Page 111 of The Pass Protection
Why did I run?
Why is that the only option I feel whenever my back’s against the wall?
Am I truly worthy of being a part of something? Or will my dark cloud consume everyone it comes into contact with?
For the past however many months, I’ve surrounded myself with friends and a boyfriend who have embraced me—flaws and all—as they pulled me into their world. What if everything they’ve witnessed was only a façade, fooling them with a version of myself that didn’t really exist?
The safety I felt with them, withCrew, and the warmth of belonging all feel like an illusion now.
Lying on my side, wrapped in a heavy dark purple blanket, I clutch my knees tighter to my body, squeezing my stuffed bear as my mind turns against me. Is this what my life is now? It is a constant cycle of questioning every decision and every moment of happiness I’ve felt, trying to decipher what’s real and what’s being twisted in my head.
Walking the streets in San Antonio, I felt free. With Crew by my side, as we navigated the small shops with our banter and endless conversations, that was real. There’s no doubt in my mind that I was truly happy. For one afternoon, we escaped reality and got lost in each other. His eyes sparkled, and his smile beamed as his admiration for me radiated from him. It was real, I know it was, but why does my mind keep playing tricks on me?
I want so desperately to love Crew with every fiber of my being. He already owns my heart as our souls are tethered together. He makes me feel whole, safe, seen, and protected. What if my demons are too much? What if my dark thoughts suck his jovialness and kindness from his soul?
Now that the insecurities I’ve worked to keep out of my mind have resurfaced, I can’t help but feel them take root, dig deeper inside my mind. Each passing thought of doubt of being unable to be loved, questioning my worthiness, and if I have the right to happiness only branches out as the dark thoughts water the intrusive thoughts spreading throughout my mind.
An endless loop of self-sabotaging thoughts keeps me from seeing clarity as my own fears cover me in a fog.
What if I’m destined to be alone, with safety being nothing more than an illusion?
The fear gnaws at my consciousness as I slowly slip into the darkness.
Finals week was hell. Not only were the exams brutal, but it’s been a full week of isolating in the comfort of my parents’ home. Again,embracing my inner coward as I avoid my apartment. I had every intention of running far away from Texas but as I shifted the Jeep into drive, my thoughts drove me to my parents’ home. I guess I need to be surrounded by familiar walls in the comfort of my teenage room with my parents right down the hall.
Crew continues to call me every night and message me throughout the day as if nothing has happened between us. I know it’s unfair to him to be ghosted, but I need space to process. I know that Grant and Crew patched things up at the football game, and if I had continued to watch, I would have seen the shift in their dynamic. As grateful as I was that those two worked through their issues, I couldn’t go home. I wasn’t ready to face the music, and I might have overreacted even though, at that moment, I felt justified.
I miss home. I don’t know when I started considering a four-bedroom apartment on the outskirts of campus home, but that’s what we’ve built. Video game tournaments and cooking dinner together—or observing everyone cook together.
Tears blur my vision as the weight crashes in on me. The ball of anxiety spreads, tightening my chest. Everything hurts. The pain I’ve caused feels insurmountable, and I don’t know where to go from here. It feels like too much time has passed, and I’m scared to admit I should have stayed. I should have fought harder against my inner demons. I should have waited for Crew to come home so we could fix things together. Him, me, us, that’s what we’ve been saying this entire time, and when I had the first opportunity to jump ship, I took it.
A soft knock sounds at the door, interrupting yet another spiral. The door opens with a soft creak as my mom pokes her head in, hesitating to answer. I watch as her eyes land on my tear-streaked face, her face softens as she gently moves toward me as if she’s cornering awild animal. With my rage and rollercoaster of emotions, she might as well be.
“Sweetie.” Her voice drips with concern, and I can feel her heart breaking. Yet another person I’ve hurt this week. “Bret, sweetheart, please talk to me. I’m worried about you.”
Her tone has the sob I’ve been fighting erupting in my chest as the tears flood my vision. The truth is I’m worried too. I’m scared these thoughts will never end. I’m scared I’ll find myself on a bathroom floor with no one there to save me. No one talks about how hard life is, especially when the voices start talking.
“I’m worried too, Mom.” She drops on the bed beside me, throwing her arms around me. The two of us sit in silence, allowing the weight of those words to settle over us.
“Baby, please talk to me. What is going on?”
For the first time, I spilled everything to my mom. I told her about a boy I thought I loved and how he broke every part of my being. His cunning words and sharp tongue broke me and left me in pieces. How he refuses to accept there is no “us” anymore and how he won’t give me the peace I am desperate for.
As hard as it is to give her a glimpse inside my head, I rip the Band-Aid off and spill the gruesome details. For so long, I’ve struggled with a demonic voice that tells me I’m not worthy and that I’ll never be good enough. On my darkest days, he nudges me closer to the end with his vile words that everyone will be happier if my burdens aren’t weighing them down.
I explained to her that my first tattoo brought pain at a time when I was numb. With the first piercing of the needle, I felt myself coming back to life. I chose a butterfly because of how it symbolizes hope and resilience, representing all of my struggles with my mental health and how I’m going to emerge stronger.
I’m not worried about the disappointment of not fitting into her perfect box. I’m not worried she’ll look at me differently or judge me. Right now, I need my mom to help carry the pain. No matter how hard I try to show how strong I think I am, I’m weak with the darkness swirling around inside me. I need to be free from the burden.
Silence falls over the room, my truth weighs heavy over us. The only sounds are from our sniffling noses. It feels like we sit there for hours as I process the relief I feel to finally let it all off my chest while my mom simply processes the devastation of my chaotic words. Reaching for a tissue, she wipes her damp cheeks before blowing her nose.
“I can’t believe you’ve been facing this alone, Bret.” There’s no trace of disappointment or anger in her voice, only sadness. She moves, cupping my face as her thumbs wipe away tears. “Honey, we are always here for you. I can’t imagine how scared you must’ve been.”
The thing is, I haven’t faced everything alone. Sure some days it feels like it’s me against the world, but the other days I’ve had Olivia by my side and recently Crew. It’s so easy to get swept up in the feeling of being alone, but maybe the fog is starting to lift. Maybe I’m starting to see things with clearer eyes. There have been two people consistently by my side throughout this fight, and I’ve been so wrapped up in my hell that I haven’t given them enough credit.
“You’ve been through so much, and I hate that you’ve had to go through any of it. But it’s okay to not be okay. It’s okay to step back and say, ‘Hey, I need a break.’ Bret, honey, I want you to hear me—reallyhear me when I say this,” she pauses, placing a comforting hand on my forearm. “Never feel like you are a burden. You’re not alone in this, in life,ever. Let us carry some of the load and navigate these rocky waters. We love you, Bret Addison, so much.”
The dam breaks as more tears flood my vision. Wrapping my arms around my mom, I cry into her waiting arms. I’ve wanted to hear thatI wasn’t alone for so long. Even through our differences, shesawme. I’ve always known she loved me, that’s never been a question, but sometimes those burdens have felt dismissed, and maybe that’s how I’ve interpreted them. Today, with her, I don’t feel so alone anymore.
