I'm over at Scott's house. It's winter, a little before Christmas. There's a light dusting of snow already on the ground, and it's currently snowing. It's actually really freaking pretty, and I'm enjoying just staring at the countryside.

We're sitting on the balcony, and my ass is cold from the stone. I don't mind it though, not really. We came out to smoke, so I'm sure we won't be outside long.

"I like how you look against the snow."

Confused, I look at Scott and cock my head to the side. "What?"

Scott waves the hand that holds his cigarette in a circle. "You--everything is so white out here, it compliments your skin well, and then your whole dark aesthetic is a stark contrast to the winter. It's neat."

I laugh, head still cocked to the side. "Are you hitting on me, Scott?"

He laughs. "Sod off, you bloody wanker."

I blink, and then burst out laughing. "Oh my God, that's the most British thing you've ever said."

Scott grins and takes a drag. I'm a bit surprised when his cheeks slowly color into a blush. Still grinning, he looks at me. "Well, guilty as charged, so."

We lapse into a comfortable silence. It's brief, though. "I'm sad Amy couldn't make it this time."

"Yeah," I respond, flicking my lighter on and off. "My mom said something about keeping her humble or some shit."

Scott laughs again. Then, "We haven't talked at all about the interview. Did you still want to do that, or...?"

"Yeah, I do, I just can't figure out what exactly I want to do. I was thinking of doing a TED Talk, but those are so expensive. I don't want this to be exclusionary. I want to reach as many people as possible."

Scott crosses his arms and nods, but doesn't say anything.

I run a frustrated hand through my hair. "Plus, we're talking about touring again in the spring and summer. So, I d'no."

Scott sits up straighter. "Hey! That'd be perfect!"

I look at him, confused.

"You could work the interview into part of the tour. Have it be an exclusive peek."

I scowl. "I don't want it to be a publicity stunt. I want it to be genuine."

"I get that," he replies, "but what's wrong with having it coincide? Don't market it as such. Just make it part of your usual interview rounds."

"That makes sense." Then the smile slips away from my mouth.

"What's wrong, Bauwens?"

"What I wanna talk about is deeply personal," I tell Scott quietly. "That's why a TED Talk seemed so appealing to me. I could just, well, talk. If someone is there, I'm afraid I might clam up."

Scott nods but doesn't say anything. Then, my brain fires, and I come up with what I swear is one of the best ideas I've had in a long time. "Scott! You could interview me!"

He looks nonplussed. "Huh?"

"Yeah!" I say excitedly. "We could hire a team to film it, and we could discuss previously what the questions are going to be, and it'd be great!"

"Me?" he asks, raising an eyebrow. "You want me, Scott Davis, to interview you, Orion Bauwens?"

I laugh. "Yes!"

After looking at me for a few moments, clearly gauging if I'm serious or not, Scott grins. "Alright, sure. I'm game!"

~

On the plane ride home, I text Scott back and forth ideas using the plane's in-flight Wi-Fi. My emotions vacillate between being super excited and feeling mortified of what I'm going to do. When I start to worry about it, I just remind myself of all the lovely letters Gloria brought me while I was in the hospital. If speaking my truth can help even one of those people, then this interview will have been worth it.

After a point, I doze in and out of sleep. As I drift, I keep ruminating about why I'm doing this. Admittedly I've never been exactly selfless. I feel like for my entire life, everything I've done, even for others, has always had a personal slant to it. When I would screw up, I'd apologize so I could feel better, so I could stop feeling bad.

Yet, even as I thought that, it didn't sit right with me. Was I really always that selfish? Sure I was prone to doing things that made me feel better in the moment. Yet my half-asleep brain made me think about all the times in High School when I did ridiculous things just to get people to laugh. I thought about how I just never wanted anyone to ever feel like I did, because it felt horrible.

No one deserved what I had gone through. That was selfless, right? I had those feelings unadulterated. I didn't want anyone to suffer, not because it would make me feel better, but because I never wanted anyone to feel as hopeless as I had.

I genuinely didn't want anyone to be asked, "Are you alright?", and have them say "I'm okay", when they're not. I don't want anyone to silently scream at the person, "I'm not okay, please help me". I don't want anyone to wish their friends would hug them tight after asking that question, look them in the eye, and gently correct, "But you're not".

My thoughts often tell me I'm not good enough for anyone. I know that's just the trauma talking; I know it's just the depression, and the years of my father telling me that. Most days I feel worthless. A lot of times my heart is conflicted, feeling everything so intensely, but also feeling nothing at all.

It's the feeling nothing at all that scares me most. That's when I start doing stupid shit--that's when my bad side comes out. Sometimes I want the bad side there though, because if it's showing then I don't feel too much. My feelings are so overwhelming I'd rather be a jerk and impulsive, because all that hides what's actually going on.

When I do those horrid things though, I hate myself. I feel like I'm just living up to everyone's low expectations. Everything was so twisted in my mind, I thought, "If people think I'm a shitty person, then I must be." When those thoughts engulfed me, that's when I stopped caring. That's when I'd drink excessively. That's when I'd sprack off in school. That's when I'd use people for sex.

I still don't know which is me. Am I really the fuck up everyone has come to expect? Or am I really the guy who wants to pour his heart out in an interview? Does it even matter? Is it alright to be both? Do I have to just accept myself, flaws and all? That's not to say I shouldn't care about my flaws, the demons I let out of their box from time to time. Of course I need to--I want to--work on them.

As they announce we're coming in for a landing, a thought pops into my head. I once found a book in a library, filled with old Japanese poems, haiku's, and proverbs. There's a proverb that goes something like, "When the character of a man is not clear to you, look at his friends." And as we started banking, and the buildings tilted at jarring angles, I couldn't help but smile to myself.

Thoughts of caring Gloria sprang to my head. Ben was one of the sweetest, most innocent guys I had ever known. Jake was selfless, to a fault. Yeah Amy was just as crass as I was, but I know she's the type of person who'd give her shirt to a homeless person. Hell, she'd probably give them her shoes and socks if they fit.

I continue smiling, thinking about Simon. Simon, who was sitting in jail now, because he didn't want me to die. Simon, who, against his moral hang-ups, still gave me what I wanted. God, I want him to be okay. He didn't deserve that. He was a mild mannered guy who had just found an easy way to make really good money. Simon didn't deserve to be in jail.

And it was my fault. But before those thoughts continue to spiral, before I start calling myself a monster, and a devil, another person pops into my head. Of course, it's Tristan.

Tristan, my Saint. He knew what a mess I was, but he tried anyway. He calmed me. Tristan was the only one who was patient enough to put up with me. Perhaps more importantly, Jake had been correct; he was the only person who actually, truly got to me. He had touched my mind, my heart. Even though I fucked that up and threw it all away, he had shown me something I had never experienced.

A love for myself.

Tristan showed me there was something within me that was worth loving. Tristan showed me I had to be nicer with myself. He was able to take my brain when it was spinning out of control, hold it gently, steady, and kiss it until the monsters went away.

If there really are demons and angels on your shoulder, Jake was decidedly the angel, every time. He was right in this regard, too; Tristan was good for me. All these people--Ben, Jake, my therapists and psychiatrists--had told me I wasn't really a worthless sack of shit. But Trist? Trist had made me believe it sometimes. He showed me a different kind of love.

And as we land, I'm still smiling. Even though Tristan wasn't here--even though he probably would never be by my side ever again--he had given me a priceless gift. As I grabbed my carry on, I could only hope he knew that. I hope he knows that, even though I tried to kill myself, and even though he feels like he failed me, he didn't fail me at all. So as I left the plane, I couldn't help but grin.

I think this was how it felt to forgive yourself.