Dear Ana: A Novel

Dear Ana,

It’s been a while. I haven’t felt the need to write. I haven’t felt the need to do anything really. This world only gave me two options––feel pain or feel nothing.

I chose nothing.

On the last day we talked, after I found out that I couldn’t leave, I went dark, Ana. Darker than I have ever been before. I couldn’t even remember what it felt like to not feel that way. It hurt at first until it didn’t anymore, and I was desensitized. My pain didn’t disappear, but it was dulled down. There was something incredibly satisfying about soaking up all my loneliness and sadness until it consumed me. The negative thoughts swirling around in my brain were oddly fulfilling, probably because I knew nothing bad could come from them. I could never get crushed with disappointment when disappointment was all I ever expected. I found that it was easier to pretend when I just drank up all my anguish and used it as fuel, instead of wasting my time and energy hoping for a happily ever after that I knew would never come.

My only goal when I started university was to meet some new people to help pass the time, and I did. I made some friends on my very first day of school but somehow ended up losing them all by my last day. The cycle started again in my sophomore year when my friend Sahar started as a freshman and introduced me to her friends. It didn’t take long to realize that I truly had nothing in common with them, which defeated the purpose of using them as a distraction, so I stopped trying. One day they stopped trying too.

I did stop for a moment after that and wonder what was wrong with me. I mean, besides the mess of absolute fuckery that made up my brain. What was wrong with me that made talking to people such a horrible experience? What was wrong with me that I couldn’t seem to make friends, without being so excruciatingly awkward? What was wrong with me that I couldn’t hold a single conversation without wanting to bolt halfway through? I used to think that I just wasn’t meeting the right people, but how was it possible that I still hadn’t met the right people? I was always so preoccupied with what people thought about me and how people saw me, but I think my real fear was that they would see me the same way I saw me . . . which unfortunately was the real me.

I wish I was more sociable and charismatic, Ana. I wish it didn’t scare me to be perceived as an imperfect human, who had opinions and real experiences. I hated that being around others suffocated me, but I also hated how much I needed them around, so I continued to match people’s energy and morph myself into exactly what they wanted. I continued to cling to anyone that could tolerate me, even when I couldn’t tolerate them.

I eventually started a new job at this call center. I hated it. The only thing worse than talking to people was talking to people on the phone. People seemed to think basic human decency could get thrown out the window if they couldn’t see the person they were speaking to, but I had no choice. My dad came back for good last summer, and I needed a job that paid better than my previous part-time gig. So I went to work every day and got yelled at for eight hours straight with a smile plastered on my face, while I rotted away internally.

Until something strange happened. It was on a Saturday and I worked from seven AM to three-thirty PM, as usual. The place was pretty empty at that time except for a handful of people, which included two girls. I didn’t know them, but I always saw them on the days I worked so I assumed they were on a student schedule like me. I walked into work and headed straight for my usual cubicle that was alone in the corner, my eyes flickering to the girls who were chatting and laughing . . . then my feet turned direction, and I found myself pulling out the chair in the empty cubicle next to them. They immediately turned to see who it was, and I braced myself for the uncomfortable silence that was sure to follow, but they just smiled.

“Hey, I’m Dima,” the one directly beside me said. “This is Zara.”

“Hi, I’m Maya. Is this seat saved for anyone? Sorry that I just sat here,” I replied awkwardly.

“No, you’re good,” she assured me. I nodded and logged into my computer while they continued their conversation. I tried not to eavesdrop and listen to what they were saying, but eventually, I glanced at Zara and that’s when I noticed that she was looking at me while she talked. She was . . . including me in the conversation.

And that was the end of it. There was no official discussion or uncomfortable moment. I was already their friend, and it was great. They were exactly what I was looking for. They were nice and funny, and holding a conversation with them was so simple and easy. I started looking forward to going to work because I always had so much fun with them. Later that week, they introduced me to their other friend Hana.

Those first few months were probably the happiest I’d ever been––ordering pizza during our Friday night shifts and going to Starbucks on our breaks early in the morning. But as always, my happiness came with a price. A price whose name was Mikhail.

It happened today, Sunday, at around eleven AM. It’s been about three months since I met the girls and I was sitting beside Hana, with Dima and Zara on her other side. I was in the middle of helping a customer add some channels to their TV package when I heard her gasp loudly.

“Guys, did you know that Mikhail’s little sister works here?” she asked in shock, and my fingers froze on the keyboard.

“No way,” Zara said. “How do you know?”

“I was looking for Jeffrey’s name in the chat support so I could message him, and I saw her name on the list of people who work here. Maya Ibrahim.”

It took them a second, but I eventually felt three pairs of eyes look at me. I rearranged my face into an acceptable expression before turning toward them. “Yeah . . . that’s me.”

“That’s so funny, I had no idea you were his sister.”

“How do you know Mikhail?”

“He used to work here,” she said, giving me a weird look. “You didn’t know that?”

Of course I didn’t know. If I did, I never would have stepped foot in that place.

“I knew he worked at a call center, but I didn’t realize it was this one,” I lied. “Did you . . . know him well?”

“Yeah, I did actually,” she replied hesitantly. My nerves were frantic at that point, and I braced myself for what she was about to say because I knew it had to be terrible. How could I excuse his behavior? How could I convince them that his actions didn’t define me? How was he capable of ruining my life at home and at work? I could never break free––

“He’s amazing,” she continued, interrupting my panicked thoughts, and I inhaled sharply. “See, I was engaged before, but it didn’t work out. I was in a really bad place and Mikhail helped me through it. He let me vent and cry about my ex-fiancé for months, without complaining once. He was a huge comfort for me . . .”

I wanted to cover my ears. I wanted to yell at her to shut up, to stop speaking, to stop lying to me, but I was frozen in my seat. As much as her words pained me and I was desperate for her talking to come to an end, I also craved more. I ached to hear everything and anything about the kind and loving stranger she was telling me about.

“Anyway, I miss him. How is he doing?”

Hana’s words were still swirling around feverishly, constricting my airways in their path. I attempted to clear my throat anyway so I could answer.

“He’s good,” I told her, the words burning my mouth with their acidity on the way out. “He’s doing really, really good.”

“I’m happy to hear that,” she said sincerely. “You’re so lucky to have him, Maya. Tell him I said hi, okay?”

I nodded curtly and took myself out of available status so I wouldn’t get a call. “I’ll be back.”

I made sure to keep my steps slow and casual as I walked to the bathroom. I made sure to close the door gently and lock it securely behind me. I made sure to turn the tap on full blast so that no one could hear me, but nothing could drown out the words ringing loudly in my ears.

Was this it, then? Could I never escape him? He was always with me, even when he wasn’t. Everywhere I went, his shadow followed. Every thought, every word, every emotion was tainted by his existence. Hana said I was lucky, but lucky how? Lucky because I had a brother who was capable of showing affection to everyone except for me?

I didn’t want to believe it. I always wondered how he had so many friends, and how he had a girlfriend that was so loyal she could seemingly forgive even the most terrible things. But then I’d remember all the disgusting and horrific stuff he’d done to me and I would force the thought out of my mind.

I couldn’t force it out in that moment, though. It burst through my shield of numbness, and thoroughly intoxicated every corner and crevice in my body. The kind words they said about him carefully lacerated every fiber of my willpower into a puddle of goo on the bathroom floor. I hastily ripped a handful of napkins from the dispenser and shoved them into my mouth to keep from screaming, but they did nothing to block out the pain. I thought I knew pain, Ana. I thought I had felt pain. I thought I had experienced the worst pain this world had to offer, but this? The pain of not being good enough to be treated like a sister, or like a fucking human being? The pain of not being worthy of his kindness that I now knew existed? It was clawing at my chest and searing poison through my veins. For years, I convinced myself he was a monster through and through. I told myself he wasn’t capable of loving anything or anyone, but I had it all wrong, Ana. He is capable of loving . . . he just isn’t capable of loving me. He isn’t even capable of liking me, and that knowledge was enough to pulverize me into dust.

I spit the napkins into the trash and splashed some water on my face, but the tears were still streaming full force, causing my blurry reflection to shift . . .

“Why do you hate me?” I asked his glaring face. “I didn’t give you a chance to answer last time, but I’m giving you a chance now. Please, tell me what I’m doing wrong. What do they have that I don’t?”

I wiped away the tears so I could read his moving lips, but Mikhail wasn’t there anymore. I stared, eyes wide and determined, before redirecting my gnawing question at her instead.

“What did you do to him?”

She blinked but stayed quiet.

“What. Did. You. Do?” I repeated louder, leaning my head in closer.

Still no response.

This was why I was so determined to keep surrounding myself with people, Ana. Even when we didn’t have anything in common, or when it made me feel painfully uncomfortable. It wasn’t because I wanted friends, or because I had suddenly switched over and became an extrovert overnight. It was because people proved that I existed. I had isolated myself for so long that all I had to keep me company was my mind, which was filled with sadness, self-hatred and doubt. Doubt that started as a small seed, and then gradually grew every time Mikhail watered it with his gas-lighting words, and my parent’s naivety to how dangerous he truly was. Now it was a full-grown tree, its thick roots coiled tightly around every cell and membrane. I couldn’t trust my own brain anymore. I couldn’t trust my memories or my thoughts, and I couldn’t decipher between what was real and what I had convinced myself was real. Until one day, I couldn’t even tell if I was real anymore.

But people changed that. When my friends looked at me, and talked to me, and hung out with me . . . that’s when I knew I was real. So I forced myself to be a small blur in a big crowd. Not noticeable enough to be the center of attention, but just enough that once in a while people would glance my way and confirm that I was still there.

Mikhail broke my body, Ana, but the worst thing he ever did was break my mind. He always said that he was trying to make me better, but all he did was ruin me.

“Why can’t you remember?” I demanded, pounding my fists against her head roughly. “Try harder, think harder, why does he hate you?” Another tear slipped from one of her eyes and she flinched away from my harsh words. “Why does he hate us?”

I counted to ten and waited but she just looked at me silently, her face clouded with shame and disgust. I guess I’ll never know.