Flawed

by Claudia Burgoa

  “Are you okay, Hunter?”

  Sighing, I give him a sharp nod, breathe deeply, and get on with my explanation.

  “I understand it was created for people with borderline personality disorder,” I say. My research began when I tried to understand Willow’s condition. While doing so, I discovered the treatment has also been effective for other disorders. Requesting a referral to join a DBT group is the next step. “But if you review the latest papers, you will be able to find patients with different diagnoses have benefited from it as well.”

  We go into technical terms, and some examples I’ve printed from the forums I’ve been reading in the past couple of weeks. Cognitive therapy is effective for most, but sometimes patients need something more intense, like DBT. Whether this is true or not I don’t know—I’m a lawyer, not a doctor. At least, I have to give it a try.

  This therapy will help me comprehend that there’ll always be good and bad. Heaven and hell. Willow is both. She’s the biggest storm I’ve encountered. It comes at you violently without warning, total darkness prevails for a minute, and just as it arrived, it leaves behind a calm sensation. The angry waves leave a devastation of immense proportion. The sunshine deters our view from the debris. I only had eyes for her. She engulfed me inside the eye of the storm. I was so determined to have her that I never noticed the wrath and tempest, nor the spontaneous changes in her.

  Yet, I’m here discussing technical terms I have to Google. Discussing the probabilities of going to a specific therapy that might not be for me. All because, if I’m lucky, someday she’ll be ready for me, and I’ll be ready for her. Knowing how to handle my demons, ready to teach her how to navigate my world while I help her hold a light in the darkness that’s her mind.

  How can I stay away?

  My mind and heart continue to be confused about my feelings for her. Was it love, an infatuation, or just a simple attraction? A fucking magnetic attraction that continues. Even when she’s not around, I feel like she’s right beside me. I see her everywhere. The woman awoke my soul. I can’t understand what that means or if there’ll ever be something beyond what we shared. She made me feel like I was the only star illuminating her darkest corners—the one who breathed air into her lungs. And for one moment, I believed she loved me—hard.

  She sent me a text that became my inspiration.

  Willow: Our meeting wasn’t an accident. It was my wake-up call. Thank you for showing me what I can have.

  Hunter: What is it that you want to have?

  Willow: The calm you created when you were around me. Your arms were my safe haven when the wind arose, pushing my mind toward the gates of hell. You placated the hurricanes that threaten my sanity. I want that, to feel safe . . . to create my own shelter.

  If anything, for the rest of my life, I plan on being deserving of her or at least learning how to deal with the shit inside my head. To stop wishing for what I had instead of enjoying life.

  The good doctor smiles when I share the statistics of DBT. I’m just trying to find the best resolution to what I call my problem.

  “You’re obsessive, Hunter. I am not sure this fixation with DBT, and your anxiety, are helping that part of your psyche.”

  “Probably not, but according to my findings, DBT is based on Buddhism.” I open my notes and read about being Zen and learning how to stop choosing, and instead, going with the feel of relativity. “That in itself is a step forward to adjusting my compulsion. Win, win, Doctor.”

  He scratches his eyebrow with the tip of his index finger, exhaling loudly. “We tried medication, CBT, and many other treatments. I don’t see why we can’t give it a go. I just want you to do it for the right reasons.”

  “Me too, Doctor, me too.”

  There’s no right or wrong. There’s only the will to change myself. But I don’t say anything else. I leave with a phone number to call, and a promise that he’ll email the group to ensure I have a spot. Apparently, there’s always a waiting list, but he assures me, that in my case, they’ll make an exception. And no, it isn’t because of my money. It’s because I’m part of the club. The club of orphans who lost a parent during the nine-eleven attack. We have a label, and nothing we do will remove it.

  Twenty-Four

  I swear his arms felt like home

  Moving on from your ex is harder than getting a cab at rush hour in front of Madison Square Garden. You better call Uber. ~ Hazel Beesley

  “If you could have anything in the world, what would it be?” I ask my sister as we watch the stars.

  We both love the night sky. It’s like a never-ending void with bright specks. The moon hangs hazy beneath a few fluffy clouds. The breeze blows warm, and the aroma of tall grass is intoxicating. Back in Santa Cruz, we used to do this almost every night. I miss the summer breeze, the salty smell lingering in the air. The soft sand beneath our bodies as we named stars. It was a children’s game, another time, a different era.

  Next time, I’ll agree with the idea of going to a beach on vacation or spending a holiday. This trip has been spur of the moment. Hazel proposed going to Hawaii. I’ve chosen camping. Gramps contacted a friend who owns a cabin in Upstate New York to spend Memorial Day Weekend. We are in the middle of nowhere but have all the amenities of a home, and a big enough backyard where we can pretend to camp. The sound of the crickets and the firewood crackling are calming, but not as enjoyable as the whisper of the waves.

  “Anything?” Hazel responds with a question. She’s lost in the infinite sky. I bet she’s daydreaming about her five-year plan.

  “Yes, anything.”

  I’m studying her. Waiting for an answer that might seem meaningless, but will give me another piece to the puzzle that is my sister. It’s incredible how much our relationship changed after I left home. We became distant. Only now have I come to realize that our phone conversations have been superficial. It’s not her, nor me, but the circumstances that altered the way things worked between us. It’s amazing how much I’ve learned, and there’s so much more to uncover before I can fully understand my emotions and how to handle them.

  During the past few weeks, I’ve learned people like me don’t have emotional skin.

  “Imagine your emotions are muscles,” my therapist described. “What would happen if you didn’t have skin?” The mere thought made me shiver.

  There’s no winning when I’m vulnerable to just about anything. From “I love you” to “I hate you,” everything is a trigger. I fall apart with just about anything. None of those are excuses, only causes. I need to be mindful of my feelings, aware of them while I’m experiencing them. It’s complicated to stop every second and think about the sadness creeping into my heart when I see the double decker Hop-Bus passing by the street I’m about to cross. There are many words I have never used in my daily vocabulary: aware, intentional, relax.

  My least favorite phrases include: be present, be alive, and let go.

  Worse yet, they say them every time during the yoga class Hazel and Fitz insist I join them in. The practice of being mindful isn’t just about me, but watching those who surround me. Noticing the emotions of those who are close to me without being judgmental.

  Currently, I’m focusing on understanding Gramps and Hazel. During these last few weeks, my relationship with them has shifted. I now understand my grandfather isn’t a demanding, overbearing asshole who wants to impose his demands. No. He’s trying to care for Hazel and me the best way he knows how.

  “He’s a widower who barely speaks to his son. He only has us.”

  This new understanding isn’t going to change my relationship with my grandfather drastically, but it’s the beginning of something different. That’s another thing I’m grasping. Relationships are like fingerprints. No two are the same. This is why I’m trying to ask questions. My therapist asked me almost the same thing during my first appointment.

  “Why are you here?”

  “Because I don’t want to die.” My response surprised me becaus
e until then, I didn’t know that was what my main goal was. Until then, I hadn’t thought much about my actions or the consequences.

  “What is that thing in the world that you would want the most, Hazel?” I tilt my head to see her. Her unmoving eyes watch the stars in awe, smiling. “It’s a simple question, Hazel.”

  “Love,” she mumbles. “I miss that special connection with another person. Someone who knows what you’re thinking without saying a word. Your heartbeat is synchronized with his.”

  “Is there someone like that out there?”

  “There’s that one person out there, I know it.” She sips from her water bottle and shares it with me. “After all these years, I’ve learned that everyone can offer sex, not many can deliver pleasure, and only a few will have sex with your soul. They take your body and mind beyond pleasure—you become part of them.”

  I think about all my lovers, from the first guy who was clueless about how sex worked to . . . Hunter. He made me feel like I was the only person in the world, in his world.

  “When will I move on?”

  “From?” Hazel tosses me a what are you talking about? kind of glance.

  “Hunter.” He’s touched me in all the places I ache to be felt, including my soul. I lost myself in his kisses, in his words.

  She laughs. “Moving on is subjective.”

  After prodding marshmallows with a long stick, she raises it and walks to the fire pit. “Will you stop wishing you were in his arms?” Hazel squints, grabbing a graham cracker and placing the hot marshmallow on top of it, then seals it with a second cracker.

  “What, no chocolate?” Hazel loves midnight snacks. “This is so unlike you.”

  “Elliot would’ve made sure we had everything handy,” she says, handing me the incomplete s’more and making herself another one. It surprises me that she said his name, and she’s not running inside for one of Gramp’s Hershey bars. “It took a lot of self-control not to answer his text, refrain from calling him when I felt like the world was swallowing me. That feeling like you’re never going to breathe again lingers for a long time. One day you realize you’ve been inhaling and exhaling—all on your own. You haven’t died of loneliness, and you remember your heart has its own particular beat.” She leans forward, calling me with her hand as if she’s about to tell me a secret. “You realize your heart has been beating even without him by your side.”

  She eats her s’more. “But I still miss those stormy-gray eyes. The mischievous smirk that made me smile like an idiot. Our nightly conversations. His strong arms, his voice. Up until last year, I avoided doing things only the two of us did together. I compare every guy I date with him.”

  Preparing another round of s’mores, she says, “Once in a while you’ll yearn for his touch. It’ll disappear gradually until it’s gone forever—I hope.”

  “Hunter and I weren’t together for twenty years.”

  “Elliot and I only started dating ten years ago.” She reminds me that the time before that doesn’t count. “I was almost fifteen. He was a pretty great boyfriend. I’ve moved on, mostly. A part of him will always remain in my heart. I think it will be the same with Hunter, Wills.”

  I’m not sure what she means by things being the same, but I protest her comparison. “Again, we were together for weeks, and only if you count the time I was playing hard to get.”

  “It’s about quality, not quantity. You can’t measure love with time.”

  “If you ever saw Elliot again, what would you say to him?”

  “You’re pushing me too far, Willow. I don’t like to talk about him. I thought this was about you.” She closes her eyes. The deafening silence chokes me.

  Feeling a little anxious, I try to process what’s happening between us. Working on evaluating how her words and her attitude are making me feel useless, stupid.

  “As of today, I hope I never have to see him again.” Her response saddens me. They had a long history together, and now they are nothing to each other.

  At that moment, I wish upon a star Hunter and I can one day sit and have a friendly meal. That if possible, we can be friends because he’s an amazing man, a gentle soul. I want him to be a part of my life once I have overcome the obstacles I’m facing. Pulling my phone out of my green jacket, I take a picture of the horizon and text it to him.

  He texts me a picture of Manhattan at night.

  Hunter: Have a wonderful weekend, gorgeous.

  Life goes on . . .

  June

  Willow: Is it weird that we are texting each other?

  Hunter: We were friends first. I like us being friends. Keep sending those pictures.

  Hunter: I always want to be a part of you. Even when we’re walking different roads.

  Willow: I like that!

  Hunter: Those sunsets from New Jersey were phenomenal. I heard you went back to school, too.

  Willow: Yes, I’m taking a few acting classes.

  Willow: Thank you for the full moon pics. I think we need to stop. My phone doesn’t have enough memory to store them.

  Hunter: I set up a cloud to upload the pictures to instead of texting them. You can post comments on the cloud, too.

  July

  Hunter: You’re in Hawaii?

  Willow: Are you stalking me, Mr. Everhart?

  Hunter: Now that you mention it, it does sound like it. No. I saw your sister’s post on Facebook, and her traveling picture on Instagram.

  Willow: How do you know I’m with her?

  Hunter: #travelingsisters #familyfun #surfsup

  Willow: Well now you know why for the next week I’m not answering your texts. I’m turning off my phone. Have a fun weekend, Hunt.

  Hunter: Loved the pictures you uploaded from Oahu.

  Willow: Setting up the cloud was a great idea.

  Hunter: Your grandfather said your vacations were sensibly perfect.

  Willow: That’s a way to put it. He can be too formal.

  Hunter: I had no idea you surf.

  Willow: I wasn’t born on top of a board like Hazel, but yes.

  Willow: How did you spend your Fourth of July weekend?

  Hunter: I worked, hung out with my brothers, and worked on a project.

  Hunter: We never discussed this, but can I ask how are you doing?

  Willow: Sorry for taking almost a week to respond.

  Hunter: Honestly, I thought that was the end of our friendship.

  Willow: No, I went through a process. From asking what I felt to how to guide it.

  Willow: I’m not sharing the diagnosis with everyone.

  Hunter: What’s the answer then?

  Willow: It’s hard to change and understand and to write everything down and breathe.

  Willow: Sorry, I missed a lot of commas there.

  Willow: I’m writing everything. Thoughts, emotions, reactions, even what I eat. The urge to flee when I can’t control my reactions appears often. It’s not easy, and when I think I have a grasp on the situation, boom.

  Willow: You can say I’ve had a few setbacks.

  Willow: Are you stealing pictures from the Internet?

  Hunter: What?

  Willow: There are pictures of you all over town. Even outside the Frick Museum.

  Hunter: Baby steps, gorgeous. I’m fighting my own demons.

  Willow: You’re going to get through this, I just know it.

  Hunter: Just like you. There’s a fire in your soul, in your eyes, that tells me the darkness is only a part and not what defines you.

  Willow: Going poetic on me again, sir?

  Hunter: I have an early deposition tomorrow, go to sleep, gorgeous.

  August

  Hunter: Congratulations, I loved the play. And your performance was my favorite part.

  Willow: Thank you for the flowers. I should’ve known you were there.

  Willow: I’m heading to LA for a couple of weeks. Wish me luck!

  Hunter: Good luck!

  Hunter: Can I ask the reason for the tri
p?

  Willow: I have a workshop and two auditions my new agent got me.

  Hunter: Wait, isn’t wishing good luck bad luck?

  Willow: No, it’s sending good vibes.

  Hunter: Safe travels!

  Willow: I got a small part in a movie.

  Hunter: When does shooting begins?

  Willow: Tomorrow. They’re already filming. I’m replacing another actress.

  Hunter: :)

  September

  Willow: Happy Birthday!

  Hunter: Thank you, gorgeous. Thank you for my present. I can’t believe you found a signed 1978 Star Wars poster.

  Willow: I couldn’t believe it, either. I was in Venice Beach with Hazel when we walked into a collectibles store, and I just knew it was the perfect present.

  Hunter: How’s LA?

  Willow: Great, I auditioned for another movie part. It’s not theater, but I’m getting my name out there.

  Hunter: Are you planning on staying there?

  Willow: I’m heading back at the end of the year. Did I forget to mention I am taking a couple of private classes?

  Hunter: You mentioned that it’d be a couple of weeks. I’ve been wondering if you meant months.

  Willow: It was a couple of weeks.

  Hunter: What made you stay longer?

  Willow: The movie role I landed. And one of the teachers who taught the workshop. Do you know Gabe Colt? He’s the best thing that has happened to my career. He found me a different agent. I’m embarrassed to say it happened during a panic attack. His daughter runs an art academy in Washington, and it has an ancillary school just for acting here in Los Angeles. I only go three times a week and spend the other two days in vocal lessons and therapy. There’s a wonderful DBT clinic in town.