chapter thirty-one
I HAVEN’T LEFT THE confines of my apartment in two days. I haven’t even changed out of my pajamas. Tara has undertaken the task of brushing my unruly troll hair every day. It’s a painful experience, because she brushes straight from the root—not the middle—like a monster. I’m surprised I’m not entirely bald.
I hate feeling like this. I hate that I’ve let the haters win. And it makes me feel like my entire platform has been a lie. How am I supposed to preach self-love and body positivity when I’ve allowed myself to get so caught up in the negativity?
By now, I’d hoped to have some grand epiphany. To come up with a game plan to move forward with my Instagram. But instead, I’m in zombie mode. Just existing. Eat, sleep, repeat.
After I refuse to leave the couch, Tara calls in reinforcements. Mel barges into my apartment with a full carton of clementines. Immediately, I begin to ugly-cry, Kim Kardashian–style. In Mel’s defense, she doesn’t know the sentimental meaning of these adorable, innocent citrus fruits. All I can think about is the smile on Scott’s face when I peeled them for him.
“God, you are a mess, Crystal,” Mel says, not bothering to hide her displeasure as she takes in the absolute disaster that is my normally tidy apartment. She frowns at the dirty dishes piled in my sink, the used tissues littering the coffee table, and the soda cracker crumbs smeared into my couch. Because of my state, Tara has started cleaning up after me, but her initiative is still spotty at best.
Mel inches onto the tiny patch of couch that isn’t covered in crumbs. She pats my back as I go back and forth between sobbing and blowing my raw nose.
I finally come up for air. “I’m sorry, Mel. I’ve been a selfish asshole. How are you doing?”
She shakes her head, vaguely waving me off, as if her life is the last thing she wants to discuss. “I’m fine. Really. I got a partnership with this super-cute swimwear brand.”
“I’m so happy for you,” I tell her genuinely. Despite my own sadness, digesting someone else’s good news is actually a welcome change. “How are things with Peter?” I ask after a couple moments of silence. I don’t know Peter on a personal level, aside from the time Scott and I went on a double date with them at the rock-climbing gym. He’s one of those guys with a resting bored face who’s under the delusion he’s too intellectually superior for pedestrian activities like rock climbing. He also exclusively watches television for educational purposes, never for entertainment. Scott called him “cardboard” and bet me they wouldn’t last longer than a few more months, given their lack of literally anything in common.
Mel’s shoulders rise and fall, as if exasperated. “I dunno. Okay, I guess. We still can’t agree on anything. Ever. Like, the other night, I was really looking forward to hanging out when he got off work, but he said no because he wanted alone time. Even after I tried to entice him with a blow job.”
Tara juts her chin forward. “You offered a blow job and he still didn’t want to come over?”
“Nope. And I rarely offer blow jobs. I thought for sure he’d pounce on it. Do you think that’s a bad sign?”
Tara frowns. “I mean, I’ve never met him. I can’t judge his life and motivations. Though I’ve never known a guy to turn down a blow job.”
I grimace, dazed. “Scott is the only person I’ve ever wanted to be around all the time, even when my shits-to-give reserve was low.”
The past few days without Scott Landon Ritchie have been dull. It’s like the vibrant, warm preset filter has been stripped away, leaving only gloomy darkness. Everything is empty. His spot on my couch, his side of my bed, the lack of his infectious, full-body laughter echoing through my apartment.
I miss watching outrageously long movies together. Him asking a million questions, confused because he fell asleep for ten minutes and missed a crucial scene.
Mel discreetly brushes some of the cracker crumbs off my couch. “Have you talked since?”
“No.” Scott hasn’t bombarded me with calls and texts, and I don’t know whether I should feel relieved or worse about it. Though he did leave one voicemail, which said “Crys, I . . . I’m so sorry about responding to those comments. When you’re ready, please call me.”
“I still don’t get why you’re taking space from him. Especially after he told you he loved you,” Mel says.
“But he told me at the worst possible time. And when he first said it, I didn’t even believe it. That’s how far gone I am right now.”
“Seriously? Of course he loves you. I really don’t know why you’re doing this to yourself,” Tara adds, joining us after tidying the kitchen. Instead of curling up on the end of the couch, she nestles herself on top of me, feet dangling on Mel’s lap like a gigantic baby.
As much as I want to call him at any given moment to tell him I love him, that I’ll go back to my old, confident self, I can’t.
“Not until I’m back on track,” I say. “I can’t risk breaking his heart again until I shake this. And I’m still a little mad at him.”
Tara shoots me a furious stare. “It isn’t Scotty’s fault your confidence took a dip. It’s the trolls’. You can’t blame him for that. He was just trying to protect you. Sure, he went about it all wrong. But he also had the best of intentions. And if I’m being honest, I kind of agree with him. I’m worried about you too.”
I glare at her. “Seriously?”
“Look, you’ve become obsessed with this body-positivity thing to your detriment. You’ve let a bunch of idiotic, jealous internet haters affect you so badly that you’ve lost your relationship over it.”
“He still went behind my back,” I remind them stubbornly.
Mel rolls her eyes. “There were some nasty comments about him too, you know. Why is he not allowed to stand up for himself, if not you? It’s not all about you.”
She has a point. There were awful comments about him too, not just me. Have I really been that selfish?
I bury my face in my hands, ashamed of my misplaced blame. “Well, it doesn’t matter. The only way to avoid this is to delete my entire account. And giving my platform up isn’t a question.”
“Whatever you decide, you can’t continue on like this. It’s not sustainable,” Mel warns.
“It has to be.”
Mel passes me more tissues as I begin to hiccup. “You don’t need to be so strong and confident at all times, Crystal. Even if you’re a trainer. The curvy community doesn’t need you to defend them. We’re perfectly fine. What we need is you to be the best you can be.”
I sigh. “And that’s the worst part. After all is said and done, I don’t feel my best. And it feels like I’m living a lie. How can you be so positive all the time, Mel? It’s like you don’t let anything bother you, ever.”
She levels with me, stone-faced. “Therapy. Ever since I got Insta-famous, or whatever you want to call it, I see my therapist once every two weeks and she’s a miracle worker.”
I tilt my head, considering. “Maybe I could look into it.”
“And I am positive, most of the time,” Mel continues. “Just like you are. I may not give two shits about the comments anymore, but I still have days where I don’t love everything about myself. It’s normal.”
Tara nods, resting her head on my shoulder. “You’re putting unfair pressure on yourself, Crystal. Everyone doubts themselves sometimes. It’s part of being human. Especially after what you’ve been through.”
I struggle to take in their words. “I guess so.”
After Mel leaves, I find myself scrolling through my Feedback email folder. It’s where I save all the final messages from my clients after they’ve completed their programs. I pull up one from Jennifer—one of my favorites.
Hi Crystal,
I can’t believe how fast these few months have gone by. I can’t tell you how much your support has meant to me. I never had the confidence to go to the gym and lift weights. That all changed when we had our first meeting and you told me that no one else is actually paying attention. You gave me that kick-ass playlist and for the first time, I felt empowered.
I’ve progressed so much both in the gym and mentally. You’ve convinced me that eating one bad meal isn’t going to erase my progress. I no longer count calories or obsess over weighing my portions. I’m happy now, for the first time in years. Some days are better than others . . . but as you said, as long as the good days outweigh the bad days, that’s what counts.
I can’t recommend you enough. You’re more than just a fitness trainer. I’ll always consider you one of my best friends.
Love you!
Jennifer
I spend the entire evening reading these emails. If there’s one common thread among all my past clients, it’s that they were well on their way on their journey to self-acceptance. Sure, they didn’t love themselves every single second of every day. And I reassured them that was okay. That as long as there was more love than loathing, they were on the right track.
Maybe I was onto something.