Another defense. Because holy shit, I love that man.
“There’s someone else,” I say slowly. I haven’t mentioned Marek until now. “Someone… I love. I think he cares about me, too. He was so worried about me when he saw the news. He was afraid I was one of the ones who’d been killed.”
She nods. “Remind yourself of those who would be devastated if they lost you. Remind yourself how relieved and grateful they are that you survived.”
I look up at her, my head spinning. I feel like someone just opened a window and I can see.
“Your survival is a gift. Practice sharing it with your loved ones. Do it for them. Because you love them.”
I’ve broken down and cried in front of Eve more than once. I’m not proud of it, but she doesn’t judge me. This is one of those times. I can’t believe how turning those thoughts around makes such a difference. I’ve been so self-centered, making it all about me and my guilt, and not thinking about the people who care about me. How it’s agoodthing I’m here. “Somehow I kept thinking my parents were disappointed in me.” I swipe my hands over my face. “Because my concert was ruined. The whole tour was ruined. I was convinced my career was over.”
“Because you were responsible.”
My lips twist to the side. “Yes.”
“Have they said anything that makes you believe they blame you for what happened?”
I think about that, too, and shake my head. “No. That came from me.”
Her lips lift into a near-smile.
“I felt I was letting them down because I couldn’t get right back to work. Because everything we’d worked so hard for was wrecked.”
“Is it possible that some of your childhood wounds are preventing you from working through the trauma of the accident?” she asks gently.
“Oh, great.” I make a face. “Just what I need. More wounds.”
I tend to use smartass comments when she says something that makes me uncomfortable, but I am paying attention and taking her questions seriously. I’ve talked to her at length about the things my parents drilled into me, about discipline overcoming my impulsivity and my sometimes flakiness if I wanted to succeed. Which led me to believe that I had to be perfect to succeed. And I had to succeed to make them happy.
And I remember Mabel saying if you don’t love yourself, you’re pushing people who love you away. I denied to myself that I do that. I don’t push people away—intentionally.
I’ve dated lots of guys and some of them I really liked. Even loved… although not like how I feel about Marek. But those relationships never lasted long. Sometimes it hurt, sometimes it was disappointing, sometimes I was, whatever. Although, there were times I did feel lonely.
I wrote a song about it called “By Myself” and in my head I sing the lyrics, “Fame doesn’t answer when I call its name, and love doesn’t linger—it just plays the game.”
You can have it all, be surrounded by people, and still feel alone.
I don’t think I exactly push people away, but maybe it is hard to love me… because I think I’m not perfect.
There’s no such thing as perfection.
Marek’s words slip through my mind.
“Perfectionism is really about fear,” Eve says.
I return my focus to her, my mouth working into a dubious pucker.
“Fear of making a mistake. Fear of failure. Fear of disappointing others. Does that make sense?”
That’s me. That’s totally me. “Yes.”
“It takes courage to be imperfect,” she continues. “Because youwillfail. Everyone makes mistakes. And youwilldisappoint someone. But you can live through that. Wealllive through that.”
The last few months, I’ve been anything but perfect. All that time I spent with Marek, I was a mess. I had panic attacks and nightmares. I spent all day in my pajamas. I had no structure or routine to my life—my nightmare! I neglected my music and my business and my fans. I was bitchy and lazy and neurotic. And yet he still didn’t want me to leave.
When I get home, I sit on my couch facing the floor-to-ceiling windows that overlook Los Angeles. Darkness is falling and lights sparkle and glint in a stretch to the Pacific Ocean, the Sunset Strip a glowing snake winding through the glitter. The horizon is a strip of hot pink and peach where ocean meets sky. On clear days I can even see Catalina Island from here. My house is a little box in the Hollywood Hills, but it has an amazing view.
I love Marek.
