Softly Smiling, Silently Suffering

Girls remember it all, you know. 

Talking by day. Texting by night. 

Smiling randomly when your name popped up out of the blue. 

Blushing when someone pointed it out. 

We remember pretending to have a question about assignments just to start a conversation

and conveniently finding a “shortcut” past the building you were just in for class.

We remember finding you (and, yes, your ex and your friends) on social media. 

We remember rejoicing when you followed back. 

We remember looking calm, cool, and collected each time you passed 

while, in actuality, our brains had turned to mush, our hearts were racing a mile a minute, and our faces reached that vermilion tint that could put even the rose to shame. 

We remember shyness and nerves. Waiting and patience. 

We remember when friendship turned into flirting and when flirting turned into Idon’tknowwhatthehellishappeningbutIreallylikewherethingsaregoing.

Louder laughs.

Lighter steps.

We remember singing in the shower and dancing in our rooms and squealing with our friends and dreaming dangerously delightful dreams. 

Genuine compliments—the sweet kind. 

Real conversations—the layered ones that made all others seem as shallow as tidal pools. 

Your charming smile. Your nervous grin. Your kind eyes. Your authenticity. Yep. You sure made an impression. We were caught and captivated. 

Then there was 

The way you always held the door.

The way you hugged at the end of the night.

The way your presence made hours seem like mere minutes.

The way your company made talking seem as easy and natural as breathing. 

The way, when you opened up, you made your brokenness—that foggy, hellish, living nightmare known as depression—look less like an impassable mountain to climb and more like a slightly bearable wave to ride. 

The way, all the ways, you were. 

For the first time, perhaps for the first time ever, we remember not just appearing, but feeling 

cute and pretty and hot and gorgeous and beautiful and smart and funny and...and...everything else.

We remember feeling wanted and needed and desired. 

We remember feeling a little less alone. 

You should know that girls remember it all. 

You should know that I remember it all. 

And it all makes me now question why.  

Why are you so distant? 

Why are you so cautious? 

Why do you pretend like those weeks, those months never really happened? 

Like those texts were never sent? Those calls were never connected? 

That line was never crossed? 

Why are you scared?

Did you care? Do you care at all?  

And why did I let myself become such a wreck? 

A fucking mess. 

A ball curled up on a cold dorm room floor. 

A calorie-counter fighting wars with my meals. 

A rectangular reflection hurling punishment and critique at the glass.  

A girl who got everything she ever wanted and still felt like nothing all summer long.

Whiplash. Mood swings. Sad songs. Long drives. Lashing out. Temper lost. Armor cracked. Workaholic. A bottle of red. Writing well into night. Lying awake until dawn. Wondering and waiting. Hoping too much and living too little. 

52 weeks.

All because of you.

52 weeks. 

You led me on.  

52 weeks. 

False hope. 

My misplaced faith.  

It took a whole year for me to admit these truths out loud. 

And the worst part is I hate myself more than I could ever resent you.  

Yes, I remember it all. 

And look at us now. 

Try as I might, I’m still not over it. Over you. 

And we see each other every other day.  

We talk...sometimes…but not in the way I want, not in the way I need. 

Eye to eye. Face to face. Honestly. Vulnerably. 

Look at me now. 

Idon’tknowwhatthehellishappeningandIreallyhatewherethingsaregoing.

I’m avoiding that friend who only ever talks about boys. 

Ignoring those family phone calls that often do the same. 

Silently asking myself the same questions on a loop. Over and over again.  

More writing. More sad songs. 

Building my resume. Adding task after task and list after list. 

Business as usual. 

Throwing myself into classes, a magazine, a new job, and to theater.  

Becoming a role model. Becoming a leader. Gratefully seeking distraction from posing as either. 

Behold the rewards I fought to earn and keep. 

More calories counted. Less meals consumed. Enslaving exercise I engaged in way too damn much. 

Behold the punishments I, without any idea why, thought I deserved. 

One could say that I prayed. 

Did I? 

Well, if prayer is conversation and conversation is talking to a loved one and that loved one is God and God was willing to put up with and listen to a girl, a human being, who was mad at Him—

Then, sure, I prayed. I prayed in an infuriatingly challenging way like I never have before. 

I asked God…

I’m asking God why He teased and taunted me. 

Why exactly you ever entered my life. 

Why 21 years have passed without even one committed relationship.  

Why I’m not good enough and what I did wrong.  

I’ve been telling God I’m ready. 

Telling Him I’m waiting. 

I’ve yet to still hear back. 

And meanwhile, I’ve been trying to convince myself I’m not desperate.  

Key word? Trying. 

Failing? Maybe. 

Amen? Amen. 

My weekly schedule—

Wishing there was someone else who would see beyond just my body. 

Because I want attention beyond cat calls and distasteful DMs. 

Wishing there was someone else who would pick my brain. 

I love silly banter. I love intelligent expositions even more. 

Wishing there was someone else who would talk to me with their eyes. 

Like you did. 

Almost always on the schedule—

More crying than singing in the shower nowadays. 

Hoping to see you. Wishing to want to avoid you. Unexpectedly running into you everywhere. 

Why can’t human beings just turn back time? 

Often on the schedule—

Boasting one hell of a social media highlight reel. Inwardly seething at every hand-holding, heart-emoji-ing post on my feed. Trying to make you jealous. Trying to make myself feel seen. 

Normally on the schedule—

“Ok Maddy. Stay calm. Deep breath. Keep it in check. Seize the day. Grin and bear it. Smile and wave. Stay positive. Be happy.” 

Every so often on the schedule—

“Fuck it.”

Run! Scream! Cry! 

Flirt! Flirt! Flirt! Flirt! Flirt! 

just to try to Forget! Forget! Forget!

Because Boys! Make! Me! Mad! 

And You! Make! Me! Sad! 

And I...I...I…

I don’t know anything anymore.

I don’t know how to feel anymore. 

And the other worst part is I can’t bring myself to say that I regret any of it. I’m still trying to see the best in you. 

God, I think it’s worse than a break-up. At least actual exes made it past square one. Didn’t have to spend eternity teeter-tottering on that tightrope between friends and significant others. Single and dating. 

Actual exes have a reason to unfollow without guilt. Can bring themselves to eventually press block. Would have a steady rain of friends to pull you in a hug, exclaiming, “He didn’t deserve you anyway!”, rather than an unpredictable storm of hastily, naively confided in acquaintances who drag you in with blank stares, pitiful eyes, and a kind, but scathing “So what’s happening with you two?”

Actual exes have treasured memories, not mocking “what if’s.” They’re moving forward, not revolving in circles. They know what to look for because they’ve already gotten the affirmation that they can love and be loved in return. 

A glass of white.

A mood of black.

Flashes of hot angry red. 

Your haunting eyes of hazel. 

Colors no longer look magical when you’re stuck in limbo.

Hope no longer helps when trust is hard to be had.

And believe me when I say that my trust will be much harder for others to have. 

And what do I have? 

Exhaustion. Hurt. Emotional overwhelming-ness. 

I’m mad. I’m sad. I’m sometimes a liar. 

But, here’s a truth…

I’ll still be everyone else’s bubbly cheerleader and go-to girl. 

I wouldn’t get through the day if I didn’t. 

I wouldn’t actually be me if I wasn’t. 

But, you should understand—

I want you to understand—

I need you to understand—

Why can’t you understand—

ThatIdon’tknowwhatthehellisgoingtohappen

andIreallyamjustsodonewitheverything

andincaseyouwerewonderingyesthisiswhatisrunningthroughmymindwhenIsmileandwaveandpretendeverythingisfineandsay”I’mgoodhowareyou?”

andIthinkIshouldSTARTPUTTINGALLTHESEWORDSINALLCAPS

BECAUSEIALWAYSIMAGINETHATI’MSCREAMINGTHESEWORDSEVENTHOUGH

MYPERSONALITYANDNATUREMAKEMEINTERNALIZEEVERYTHINGALLTHETIME

ANDKEEPMYTEMPERANDEMOTIONSINCHECKAND—

Wait, what? 

You actually texted back? 

Oh, you’re sorry? It’s a shame I don’t fully believe you. Do you even know what you’re apologizing for? 

Ha. HA. Wow. Ok. 

I remember it all. 

I don’t want to remember it all. 

I will remember it all. 

Will you? 

Spring 2022