Bala - Craigslist confessional: a collection of secrets from anonymous strangers

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Copyright 2020 by Helena Dea Bala

All names of the profile subjects and the people they discuss have been changed.

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First Gallery Books hardcover edition July 2020

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Interior design by Davina Mock-Maniscalco

Jacket design by Lindy Martin/Faceout Studio

Author photo by Gino Orlandini

Library of Congress Cataloging-in-Publication Data

Names: Bala, Helena Dea, author.

Title: Craigslist confessional : a collection of secrets from anonymous strangers / Helena Dea Bala.

Identifiers: LCCN 2019047888 (print) | LCCN 2019047889 (ebook) | ISBN 9781982114961 (hardcover) | ISBN 9781982114985 (ebook)

Subjects: LCSH: Self-disclosureCase studies. | Interpersonal communication. | Interpersonal relations.

Classification: LCC BF697.5.S427 B347 2020 (print) | LCC BF697.5.S427 (ebook) | DDC 158dc23

LC record available at https://lccn.loc.gov/2019047888

LC ebook record available at https://lccn.loc.gov/2019047889

ISBN 978-1-9821-1496-1

ISBN 978-1-9821-1498-5 (ebook)

To Alex, who kept me going.

To Ronan, may you have courage and kindness in spades.

And to the people who have shared their lives with methank you.

For the past five years, Ive listened to strangers Ive met on Craigslist tell me stories theyve never told anyone before. I interviewed someone who went through gender-reassignment surgery and fell in love for the very first time, as his true self. I spoke with a man who lost his wife to alcoholism and struggled to rebuild his life without her. I cried when I listened to a veteran who lost both of his legs after serving two tours of combat abroad. I spoke to a woman who detailed her life as a former Jehovahs Witness and to a Mormon faced with telling his family that he is gay.

In these five years, Ive heard stories about sexual abuse and mental illness, divorce and death, addiction and disabilitystories that have left me in awe at the breadth and depth of humanity, at our ability to overcome and rebuild, forgive and move on, heal and give back. Ive learned to listen, to bear witness to heartbreaking loss and regret, to provide a safe outlet for healing. In this climate, where diversity is simultaneously celebrated and used to monger fear, judgment, and separatism, Ive learned above all else that pain, in its protean forms, can unite us as human beingsthat each of us can be a light when someones day feels particularly dark.

Before I started Craigslist Confessional, I worked as a lobbyist out of a tiny office in downtown Washington, DC. I stressed out over deadlines, client meetings, unanswered emails, and office politics. I purposefully distracted myself with daily minutiae so as not to let my unhappiness fully settle in. Id always wanted to have a job where I helped people. But somewhere along the way, I got sidetracked. My work left me empty. Showing up every day to do something when my heart wasnt in it felt like living in a perpetual existential crisis.

Nothing made things more painful than being isolated, unable to share my feelings. I felt alienated, invisible, misunderstood, dismissed, and shut out. I was locked into a life of indentured servitude to my student loan provider. As an immigrant, Id worked hard to finally win my American dream, only to find a mirage in its placean experience very different from what Id expected.

But I didnt feel entitled to complain. Each day on my way to work, I passed at least five homeless people and reminded myself: You have it good. You are employed. You are educated. You are healthy. You have so much more than most people. So I shamed myself into a disquiet silence.

To convince othersespecially my parents, who had sacrificed so much for my happiness and successthat everything was going perfectly well, I curated my life and presented only the happiest, most perfect parts of it for others to see. Social media filters and reality television fed me real versions of people I was meant to emulatesuccessful, attractive, healthy, and rich adults leading travel-filled and meaningful lives free of the drudgery of everydayness.

More and more, the pressure to keep up appearances made me feel inadequate and lonely. The dissonance between my reality and the person I presented to the world was so jarring. I felt inherently dishonest. And, I often thought, if I couldnt be honest with others, how could I be honest with myself? Had I gotten so warped, so sucked into playing the role of the perfect daughter, the perfect employee, the perfect girlfriend, that I could no longer tell my genuine life from the one I was projecting?

One day, as I was walking back to work from Capitol Hill, I spotted Joe, a homeless man who panhandled in front of the office building. I could almost always count on seeing him standing in the same spot, day after day, shaking a paper cup and wearing a black tattered shirt. Whenever I could, I brought him boxed lunches that Id pick up during Hill briefings and got him the occasional snack or drink. I had a particular soft spot for Joe because of a bitter memory from my first day of work. Two young security guards had been checking me in when one of them excused himself. He went outside to talk to JoeI was only able to catch a few words from the exchange, but the gist was that the guards had received complaints from the buildings occupants about Joes panhandling and he should move along elsewhere. Joe nodded his head slowly, but he stood his ground as if to protest the unfairness.

It broke my heart.

Are you upset with me? Joe asked, wondering why Id rounded the corner lunchless.

The truth was that I was broke. My salary at the lobbying firm was laughablelaw grads are a dime a dozen in DC, and were cheap and replaceable, especially at the entry leveland between student loans, rent, and food, I was struggling to make ends meet.

Joe looked sad as I mumbled a half-hearted explanation. I blinked back tears and asked if it was all right to spend time with him and talk that day. I went around the corner and got a sandwich to share, and we sat next to each other. I asked him about how hed become homeless. Did he have any family? Where did he stay when the weather was bad? Did he often go hungry? He answered my questions with intense detail, often stumbling over his words.

Then he asked me about my job and my life. I surprised myself with what I sharedthoughts that had, until then, seemed so personal and devastating but paled in comparison to Joes everyday struggle. For the first time I was able to be refreshingly honest. I spoke without fear that hed judge me or that the gossip would trickle down to friends, family, and coworkers. Neither of us had anything to gain from the other. Ours was an interaction born out of need. It felt, simply, like we were confessing.