My Favorite Terrible Thing

by Madeleine Henry

I’ve learned by now that bright charisma is usually a warning sign. The most mesmerizing people tend to be the most deceptive.

“You need to rip your story out of real life.” She said that all tensions in a novel, all emotions, have to come from somewhere real in order to resonate with people. “Careful,” she warned, “because if you do it right, you might rip yourself out of the real world too.” Almost too prescient.

In my experience, goal-oriented types are the most prone to miss something obvious. Because they only see one thing at a time. They focus on their current project. The rest can slip past them.

“Last weekend is what happens when I get stuck in a good memory. The bad ones? Those are worse than nightmares because I know my memories are real.”

“Most people have strong feelings, then let them go,” she says. “It’s part of becoming an adult. Learning how to—lose. Bad ideas. Friendships that ran their course. Goals that aren’t worth it in the end. Growing up is giving up on the right things.”

It took me a while to realize that she was always—inside herself, if that makes sense. She was always swept up in some idea, some fantasy. No matter where she went, she was in her own mind. And up there, I guess, it never got cold.

And now we’re finding that trauma isn’t just about what happens to you. It’s about what doesn’t happen. It’s about all the good times that you didn’t have. All the good people who weren’t there. It’s harder to measure what never existed, but that’s what we’re starting to do. We’re measuring what was missing. We’re taking the dimensions of those holes and their consequences. The results are extraordinary. Tragic and extraordinary. We’re finding that the longer people go without certain crucial and nourishing experiences, the deeper the damage.

I’ve worked with dozens of clients who were quietly unsatisfied with their beautiful lives but never quite starry eyed enough to jump into something new. People can succumb to the idea that life is supposed to hurt, but Claire was too romantic for that.

I’ve always had strong instincts. I was only eight years old when I first suspected that my parents weren’t safe with themselves. Maybe my judgments are sharp because they’ve always had to be, because I was always on my own.

“I am half agony, half hope. Tell me that I am not too late.”

“I think you’re being everyone you can except yourself. What are you so afraid of? I could probably answer that for you, but I think you need to answer it yourself.” A far-away part of me wants to cry.

I never know in the moment what’s going to matter. It’s only looking back that I can tell which days counted a little bit more.

“Do you know what reading is?” she continues. “If you boil it down, what it really is? It’s giving up control of your mind. When you read my book, you lent your inner voice to me—and that’s very similar to what you’re about to do. When the police arrive, and when they question you, you’ll be lending your actual voice to me.”

I’m done hiding from what’s already happened. Or, I’m ready to come back to my own life. I’m ready to face everything unfair and unstoppable about it without an obsession.