I spent most of the weekend trying to forget what happened in class on Friday, but now that Monday has rolled around and I actually have to face the music, I've been debating on whether or not to stop attending completely.
On one hand, I don't feel bad. Those people are nothing but fakes and I got tired of listening to them spout shit all the time. I still wish the instructor hadn't seen my reaction though. I wish Avery hadn't. I can't help but wonder what she thinks of me now. I feel like I played it off pretty okay when she came after me. I wasn't mad at her. She didn't do anything wrong, but I wanted to be left alone. Still, it was nice. I guess it felt like she cared. Maybe she did care. I don't know.
I already missed the first part of class, but I've been battling with myself over making it to the second half. I should, even though I don't want to. My chest gets tight when I think of seeing all those people.
I need to try harder. I don't want to fail and waste money I don't even have. So, I grab my jacket and put on my boots. I don't bother changing out of my sweatpants. Fuck it.
When I get to the building, I take my time heading upstairs. With a deep breath, I push the door open.
Looks like today's a workday. Thankfully, I'm not interrupting any sort of class meeting and everyone seems to have their faces buried in canvas. Most of them don't even look up as I enter the room.
I head straight for Flores, who's working on setting up a still life for her next class. When she sees me, she stops what she's doing and gives me a curious look.
"Sorry I'm late," I say.
"That's all right, Rudolf."
There's something wary about her tone. Not like she's afraid I'm gonna lose my shit, but like she wants to tell me to see the school psychiatrist. She doesn't say that though. Instead, she fills me in on what I missed and then I get to work.
I can't save face. I have absolutely no self-control. I sneer at everyone who looks my way until I spot Avery. She waves. I nod and then turn away.
I don't want her to think I'm crazy, but it's probably already too late for that.
I wander over to my workstation and get out my paints. I start setting up a palette, but Avery appears from behind my easel and hovers.
"How's it going?" she asks.
"Fine."
"Have a good weekend?"
"Eh," I shrug.
I don't know what to say, so I just sit there uncomfortably while Avery flips her septum ring in and out of her nose.
"So," she pulls the ring back down and readjusts it. "You good?"
Great. Of course. It'd be too easy if everyone just forgot and left me alone.
Maybe this is why I never make friends. Every time someone takes an interest in me, something bad happens. They end up seeing me do something nuts. Then they think I AM nuts.
"Yeah, fine," I say flatly.
"Are you sure? I mean, I thought your work was good… I meant it when I said that."
"Thanks," I murmur. "But if everyone said it was shit, then it must've been shit."
"Like you said, half the time no one here knows what they're talking about."
"Maybe," I say.
Why is she still talking to me? This is usually the part where people go away.
"Anyway, just keep doing what you do. Don't let any of these assholes change your mind about the way you do your art."
"I dunno," I make a face. "Wouldn't Cameron disagree with that?"
"What he says isn't law," she scoffs. "All his work is just him trying to please someone."
"I don't know," I reply, not wanting to say anything bad about him.
When the conversation lulls, Avery remembers her project. "I have some stuff to finish up," she says, pointing to her canvas on the other side of the room. "I'm free after class though. Are you doing anything?"
"No," I tell her, "I was just going back to the dorms."
"Wanna hang out?"
I'm surprised she's making an effort. I can't tell if she even likes me. She was just hanging out with me because Cameron wanted to, right?
"Uh, okay," I agree.
Is she coming back with me to my room? It's a complete mess. She's probably going to make fun of me and I'm going to have to scramble to justify why I don't clean up.
"Cool," she says with a smile before heading back to her canvas.
I turn back to my own work, but I don't feel particularly inspired right now.
Class drags on forever and by the end, I still feel like I've completed anything. Avery notices, and when she wanders back over looks my painting up and down and goes: "Productive day, huh?"
"It's minimalism," I joke.
Avery laughs. Then she shoves her hands in her pockets and asks, "Where to?"
"Uh, I don't know," I reply awkwardly. "I didn't really-"
"We can just go back to your room," she interrupts. "Since that's what you were planning anyway."
Damnit.
"All right," I agree because I have no fucking backbone.
We gather our crap and leave. She walks by my side as we slowly trek across the campus.
God, I hope she doesn't say anything.
When we get there, I unlock and push open the door. Then I throw my hands up and say, "Well, here it is."
Avery looks around, beholding the mayhem. She maneuvers around the mountains of shit laying on my floor and sits on my bed. She doesn't say anything about the mess. Instead, she says, "So, is this where you do most of your painting?"
"Yeah," I admit. "The classroom setting…it doesn't work for me."
She laughs. "Yeah, I can tell. I don't like it much either."
I guess I should at least try to act less uncomfortable. I walk across the room, stepping all over my things. I sit next to her and say, "I don't have people over much…"
"Yeah, got that impression," she cackles. "We could go out if you'd be more comfortable with that."
"No, it's okay," I insist.
"Cool," Avery starts fucking with her lip ring again. "So your weekend was eh, huh? What'd you do?"
"Mostly hung out here. You?"
"Cameron and I went out," she tells me. "On Friday."
"Oh," I stare blankly at her, trying not to feel weird.
"We wanted to take you with us," Avery goes on to say. "Cameron chewed me out when he came to pick me up and I said you didn't seem in the mood. I didn't want to make you feel all pressured to come out if you were having a bad day though."
"Sorry," I say, not sure what else to respond with. It makes me feel guilty.
"Nah, it's cool," she insists. "I guess I still should've asked. Going out might've been good for you."
"Probably not. I'm not really good around people and if I'm in a bad mood it's even worse."
"Yeah?"
"Yeah."
"Well, I'd be pissed too if my art was trash-talked like that."
"Yeah, I guess I just regret that I made myself look crazy," I admit.
Avery shakes her head. "I don't think you looked crazy."
Ugh. Of course I looked crazy. No matter what she says, I'm not going to be able to forget what happened on Friday until something even more traumatic happens.
"Yeah, I did, but okay," I try hard not to roll my eyes.
Avery gives me a sympathetic look like she's not sure what to say next.
"You good?" she finally asks. "I know it's tough, but it's best not to internalize this stuff."
"I can't help it," I say. "I get obsessed."
"Why?" she asks.
"I don't know, 'cause I'm fucked in the head, I guess?"
She gives me another sad look. "No, you're not."
"Yeah, I am," I insist.
I really am. I can't really begin to explain. I don't think I'd want to, either. I don't want her to leave. Everyone always leaves. I don't really blame them, but at the same time, I do. I hate people when they leave, but I hate myself more.
"Why do you say that?"
"Because it's true," I state.
Avery looks confused like she can't comprehend what I'm trying to get at. "Doesn't saying that make you feel like shit?" she asks.
"No," I shake my head. "It's just a fact."
"Okay…" she answers cautiously, trailing off. "Well, I don't think that's true."
"Well, you clearly don't know me well enough," I say before I can stop myself. I seize up immediately after. I always get too snappy. I can't help myself.
Avery doesn't seem to care though. She doesn't get mad or tell me to stop giving her attitude. She doesn't start to hate me. Instead, she laughs and says, "Yeah, maybe not." Then she pauses and asks, "So, why do you say that?"
"Because I literally am," I state. "Like, I have issues."
"What, like mental health stuff?"
"Yeah," I confirm vaguely.
She nods her head slowly. "Well, we don't have to talk about it if you don't want to."
I kind of do want to now, though. I don't even know why. Maybe it's just because she's giving me an opportunity to.
"I have something called borderline personality disorder," I just sort of spit out.
Avery looks confused. "Sorry, borderline what?" she asks after a moment of silence.
"Personality disorder," I repeat.
"Um, I'm sorry," she furrows her brow. "I don't know what that is."
No one ever knows what it is.
"It's a mental illness," I tell her.
"I haven't heard of that one before," Avery admits. "Sorry, I only know really basic shit about that kind of thing."
"Well… A personality disorder is like when you have a pattern of disordered thinking and behavior, I guess..." I say, hoping that explains it.
"Gotcha," she says, "and...that makes it hard for you to not internalize stuff?"
"It makes everything hard," I laugh.
"Like what?" she asks.
"Well, it's hard to control my reaction to things, like on Friday."
She nods.
"Stuff like that happens and I always have some inappropriate response," I elaborate, feeling frustrated with myself. "I get so angry and just react."
Avery nods again, seeming like she maybe gets it.
"I dissociate and get really paranoid," I start listing things off. Things a therapist said about me. "About what people's intentions are. About a lot of things. It makes it hard for me to maintain relationships with people. I'm always afraid I'm just gonna get abandoned, so I leave before they can." I pause for a moment and then add, "People don't stick around after that."
I remember most of what my therapist said because it made me pissed. I always remember things like that. I always remember when people fuck up and don't fix it.
"Oh wow," she looks thoughtful. "That sounds hard."
I shrug. "It is what it is. Most days I just have like, no sense of identity? It's cool. Very chill."
I only mention the milder symptoms. I won't tell Avery the worst parts. I don't think she would know what to say if I did.
"What do you mean by like, dissociating though?" Avery fiddles with her septum ring, eyes still glued to me. "Sorry, I've never really had a conversation about this sort of stuff before."
"Uh," I try to think. "Dissociation is like...kind of like blanking out. I don't really...everything kind of changes? Like nothing feels real and it doesn't feel like I'm inside my body. Time either goes really slow or really fast and sometimes I'll just stare at the same thing without thinking anything for a long time."
Avery gives a long nod. "So, what do you do when you start to feel that way?"
"The therapist tried to teach me some ways to ground myself. Like, I ask myself questions. Where am I? What's going on around me? And I could say I'm in my room, I'm sitting on my bed, there's a mess on the floor. Observations like that, I guess."
"Does it work?"
I shake my head. "Not really. Not for me, at least."
"So, what do you do?"
"Just wait it out."
"Is there anything I can do to help?"
I'm surprised by the question. No one's ever asked before.
"Um…" I trail off. "I don't know…"
"Would it help if I talked and asked you questions and stuff?" she presses. "I mean, if someone else is asking the questions maybe it would be different than you asking yourself?"
"I don't know," I say. "I've never tried."
"Let's try it then," she decides. "How do I know when that's happening? Is it obvious?"
"Sort of, I think," I tell her. "Sometimes I stop responding. My voice usually gets really flat."
"So, it looks like you're spacing out?"
"Close enough."
I guess it's nice that Avery's asking about these things, even though this is kind of uncomfortable. It's nice to feel like she actually cares. I can't remember the last time I actually got to talk to someone about this.
"And what did you mean by you have no sense of identity? Like you don't know who you are?"
"I literally feel like I have no identity," I say. "It's hard to explain. If I look in a mirror, I always feel like something is off. Sometimes I can't really tell that it's me. I never know how to describe myself. Like, who am I? I don't really know. I guess the way I see myself is always reflected in the way others see me."
And maybe that's why I hate myself so much.
Avery nods, looking like she doesn't really know what to say to any of that. I can't blame her. I don't even feel like I'm explaining any of it the right way. It's making me feel tense.
"Jeez, I can't even begin to imagine what that would feel like," she says in a murmur.
"Yeah, it sucks," I tell her. "I never know what to say when people ask me about myself or things I do. I feel like I always have to scramble to come up with the most basic replies."
"Yeah, that sounds like it would be hard," she looks thoughtful. "So, like, for example: does it stress you out when Cameron pressures you to come up with meanings for your artwork?"
"Kind of," I shrug. "I mean, a lot of times I don't really know how I feel and that's why I paint the way I do. It's just shapes. If I make my feelings into shapes they're a lot more manageable and even though I can't really explain them it seems like there's at least some order to it."
Fortunately, that seems to make at least a little bit of sense because Avery doesn't look quite as confused as she did before.
"You could tell him to knock it off you know," she says to me. "I'm on your side with this."
I wring my hands a little. "Yeah...I don't really…" I mumble. "I can't really argue with him about that."
"He's wrong, though. You can tell him he's wrong. I tell him all the time. We got in a fight over something stupid he was doing just Friday night."
"I know…but it's not the same. I'm scared he'll decide he doesn't like me. Or he'll leave or something," I explain.
"Gotcha," she acknowledges with a nod but lets me keep talking.
"I know that seems stupid-" I start.
"It's not," she cuts me off.
I shrug again and then continue, "It's just how I feel. I can't help it. It's like… the worst thing in the world would be for me to open up to someone and then have them leave."
It's bound to happen, but that knowledge doesn't make it any easier. It won't make me prepared.
"Has that happened before?"
"I guess so," I say. "In some ways. Most people leave before they really get to know me. Like I said, I self-sabotage."
"Well," she states, "to be honest I don't know a lot about this, which is probably pretty obvious, but it's cool if you want to talk about it with me."
"Thanks," I add, trying not to sound half-hearted.
"I mean it. Not everyone is going to disappoint you."
"We'll see."
She chuckles at that and says, "Yeah, we will."
It fills me with this feeling of impending and unavoidable dread. I can never shake it off. I really don't want her to end up hating me.
Maybe I shouldn't write things off just yet. Maybe she's right. Not everyone is going to disappoint me.