Page 215 of Tell Me I'm Enough

“I’m not feeling anything. I was just curious aboutyourjourney.”

I hate the way the lie feels. But I just can’t…can’t say out loud how this feels. I can’t admit to being such a failure.

He doesn’t call me on it, just lets it pass.

“It can be different for everyone,” he says. “For me, it was restlessness. I couldn’t sleep. Couldn’t focus. Everything felt like too much—every thought and every sensory input, like lights and sounds. I was pissed all the time for no reason. And the nightmares…the nightmares got really bad. When I just wanted to escape in my sleep, my sleep became torture too.”

I laugh under my breath. “I can relate to that last part.”

I can relate to all of it.

“Yeah,” he says, not pushing for more.

Bash always seems so calm, but there’s depth there. The weight of his own baggage always with him.

“The hardest part,” he goes on, “was realizing alcohol wasn’t the problem. It was just the solution I picked.”

Hmm. Yeah. I hate that it’s the solution I picked. It’s really doing a shit job right now.

“It worked,” he says simply. “Until it didn’t. And then it just made everything worse.”

“So what’d you do instead?” I ask. “When it got bad.”

“I sat with it,” he says. “Hated it. White-knuckled it. I would call and talk to people I didn’t want to but knew I needed to, or check in with people I knew would be there for me when I was struggling. Sometimes I just put it all into something physical—running, working out, or even a simple walk when I was feeling a little too lazy and self-loathing. Sometimes I just…didn’t do anything and let the urge pass.”

“That actually works?” I ask.

“Eventually,” he says. “Not right away…but yeah. Urges peak and fall like waves. You just gotta not drown in the middle of it.”

I stare at the dark window across the room. “Feels like I’m drowning right now,” I finally admit.

“I know,” he says. And the way he says it makes my chest loosen a notch. There’s no pity or feeling sorry for me in his tone. “But you’re still on the phone and not in the liquor cabinet. That counts.”

I huff. “That’s a low bar to have.”

“Still counts, though.”

He doesn’t say anything else, just waiting for more from me if I want to give it.

“Hey,” Bash says gently. “You don’t have to be strong all the time.”

I scoff. “Yeah, I kinda do.”

“No,” he counters. “You just have to be honest.”

I don’t answer, and he doesn’t pry.

“Can you do something for me?” he asks after a moment.

“What’s up?”

“Can you keep checking in with me?”

He doesn’t have to say anything else, doesn’t have to over-explain himself. He just offers his hand and lets me decide to take it or not.

“Um…yeah. Yeah, I think I can do that.”

“I’m always here, Mase. And I’ll always try to answer, no matter the time. I’m kind of a heavy sleeper, but you caught me on a night I was up watching—”