Bottles

Sensitive Content: Mental Health (anxiety), Sexual Abuse (non-violent)

I store my feelings in bottles in the basement of my brain. The bottles sit on shelves for hours or decades and wait for me to open them. I’ll never know for sure, but I think the shelves came with the basement, there from day one waiting for the first bottle with the first self-soothed sob.

Since the first bottle, I have placed thousands of sealed-up feelings in my little basement. My negative emotions do no good for anyone or the world around me, so I feel no point in sharing them and convince myself that it is no use having them, especially if my only goal for my time on this planet is to do good. 

I empty the bottles when I am alone with my thoughts and they cannot bother anybody. For the heavy bottles, I sip and I sip and I sip but the contents never seem to run out. I save the rest for a later time. 

This process has worked for me for a long time, and I have no true interest in completely changing it any time soon. It has gotten me through friendships and relationships without any fighting, crises, or serious arguments for years. Everybody has been happy, and we have had fun, so who am I to rock the boat just because I feel a bit bad?

But I am too old to believe that keeping my negative feelings in my basement is a wise path. I would spend a lot less time and energy emptying bottle after bottle alone in my bed if I just voiced my true feelings as they came to me. No would’ve, no could’ve, no should’ve. Maintaining the facade of the peppy, agreeable robot has become too difficult. The shelves are breaking and the flood will be irreparable.

I start small. I am about to hang out with my dearest friends who have recently made a habit of making fun of my job at the movie theater. I know they mean nothing by it, and they always look like they’re having a lot of fun making little jokes about it (some of them are actually quite funny). The only thing wrong is that I really like my job, and I wish they liked it too, or at least respected it.

I walk up to their table at the coffee shop.

“How was the popcorn palace today?”

“Fine, slow.” I wouldn’t really call that an insult, just a fun name. No need to be disagreeable about it really.

“Of course it’s slow, I bet the whole movie theater business will be extinct within the next five years.”

“They’ve been saying that since Netflix came out and it’s still here.” 

“Not for long, man.” My friend is pointing at me, smirking. “You’re gonna be out of a job before the next election.” 

Usually I nod, maybe give a little chuckle, and focus on bottling my reaction and saving it on the shelf for later. Instead I decide to unleash it now just to see what happens.

“I actually really like my job. And I think it would be nice if we didn’t joke around about it so much.”

My friends are stunned. They kind of look at me confused, and I worry I’ve made them feel bad.

“I mean we can joke about my job if you want, I’m not restricting your free speech or anything you know I-”

“Dude relax! Sorry if we made you feel bad about your job, it’s actually a really cool gig.”

“Yeah we’re just jealous, don’t pay attention to us. If I could get paid to stand around and watch movies instead of answer stupid questions at the library desk, I totally would.”

A wave of relief settles over me, and the conversation shifts over to my friend’s odd library encounters with an ease I hadn’t felt in years. 

The next challenge is thrown my way much too soon, but I decide to take the opportunity after a jolt of otherworldly courage from the success of the first challenge. A man has cut in front of me in the line at the grocery store. It is a clear, obvious cut in a long line, and I have ice cream in my cart that I am sure is melting. It is only logical that I speak up. There should not be any serious consequences to me notifying the man that I was in line before him. He might not have even seen me. 

But there’s no real need for me to go before him, I think. Why do I need to stir up trouble just to gain a few extra minutes? In fact, trying to go before him might make me seem entitled, and I don’t like to seem entitled, so really in the long run it might be better for my bottle storage problem if I just let the situation go. 

But it was too late. My adrenaline jumped ahead of my brain and suddenly I was speaking up.

“Uh, I’m sorry sir but...”

The man turned around. “Oh I didn’t see you there, I’m sorry. Were you here?” He gestures to his spot in line.

I nod, smiling politely, and we switch places.

“Thank you!”

He nods politely, and we don’t speak again. I leave the store feeling lighter than ever, even though a decade’s worth of bottles is still taking up room in my head.

After my long day, I return back to my apartment to find my boyfriend waiting for me in the kitchen, grabbing a midnight snack. He smiles at me like a little kid with chocolate in his teeth, and I greet him with a kiss as sweet as his dessert. We have never had a fight, but for once that is not the fault of my timid nature. Though early in the relationship, he has never said or done anything that I thought would warrant an argument, and I assume he thinks the same of me.

As he eats his snack, I get ready for bed and we talk about our days. In bed, I fall asleep on his chest in an instant.

In the morning I am woken up by lips on my mouth. This is not an uncommon occurrence. Like most mornings when this happens, I am unsure how long I had been awake, if I was awoken by the first soft kiss, or if this had been going on for longer while I was in some kind of REM sleep. I don’t mind though. I know I have a low libido (which he certainly does not have), so I let him have some of these moments. I really don’t mind, it’s usually just making out and never actual sex. So I don't mind. I always let it happen, so if I really did care and I was uncomfortable and it was a problem I would say something, right? Sometimes, especially earlier on, I actually find it flattering to be desired in the morning so much.

I never reveal I have woken up right away, hoping he will stop if I roll over so I can get more sleep. In the moments of consciousness before I open my eyes, I wonder if the prince in Sleeping Beauty used tongue. I usually let him have a few precious moments before “waking up” and tossing and turning like a grumpy teenager. The first few times I thought that would get him to chill out so I could have a few extra moments’ rest on a calm Sunday morning. It usually does not, though, and I pity him and our mismatched sexual energy and I am still sleepy and I lack the energy to slither out from under him, so on these mornings I give in to the sleepy fantasy of being desired.

The bottle fills itself without me noticing.