I haven’t really thought all that much since it happened—him on the couch, he looked so sad and desperate—like he was drowning and I had a lifeboat. I just wanted to help him, I didn’t think about how it wasn’t helping me—I hadn’t thought about how it made me feel unsafe and weirdly exposed all over again. Joah was drowning, he needed help, I could help, so I did. But at what cost? Me, I suppose. I’m the cost.
