Imagine having feelings for someone who has absolutely no feelings for you.
Got that feeling? Good. I’m sure most people have experienced it.
Now imagine sitting there, silently taking hit after hit of emotionless banter that they’re throwing at you, each word hurting more and more. You see them next year, and suddenly your appearance has changed, so everyone wants something to do with you. They realize “Hey, you aren’t half bad!”. And to yourself you think, “I’m the same person I was last year…”
Then you see your idea of perfect again, and they still have that wonderful charm you fell for. The first thing they say to you is “You smell… pretty.” You’re confused now. You wonder why they are talking to you after telling you off for being an asshole the previous year.
As time goes on, you two start talking more and become better friends. You get with this guy who you sort of targeted when you saw him, lured him in, and now you have him.
Or so you thought.
In front of your own eyes, you watched your first crush slowly pick at your boyfriend’s heart until it was theirs. Through most of this test of friendship, you remain calm, telling your crush that it’s okay, they were more attractive anyway and it’s only fair for two more attractive people to be together.
After that whole ordeal is done, after all of the missed school days because you were afraid to face the people who were mad at you, because it was just too much work to get out of bed in the morning to face hatefulness all day, you went to school, and realized that you were extremely far behind. Another mess you got yourself in, another one you need help with. All of this pressure is too much, so you return to your trusty friend, the razor blade. Your initial thought when you started this habit years ago?
“This is what depressed people do. Maybe if I do this, people will know something’s wrong.”
Your thought’s now?
“It’s a good distraction from life.”
“I deserve this.”
“I want to look like a freak”
A few weeks of this goes on, and one Thursday night while your washing dishes, your sleeves are rolled up and the lines on your arms arm in plain sight. Your dad leans against the counter next to you as you continue your business… He asks you, “Are you happy?” Without looking at him you reply, “Yes. Why wouldn’t I be? We moved out of the bad neighborhood. I’m fine.”
“Just checkin’.” He says as he walks away and sits in the livingroom.
When you’re done, you go back to your room, grab your laptop and then sit on the love seat in the livingroom. You open up a new post on your blog and start typing away all your thoughts; How you’re tired of living, how you destroy yourself every chance you get, how the only reason you’re still alive is so other people don’t have to pay the price. How your dad was doing everything in his power to improve the quality of what’s left of his children’s childhood, but how it would break his heart to find out that for his daughter,
it just wasn’t enough.
For some reason you decide to post it.
The next morning you go to school, the computers are running slow, and you start getting nervous. You desperately want to delete what you posted. Long story short, at that time a record 52 people read your blog that day. The one day you couldn’t even access it. You receive some unwanted attention from the school social worker, but she promises not to contact your parents about it as long as you promise not to do it again. For some reason she let you go, where kids with a slightly better situation were forced to tell their parents. You’ll never fully understand why.
So now you’re constantly getting your wrists checked every other week. Fun.
Time passes, you’re still behind in school, and your crush finds a new friend. Someone who you were friends with a few years ago, but suddenly things got weird. Anyway, they hit it off real nice, and the three of you hang out and have some weird ass sleepovers. They were fun for the moment, but now that you look back at them you think:
What the hell…?
Then on the news one morning you see that your friend’s dad drugged children in his camper, molested them, took pictures and then sent them to all of his buddies. There is still one unknown victim. One, unidentified girl. And It’s probably you. But you just keep pushing that thought out of your mind, why don’t you, because you don’t remember anything like that anyway.
Back to the rest of the story.
Your crush reveals to you that they have this tiny little crush on you, and you get so fucking excited it’s retarded. But you say you have a little crush on them two.
Both you… oh my god… what an understatement. But… as it appears, it’s only a small crush on either side. Anywhore, your crush starts getting real close with this new friend, and you can already see where it’s headed. You have experience. You start to distance yourself from both of them.
Eventually they come out with the fact that they’re dating and now you feel like shit. Okay? Okay. You’re sort of happy for them because they’re your best friends, but that’s yours. You want it to be, anyway.
Then this guy asks you out in front of all of your friends. He’s a sweet guy, really: short, muscular, and you had a crush on him in sixth grade so… why not give him a chance?
That night you text your still-crushed-on crush and you’re like, “I have a boyfriend now..” and they’re standing next to you, looking all disappointed, and they say “Oh. I’m not going to say anything about that…” They kind of look hurt. It’s understandable later but, now you’re really confused. Again.
Later you call your dad and tell him you have a boyfriend because you know that if you don’t do it right away, you’ll probably forget like last time.
Theeeeen…. Your crush and her girlfriend break up and you two can be happy together, right?
They get back together. And then break up again. BUT you didn’t know that and tried your best to get over her while she thinks it’s too late for you and her to be together and everybody hurts.
And then you see her for a whole week in October and she changed the way she spells her name, changed the way she writes, and acts a little different too. It’s like meeting a totally different person. Totally over her, right?
You sleep over at her house another time after that, and you sort of feel an attraction towards her again. You can tell she still likes you, too, because she’s being real excessive-touchy-like, but you dismiss it because it’s too late, remember? You guys are JUST FRIENDS. To make this portion of the story short, her moms boyfriend walks downstairs in the middle of the night and sees her laying on top of you with your arms around her waist snoozing away.
Then you see her another time after that late December, her hair is blue, and you guys make a fort in the basement to sleep in. She says she still has feelings for you, and before you know it you fell in love with her all over again in one night.
Either the next day or that same night at about 11:45 you couldn’t hold it in anymore and asked her out. Of course she said yes; she’s been waiting for this nearly half as long as you have. You wanted to wait to ask her out until the first of January, because, you know there’s a first of every month rather than a 31st or 29th. But you chose the 29th instead. Way to go gurlllllll.
So now you finally have the girl you’ve been chasing for a few years now and you’re happy. However since a few months before you asked her out, you’ve been battling for her life as well. Her cutting got worse, she attempted suicide eight times… imagine that now. Imagine the love of your life killing themselves. Think about living with the uncertainty of whether or not you’re going to see them that weekend. Being there for her every time she felt like destroying herself, picking up the pieces when she actually did, losing sleep, losing time, losing focus in school… just to have her pull the plug in the end. Now think about reliving that EIGHT TIMES. That takes a toll on any person’s soul I swear… I had to help her out of that abyss… keep her afloat… swoop in to help when she needed it… and all of this hard work… dedication to her and love… went unnoticed by everyone else around us. The only people who knew about the struggle we were going through…
were each other…
Then they threw her in the ward for a week which really killed you because you couldnt have any contact with her during that time and then
She got out. She’s sort of better. Far better than she was, but still not fine. You’re not fine. You’ll admit it. That whole thing traumatized you. Probably did a little damage on her end, too. But you guys survived through it. You still have nightmares about her killing herself, being at her funeral, you killing myself with her, like hanging yourselves on the bridge at Wilson park. That’s the scariest one…
You still have flashbacks about good times you had with her… the ones you thought about after you were sure she was dead… and now those memories are permanently stained red. you cry a little now and again when you think of all that pain she went through, all that pain you went through.
Believe it or not, that’s the brief of the past year’s experience. Go look at the archives of the previous months… Okay… so a little more than a year. But still.
So based on my whole experience above, you could say that I’m now paranoid about:
- Men looking at me as a sexual item
- Not living up to one’s potential
- A loved one dying
- The sight of blood
- Anything having to do with evil or satanism
And that’s all of what I gained from that experience. The good parts of this over-told story is that, I’m finally happy with someone, the true friends presented themselves, I am a stronger person now, etc.
But the best part?
~Every new beginning comes from some other beginning’s end.~