Down the Drain

by Julia Fox

As much as I appreciate the help, I hate that I’m turning into my mom, a single parent being helped by her father. I remind myself that I’m different. My mom stayed in her miserable marriage. I did not. I had the will to change. I won’t pass down the generational trauma to my kid.

In all our years of coming to Miami, we’d heard about the Gatsby-like parties he throws.

His annoying friend from the car pulls me aside and whispers in my ear, “You’re doing entirely way too much. You need to chill out.”

As I look at all the other girls, I realize I’m not like them. They’re beautiful, but they willingly fade into the background, waiting for their come-up. They’re party decorations, ornaments to be admired. I’m not like that anymore. I already had my come-up, and I’m not going back to being objectified and used as fuel for the egos of insecure men.

A part of me kind of feels like a show monkey, but I’ve been performing my whole life, so what’s the big deal?

I decide that I’m going to do what the fuck I want.

“I can’t be friends with you if you don’t sign it,” he warns me. “I’ll live,” I text back.

I don’t want men to like me anymore. I’m over it. I’m reclaiming my body and rejecting the notion that I exist only to be visually pleasing.

It’s okay to live with regret. It’s not okay to let it consume you.

I mean that sometimes you have to burn your life to the ground in order to experience the life that is truly meant for you.