Friendly Reminders: From One SA Survivor to Another

Image from here.

1: It’s okay to reach out when you need to. You are not a burden.

submitted by Ysabelle & Vian

I start my day by jolting awake from a nightmare I wish I couldn’t remember.

My heart is racing on a track in my chest. I feel like ants are climbing hills on my skin, leaving behind pebbles to keep track of their steps so they don’t get lost. No respect for the land they are crossing over. I clench my teeth, and roll over on my bed, facing the wall. I blink the vestiges of shitty, warped memories of that man and those asshole exes who don’t know the difference between yes and no that that shitty nightmare just had to bring up–on a school day, no less. 

 Once the fear subsides, and I’ve successfully reminded myself I was just experiencing intrusive thoughts, they aren’t real, they’re not mine, I’m pissed. Furious. Why do I have to keep thinking about it? Did my brain notice I was finally doing alright, say hey, that’s not right, then push the absolute worst intrusive thoughts at the forefront of my mind? If we reside in the same body, why must it keep betraying me so? Does it really not care for its vessel?

After simmering for what felt like half an hour, desperately ignoring the urge to scratch my skin off, I roll over again, facing the side table. I snatch my phone from its place next to my salt lamp–a gift from Tammy, who joked that it matched my personality–and roughly tore off the charger. 4:21AM, it reads to me. Fuck.

Would Tammy even be awake right now? Even if she were–why should I bother her?

She’s your best friend.

But is that a good enough reason?

I lie on my bed, shadows creeping in the corner of my eye, phantom pains whispering in my ear.

Fuck it, I think, picking up my phone from my chest.

---

RICKY

tammy are you up

yessir

what’s up

am i bothering you

of course not!

it’s still early lolol pls don’t worry

what’s up

it’s 4 in the morning. thats late as hell.

maybe to an old man like you

rude

so what’s up?

uh, well. it’s kind of stupid.

it’s probably not, but go on.

and how would you know?

ricky 🙁

Tammy.

hmmm?

you’re really nice, Tammy.

aw, thank you! you’re pretty sweet too ricky.

haha.

are you okay?

hmm?

youre not normally up this late lol. you good?

not really.

ah. I’m sorry. 

do you wanna talk about it… 

or do you just wanna talk? 

or, we don’t have to talk. 

we can call and i can sit here and draw

and, uh, you can play your games? 

you’re really into that visual novel these days, aren’t you?

i am.

great! did you eat yet?

i did.

good! I’ll be drawing, then. 

call me when ur ready!!!

i’ll look up cheats for you in the meantime 😉

thanks

np king

RICKY IS CALLING…

---

The quiet is deafening tonight. In the distance, maybe there are cars and horns beeping along with the bustling streets of people enjoying this oh-so-wonderful holiday. Maybe there are restaurants filled with families, kids clobbering their dads with hugs and well wishes. Not here though. This apartment is empty. Mom is out and there’s no one here other than me and my best friend, Jack Daniels. We’re not the most social of friends, but we get along great. Currently we’re tied in a staring contest, one that I think I’m losing. I glance at the clock. 8:00 p.m. 

We have a long night ahead of us, don’t we, Jack?

I start pouring drinks into a glass, drowning in fizz. One drink becomes two, two becomes four, and then my phone is in my hand. I fumble with the keyboard as I tweet: Happy Fathers Day Everyone. Hope yours is as eventful as mine:)

Satisfied with my post, I slam my phone face-down on the table and glare down at my now-emptied glass.

Before I know it, four drinks become five. I stop counting after that.

---

RICKY<3333

ricky, you up still?

yeah

you feeling alright? I saw your tweet…

peachy.

you’re drunk aren’t you

yep

why?

cuz I fucking want to, Tammy.

sorry.

I was just worried. 

considering today and all

and that you’re drinking

mhmm.

does your mom know?

course she doesn’t. 

ur not gonna snitch, are you?

of course not ricky. 

she’ll probably be able to tell herself

when she sees you throwing up in the morning

fuck off, Tammy.

sure, if you actually want me to.

otherwise, tell me what’s wrong. 

please. 

you’re worrying me.

---

RICKY :(((

shit fuck sorry tammy.

im so sorry

that was rude as hell im so sorry

i’m sober now dw 

it’s father’s day, y’know

it’s hard.

i know hun

wanna talk about it?

what’s there to say?

a lot, I think.

you’ve heard it all before

and i can hear it all again

but only if you want to

well

i hate myself

i hate myself and i hate him

and those other assholes 

because i can’t look at myself anymore

because of them

and im sick of it tammy

im so sick of it

im so tired of hating myself

🙁

i love you

ik

and i think you’re a beautiful person

despite all you went through

wait that came out wrong

none of what you went through

makes you any less beautiful

and i really feel like wringing ur head 

for making u feel that way about yourself

and you should know

 if i could beat up those pieces of shit 

for you i would

you can’t fight shit, tammy

ik that!!

i still would

for you

ur my favourite person in the world

even when you’re not your own fave

lol

thanks tammy

anytime <3

would you like to call?

just for company?

maybe not now

how about tomorrow?

okay!

ily

see u tomorrow

---

The timer is set to go off soon. Fifteen minutes or so. I start setting the table with two place settings, the plates and cutlery, and any other side dishes. Before me rests a feast of mashed potatoes, boiled shrimp, tetilla cheese puffs, and a big plate of ensaladilla Rusa, and these are just the tapas. Maybe mom was right, maybe this is too much for two people. Oh well. With nothing to do, I glance at my phone. It’s been a while since Tammy and I last spoke. Before I could get lost in a maze my mom wanders into the kitchen.

“Smells delicious, mijo,” she coddles.

“Thanks, ma.”

“Did you talk to her yet?”

“No.”

We share an inaudible, pregnant moment. Her eyes say all the words her mouth lacks. I look back at the timer. Ten minutes left. 

“Dinner is soon,” I mumble.

“I need to catch up on my reading anyway.” Ma picks up my phone from its solitary resting place on the island and hands it to me. “You forgot this here. Make sure you don’t lose it.”

I take the phone from her and stare at the screensaver of Tammy and I last Christmas. Her arm is around my shoulders while we smile crooked smiles at the camera… 

I recall our last conversation three weeks ago. I promised to call Tammy, but never did. God, why did I do that? 

Because you didn’t want to burden sweet, caring Tammy with your broken record problems.

Even so, a quieter part of me pipes up, you’re hurting her worse now, the way you’re acting.

I open the chat between Tammy and I, scrolling through the hundreds of messages Tammy had sent, and I had read, but didn’t have the nerve to respond to. Shame bubbles inside of me.

I think of my ma’s words. Did you talk to her yet?

No, I think.

But I will now.

---

RICKY

hey

RICKYASUSIDFDJSF

HI

hi

sorry ik its been a while

nah i understand!!! you need ur breaks!!

it was a long break

it was only like a week!!!

it was almost a month tammy

a h

ik this and ily anyway

seriously tho its oke to take time off for yourself

i’m better now

emotionally

i think

that’s good!!!

do you wanna meet up next week?

yeah sure!!!

come to my house?

ofc

see you

(and im serious this time hahaha)

see you <3333

(and IM serious this time I WILL FIND YOU if you disappear again!!!!)

---

“Y’know, Tammy,” I say the following week, in the middle of a heated match of Mario Kart, because I’m a coward and apparently can’t talk to the people I love eye-to-eye. “You’re my best friend.”

Tammy can probably just barely hear me over her turbulent handling with the Switch joycons. If we were sitting any closer, her elbow would’ve taken my eye out, and I’d be nursing a colourful bruise. Yet, she says quietly, without bite,  “I think I’m your only friend, Ricky.”

“My best, only friend,” I correct myself, nonplussed.

A long silence follows. Or, it would have been silent if not for the loud noises screeching from her ancient TV speaker. 

“Thanks for being there for me.” I finally say.

“It’s no problem,” I hear her say, loud even in the cacophony of cars crashing and twirling on the TV screen. “I like being there for you.” She suddenly falls silent, before a string of curses escape her throat, none addressed to me.

 My eyes refocus enough to make out the leaderboard on the TV. I’m second to last place, and she’s last.

“You’re awful at this,” I jest lightly.

That seems to snap Tammy out, the words on the screen becoming legible. “M-me? You literally got last place!”

“I haven’t played in a while. And this is your Nintendo Switch!”

“Oh, you shut your mouth, Ricky! I just need to come more often so I can actually practice!”

“Maybe,” I say, then, with all the courage I could muster, I turn my head and look her in the eye: “But you’ll get sick of me sooner or later.”

Instead of frowning, a warm smile blooms across Tammy’s face. Eyes crinkling at the corners, head slightly tilted to the right, lips lazily stretching. Like she’d done so many times before.

“I could never get sick of your dumbass, Ricky. Ever.”

“You sure about that?” I ask, very, very softly. “I’m terrible at replying, I don’t text you enough, and when I do, it’s usually about issues you’ve heard time and time before, about those assholes who, with me– I.” I close my eyes in frustration. Why can’t I fucking talk? “I want to be a good friend to you because you deserve it, Tammy, but I just think I’m another burden on your shoulders. I don’t want that for you.”

Tammy shakes her head, her eyes impossibly soft. “Ricky,” she says slowly, “I know that we have different lives and that yours is more complicated than mine. You don’t know how relieved I am that you feel comfortable enough to talk to me despite my not being able to relate. I trust you and I know that if I ever go through something, you’d do the same for me. So please don’t think you’re a burden or selfish for needing help, Ricky. I love helping you because I love you.” 

My cheeks grow hot and I lower my eyes to the floor. I blink away a thick shean of tears– when did I start crying?

We don’t speak as we start another game of Mario Kart. Somehow, we manage to blink through our tears long enough to reach decent places of last and second-to-last. 

Tammy let me win. I don’t call her out on it.

(And if I spend the rest of the night bawling in her arms, reconfessing, reanalyzing, and remembering, remembering, remembering, she doesn’t call me out either. She holds me, runs her fingers through my hair, and reminds me that touch can be a good thing.) 

(That reaching out to someone who loves you can be a good thing.) 

2: No, you’re not being dramatic. Your feelings are valid.

submitted by Vince

Learning to sit with my emotions

helps me stare at the dark ocean

with its clear blue top waters

and dark shadows you can’t alter

sinking and panicking, gasping for air

learning stop and float, settling with despair

soon enough my head is above water

taking up someone’s offer

remaining calm

to hide the unsettling feeling of a bomb

I smile and wave

only to crawl into a cave

to release what I fear without worrying about how I appear

Sitting with emotions allow me to solve past commotions

3. It’s okay to cry.

submitted by R

I can feel the tremors shooting up my arms. I try to breathe but air can’t find a passage to travel through. No room, no room, no room.

I try to gather composure, count to ten, anything. Crazy to think that just fifteen minutes ago I was shopping for a prom dress and now here I am, falling apart. 

It’s a panic attack, I hear my therapist in my head. Remember where you are, you’re not there with him. You’re here with me, with your family, with your friends. You’re anywhere except with him. He’s gone.

I huddle in the mall bathroom and hear the door open. Heavy breathing coated in exertion resonate in the empty bathroom. I know who it is without even having to guess.

“Baby?” an old voice rings out. 

“Mama, I can’t-I can’t breathe,” I choke on my breath. My shaking hands unlock the stall door and suddenly I’m engulfed in the warmest arms I’ve ever felt.

“It’s ok baby. I’m here, mom’s here, habibi. Let it out,” My mom whispers.

And I do. I sob into her shoulder and it’s the hardest I’ve ever cried and I don’t know why I’m crying but I don’t have time to think about it. She’s here and I know however many tears leave my eyes will be caught by her gentle embrace. Nurtured, cared for; loved.

I cry until I can’t anymore. The same way she will love me until she can’t anymore.

submitted by Y

Tears tread steady

Down your cheeks

Pooling into

Memories that sicken you

Of those who have wronged you

My dear

How they have wronged you

Let your grief run rampant

It’s okay to

Cry.

4. Your experiences don’t make you any less beautiful.

submitted by Clover

The mirror knows my face and body better than I do. 

It has seen, felt, heard my flesh more intimately than my hands– always looking, never touching.

The tops of thighs burning as they’re smushed against cold granite of the sink to get close, closer to the mirror- as close as I can be without falling in

It sees me in a way I don’t want to see myself. 

It sees the place where there should be scars running to and fro but are now invisible on pale skin, close to inky blue veins (close, close, too close, way too close).

It sees the place where scars actually are, divots over skin that’s been battered and mistreated more than once. 

It mostly sees all the days that aren’t great; the mediocre days, where there is nothing in the mirror but space.

the bad days, where the thing in the mirror is an ugly, ugly monster.

An ugly wretched thing, with greasy hair, and visible ribs that peek through taut skin, and unwashed skin and red eyes, the most horrible ugly thing that this mirror has ever seen. 

But there are good days that the mirror sees; 

those days, the mirror sees flesh.

Flesh is not perfect– it has scars and greasy hair and bumps and divots and lines

And it is good– not perfect, but good– and that’s the best it can be.

Because good is beautiful. Because flesh is beautiful. Because however you are and however you come as is all so very beautiful. 

5. Please take care of yourself.

submitted by Clover

“Hey, have you eaten yet today?” 

The text catches you off guard. Considering the buzzer on your phone is off (is always off, since you got it) you probably would’ve otherwise missed the quick flash of the discord notification as it hogs the top half of your screen before disappearing. You shift slightly, moving from laying on your side to scroll mindlessly on social media from your bed to do the same thing, now from your stomach. Pausing for a moment, you pull down your notification bar to read the text again. 

“Hey, have you eaten yet today?” 

You ponder it a moment. Your eyes flit to the time in the top left corner that you were actively avoiding while burning time; 2;47pm. You do some quick mental gymnastics, starting from the thought of  ‘wake-up at noon’ and ending at ‘stayed in bed for two– almost three hours.’ From there, you draw yourself the conclusion that no, in fact, you had not eaten today. 

“Hey, have you eaten yet today?”

I mean– it’s not like you forgot. You knew you HAD to eat, at some point. You told yourself you would when you got up, but then again, you just never got up, did you? You consider your weight. You know how much you weigh, and yet, you still choose laying bed over picking out a simple meal from the fridge. Though, the more you rationalize it in your mind (the kinder side of your brain, the one that doesn’t say mean things to you) you realize it’s not a choice to lay down so much as it’s a sickness., eating away at your mind as it seems to be your body. You click on the discord text, pulling up the app and your text history. As you do so, with a huff, you push yourself on to your elbows, maneuvering in a clumsy but effective manner, until your feet are dangling off the bed. 

You may have missed the chance to eat 3 hours ago, but there’s nothing stopping you from catching up now. 

“No, I didn’t. But ! I’m going downstairs to get something now!! Thank you for reminding me!”

6. People will believe you.

submitted by R

“I-I don’t know what to say. I can’t believe that happened to you.”

“I made it awkward didn’t I? I’m sorry, I shouldn’t have–”

“No, no that’s not it,”

“–said anything. I’m so sorry!”

“Stop it. That’s not what I meant.”

“What did you mean, then?”

“You’re… you’re really strong, you know that?”

“You believe me?”

“Of course, I do! Why wouldn’t I? Who would believe that piece of shit is innocent?”

“It’s not as uncommon as you think.”

“Stop that. I believe you. And I’m here whenever you need it.”

“Oh.”

“Oh?”

“Nothing, I… Thank you.”

“You’re welcome, hun. I’ll always be in your corner.”