(This is a story about pretending to be okay, self-isolation, and considerations of what selfharm means beyond the physical. It becomes heavy, so be warned.)

After a long night’s sleep, you wake up one day. I stretch out and pull you up — you and I get out of bed together. I drag you to breakfast and you yawn and pick the same protein bar as you always do instead of any real breakfast. You think there’s no point in taking more time, and I agree with you — it’s way more efficient to eat something small in order to prepare for the day ahead when you’ll eat again in only a few hours from now anyways. And if you don’t feel like eating anything, I don’t push you on it. Surely you know better.

I propel you out the door. Forwards, faster, faster.

You are already there at work. Tireless, focused on our daily tasks. You don’t hear anyone else and no one bothers to communicate with you, even if a few of your peers have started to learn sign language. I think these people might want to make friends with you solely for the novelty of having a deaf friend — why else would people learn? You’re the only one here.

These people would be disappointed if real attempts at conversation were made with you. You’ve had no friends for your whole life, and you know that, and you’ve lost any hopes that you could ever make a real friend, even online.

A hand waves in the space in front of you, owner hidden behind a wall. Ineffective if you don’t see the face, though the face sees you. You make some vague gesture and a feigned smile (I do it for you! I’m so helpful!) and the face nods and leaves. I’ve done the job for the day, so I get up and leave. Almost feels like you’re trailing behind, lost in the missed opportunity.

It's fine.

You don’t need to talk to anyone. And nobody needs to talk to you.

You're better off like this.

Am I sure? Yes, I am. The last time you talked to someone, it backfired. I did something wrong and the person didn’t tell me what I did and just left. So why should I ever try again? People are always, always going to be disappointed in me. All I can do is screw up and make mistakes.

You think it can’t always be the case. But I know it’s always been the case.

***

I eat a quickly-prepared dinner — a paper cup of dried noodles, filled with boiled water — and go online for a few hours, then return to the bed. Finally. Bedtime is when you can’t think of everything plaguing you.

What, are you really being plagued? I thought it was fine.

Your nose crinkles and you feel your eyes fill up. You shut them tight and I tighten my arms around you, trying to assure you. But all you feel is your arms around yourself.

***

You repeat the same routine, again and again and again.

Why don’t you have any friends? Why are the only people you can talk to all online, in another language, the one you don’t speak but have managed to learn to such a proficient degree you are basically the best at socializing there?

Why can’t you do this in real life?

Well, I answer you one night, as you and I lie in bed together. I stroke your hair, giving you the same affection you are so desperate for. You can’t be loved. If people knew the real you, you would be hated as you used to be.

But, isn’t it worth it to at least try? You rub your own arm. It’s the same temperature as you, and on cheaply bought fabric, you feel nothing. Can you really live like this forever?

I don’t think you can. But what’s the alternative, me? Try and get hurt again? What if you actually felt like dying after making one more mistake? I could just never make any mistakes again. After all, I can’t be hurt if I never mess up! If I don’t try! I can take care of myself just fine.

It’s fine.

***

A hole grows in my chest as you and I keep doing the same thing over and over. Why can’t I keep going? It’s ridiculous. I can’t feel pain, I can’t feel emotions, I can’t feel anything. I’m invulnerable! I should be able to do everything all by myself! I scoff and shrug it off. Must all be in my head. It doesn’t matter.

You hold a palm against your chest. Your stomach feels so small now — you haven’t been eating properly. You know you can’t. You’re so picky you don’t eat many vegetables, but when you buy them, they all expire faster than you can figure out what to do with them. You waste them and other ingredients in an ill-advised attempt to try new foods.

It’s okay, I think. If I can keep cooking the same things, I’ll be fine. I’m not even that bad of a cook! Everything you make tastes good. And you can keep getting the pre-prepared cold meals at the cafe during work lunches. You can tolerate those and there’s never any surprises which means there’s no bad textures! Haha, wouldn’t it be absolutely terrible if I tried something new and it made me so sick I remembered a bad time of my life?

No new foods, no new flashbacks.

After the fifth time eating the same food this week, you feel so nauseous you only eat snacks for the rest of the week.

***

I focus on the same things, the same routines, foods, work, and online people who greet me as soon as I step into their chatrooms. Hello! Good morning! I’m so good at this. I don’t even have to do anything new, but this is just enough stimulation to keep me from going insane!

I don't think I am sane.

Wait, what? I turn around to look at you, sitting on the bed in our cramped apartment room. Your lip quivers as you think of everything bad I’ve been doing and — no, no, no! What are you doing? I can’t confront all this! You can’t do this to me!

I’m going to sleep, I decide. You tuck yourself under the bedsheets and your eyes prickle. You grind your teeth and glare at me.

You shouldn’t be treating yourself like this.

But why would I do anything else? This carries the least risk, I’m protecting you, this is—

It’s not fine! You hiss at me as hot, salty tears escape your eyes. Fuck. You’re sick! You’re sick of this! Are you really living if you do the exact same thing every day? Am I really living if I obsess over getting every single detail right and panic when anything ever changes? For fuck’s sake, I messed up that interaction with that friend, the friend should have hated me, but — it turned out well! Am I supposed to believe that the friend really still likes me?!

Maybe you should!

I fucked up!

And you apologized, and learned from it!

You wanted to say more to yourself, but you fell asleep in your fit.

***

You get up one day and make yourself a breakfast. It isn’t the right foods, I don’t even think these are what people eat for breakfast — but you don’t care. You enjoy the fresh, new texture and warmth of something cooked for once. It’s… it’s so warm.

I really, really don’t want to do what you’re thinking. I protest and complain. But you shove me aside and sit down at the computer and type in a search for a professional. For our physical health? No, for our— I said our mental health was fine! What are you doing?! Securing an appointment with a therapist? I didn’t even know you could make an appointment online! Fine, go ahead, I’m sure there can’t be any in our language — what? There’s… one?

...

You swallow your fear and take a day of work off and go to the therapist.

For the first time in years, you make eye contact with another human being. They smile at you and ask you to pour your problems out to them.

I can’t!

They ask you a question. Against my will, fighting yourself— you answer.

You leave in tears and cry openly as you walk past other people. They might stare, but I don’t— I don’t care. Really. I choke back a sob. I haven’t let myself cry in forever.

You wave to an acquaintance and they return the wave with a smile — but the smile drops as I shriek at you, telling you to leave them alone, they don’t deserve you. You ask them if you could join them for lunch, and in a slower version of your sign language, they say you can’t.

“It’s okay,” I say, and take my own seat in the cafe, scarcely holding back the tidal force of emotions threatening to overwhelm me. An attempt at friendship, failed. Failed. AGAIN.

You and I fight upon our return home, screaming and wailing and pulling at hair. I knew it! Having emotions is way too much! So… why… can’t I throw them away? As usual?

***

You try to be kind to me, but I slap it away, saying I don’t even deserve this. Why would I? It’s not kindness to bother other people. I can keep to myself, can’t I? Why did YOU TRY? What was the fucking point if you failed again?

I openly sabotage your attempts online at making amends with your friends, self-depreciating, lashing out at myself, saying I’m not worthy of them. They look at you with only concern and confusion. I shut the window and distract myself with a game I’ve played before. More of the same. More of this comfort.

You think it’s stifling. You don’t know what to do when you keep reverting back to who you still are and you can’t seem to be someone new.

But… you’ve been learning, little by little. You know what the outdoors are like, now. You take a brief time each day to go out and take in the fresh air.

You stop when the snow and cold comes. It’s too much of a hassle putting on all the clothes.

I’m just another shut-in.

***

I share a nice moment with a friend online. I tell myself afterwards, of course it couldn’t last forever. They had to sleep and if it wasn’t them, it’d be me, being unable to stay up for them. I would do anything for them.

You do nothing for yourself.

***

You vent and vent and vent, and your friends in the chatroom are concerned about you but can’t say much. You ask for someone to acknowledge you. They do.

Of course they can’t read your mind. But you’ve always wanted the unspoken, what you can’t ask for, what you can’t force other people to do.

I don’t love you. But then, you don’t love me either — you’re sick of me always arguing with you, screaming at you, that I know the best for you, I know what is best. I DO know what is for the best. And what’s for the best is that you AREN’T a burden on your friends. And on yourself! You don’t selfharm, you don’t starve yourself, you don’t call yourself names anymore.

I don’t know, you think. I think I keep making excuses and finding other ways to hurt myself. I’m fooling myself that I’ve been avoiding hurting myself, because I have been this whole time.

…how?

You self-isolate. You force yourself to eat foods you’ve grown sick of. You never try any new games, movies, shows, or read books. You don’t seek out new things — only what your friends recommend you, and you don’t start conversations — you only join existing ones online because saying something and getting no response is terrifying to you. Doing the same things over and over ruins you. You even shrug off new possibilities from people who ask you questions to bond with you.

I’m sorry. But what else can I do?

You take my hand and squeeze, looking yourself in the tired eyes.

Let yourself be yourself. Allow yourself to enjoy new things. And, slowly but surely, disprove me that I won’t always be hurt or hurt others when I mess up.

I nod. I leave a message to my friends, apologizing for hurting myself that way. And I tell them I’d like to talk to them. They’re more than happy.

We walk outside and feel the sun on our face. You, the future, lead, and I, the past, follow, trying to trust in your guidance.

Together we live in the present.