could call my parents or my brother to pick me up and take me to my new apartment, but I don’t have the energy to face them quite yet. We’ve barely kept in touch the past two years, and mending my relationship with them was never on the top of my list. My first priority is my girls. They were more of a support system when I didn't ask them to be, and that alone speaks volumes.

I’ll talk to them in a few days after I’m settled. The wedding festivities don’t start until after the weekend, and I want to get adjusted to the time zone before I try and explain myself to them.

And my therapist always says it’s best to give myself a few days of adjustment, since this entire trip back is a wrench in my routine. If I was unmedicated, I would be flying off the rails while doing this, but now, I feel settled—to the best of my ability. Once upon a time, I probably wouldn't have even gotten on the plane. I would have stayed stagnant because it was easier.

That’s not who I am anymore. I mean, I’m still terrified, but those emotions are normal to feel after this big life change I’m going through—again.

I assume the girls think I’m only coming back for the wedding festivities, which consist of an entire week-long, bachelorette-style trip to the resort the wedding is at. Apparently, the boys are doing the same thing close by, Grant spearheading the activities for the guys. Hads is Paige’s maid of honor, so she planned all this ahead of time.

I was surprised I was invited early for this, since I’m not in the wedding, but I assume the girls want to clear the air and not make the wedding awkward. It’s going to be difficult having to talk to them about what’s happened, and I still have to figure out how I’m going to describe the time I spent in England. It’s hard for me to find the words to describe what I went through, and part of me is worried that once I open my mouth, it’s all going to come out wrong.

Obviously, I’m not going to throw the blame onto my recent diagnosis, but it does explain some of my behaviors. Underneath all of that, I’m still the culprit. It’s still me making the decisions I did, and I’m owning that.

While I did cut most of my ties in England when I left, I hung on to one. My boss gave me a glowing recommendation letter, which will be useful when I figure out what the hell I’m going to do with my life here. Once I get settled and have a solid routine again, that’s when I’ll figure out my employment status. The wedding and all its activities are going to take two weeks, and once I’ve hopefully begun to fix things, I can figure out all the logistics.

I’m twenty-five years old, and my life has felt like a constant stream of mistakes. I can only recall three good decisions: choosing to go to Grand Mountain College, going to therapy, and something that keeps me up at night. While I made the right decision at first, I still smashed it to pieces when it was over.

Regret follows me like a companion, tapping me on the back when I start to think I’m doing okay. Not wanting to think about that, I turn my music up as I grab my bags off the carousel and call a car to take me to my new apartment.

I’vebeenatmynew apartment for three hours, and all I’ve done is sit on the floor.

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