Enough

Today my husband said, “you parked wrong”. And unexpectedly, the weight of all my insecurities and insignificance crushed me like a soda can on a metal press. I locked the bathroom door and collapsed on the cold tile floor and started heaving.

You see, we are temporarily staying at my father-in-law’s house, at the end of a cul-de-sac, and apparently one is supposed to park in the same direction as traffic on the street, and I had parked wrong.

We are in this house because I lost my job. Because I was sick. Because I got a disease. Because I was violently sexually assaulted on what was supposed to be a fun excursion that morphed into this current nightmare. I was… am… broken. Physically, I am fine. Mentally, I am so far from fine that I can’t see the horizon ahead of me, just darkness.

I have lost all sense of self. I do not know who this person is, staring at me from the mirror. I used to know him, and love him because he was so afraid that no one would love a short, Asian gay boy. So I nurtured him with books, music, art, food, languages, and love. The journey to self love was filled with rough climbs, hard unpaved roads, and blistering hate. But I made it. I got to the end of it. I was happy with the company I kept in the moments that I was alone. I am enough.

But now I am just lost. I don’t know who this person is. And I don’t like him.