I really... uh......

So... um. The only reason this is going on here is so I can remember it 50 years down the line... uh. How do I phrase this? Let's see... um... I'm not... um. Oh fuck it. I'm not a virgin anymore. Guess that sums it up pretty well....

I was in shock for a while. Know why? Cuz I lost it to a girl.... Yeah, I said it. A girl. Oh and by the way, apparently I've been interested in girls for a while now and didn't know it.... This is so... shocking to me. What's even more is that I didn't hate it... in fact... I liked it. I'm just going to... uh... hope no one hates me for this (Grandparents, Dad...), but I don't think that will be the last time either.... I guess we'll have to see?

This is so very awkward... my mind feels like it's been blown through the roof.... I feel like the me that existed before now was just avoiding the possibility? Or maybe just hoping that I like solely men? Don't get me wrong, men are fucking hot, they still are, always will be. I am still, no doubt about it, attracted to men, and that won't ever change. That I know for sure. But... you know... I'm just... apparently okay with girls too? Well... this is a predicament.... Hmm... I can't think of anything else to say.... I'll just stop here, I guess? Oh, I hope no one hates me for this....

Sorry guys... but it happened.

Spontaneous...

I came back just a few minutes ago after posting my last bit. Right after I wrote that, I went out, walked for a long while and found a good place to cry... and cry and cry and cry. I cried long and hard. Over and over. It hurt so much. Eventually, I came back, then while I still wallowed in self-pity, I took a cup of tea out to my dorm hallway to look out the window. I watched as the people walked past, oblivious of me. Then, out of no where, someone started talking to me. He invited me to come with him and three other friends. They led me toward the city, down the long and winding hill, toward a Hookah Lounge. Surprise, surprise. My gut told me no. So I ignored it. And instead went with them for the adventure. With three strangers. That I didn't know. At 10 at night. In the dark. The only girl. Wow, my gut was screaming. But anyways, halfway down the hill, I decided I wouldn't go in and just head back on my own once they got there. They convinced me otherwise. So once we got there, I wasn't really expecting to go there and event led to event and I didn't bring my ID with me. (Lucky me?) But either way, I was going to walk back on my own.

Then the guy who invited me, without batting an eyelash, said he'd walk me back up that enormous hill. On the way up, clumsy me slipped and landed on my hands. (Not until just a few minutes ago did I realize I dropped my precious headphones at that moment - great, right?) He got my shoe that fell off for me and asked if I could walk. All nicey, nicey without the cliche crap that I hate. Concern without intention behind it. I liked that, a lot. Later on, as we got higher up the hill (all the while we talked - though it was mostly him since I never started a conversation - and completely casually too), and closer to our college, he took us up toward the other side and ran, so I followed running. He stopped, looked out over the edge, and I think we stood there talking about nothing in particular for about 10 or 15 minutes, all the while catching our breath, as we looked out over the most amazing glitter of lights.

It's funny, I made so many little signals, though they were probably lost to the darkness, and he never made a move. I wondered if he either had no interest or was just being considerate, either way it put me at ease. It felt totally natural being with him, it was the best way to end a horrible night. I hope he takes me out again, and this time, I'll bring my ID and some money, just in case. No worries, I won't be smoking anything ever, so you can relax. I'm really glad I went. I'm still smiling. :)

I want... him

I feel empty, sad. Like I'm missing something... someone. God, why does it feel like I need to have sex, or at least some sort of sexual interaction, to make this empty pain go away. I've moved. I'm out of that house, but this feeling doesn't lessen. It hurts. Make it stop. I need someone. Please. Someone, wherever you are, come up to me and hunt me down. Don't let me go. Grasp at me and hold me tight. I don't like this emptiness. It's too painful. It hurts. It hurts so very much. I don't want to be alone.

I feel so desperate... saying all this. I know it's useless. I know it won't change anything, but I needed a place to put my thoughts. I have nothing else. I need someone to make all the pain seem pointless. Someone who won't make me feel forced to talk when I eat across from them, just to still the silence, even though I prefer eating in silence. Someone who will sit there with me, hold my hand, smile at me when I look up form my food and make me blush. Someone who will take me out and around, my hand held tightly in their's, just so I get outside and so I feel like I have a purpose in being there. Someone who will let me lay on their chest and just run my fingers up and down there skin, just to reassure myself that they are really there. Someone who will force a kiss on me as I push away in a purposely fruitless way. Someone who will lick my tears away, kiss my eyes, and hush me, saying they are there and they won't leave. Someone who will get jealous when another guy looks at me and then prove to me I'm his by taking my body in his hand. Someone who won't let me feel lonesome. Someone who is there. Someone who won't stop being there. Someone who wants to be there. Someone who will make the silences between us natural instead of awkward. Someone who will tell me "You're mine" instead of "I love you" because he would know that those words have no meaning to me. Someone who will slowly give those words back their meaning with the heat of his passion. Someone who will stand beside me not as equals, but as a man and his possession. Someone who will mark me and make me his through physical action, not through words. Someone who is strong enough physically and mentally to bare the burden of owning me.

I want to belong to him, and him alone. I've said it so many times, I've waited and waited. I want nothing more. I want to be his. I want to know what he looks like, what he feels like, what he tastes like, what he sounds like. I want nothing more. I want only to be his possession. It's not much, just to meet him, or to kiss him, or to have his affection. Just that. Please, even that. I want... him. I know he's out there. I've seen people like me with their match, with their owner. I just have to wait, right? I don't want to wait anymore... I want him. So much more than I can bare. I'm so lonely.

In the end, I was brave for once...

It was harder than I thought to go see my dad again after seeing him in the hospital after open heart surgery. A good hard, but hard nonetheless. About a day ago, I wouldn't have been able to even talk about it like this. I've shoved the thoughts of that one scene so far down into my memories that, even after coming to terms with it, I find it impossible to fully reclaim those memories. Only a few pieces resurface and then fade just as quickly as they appeared. Like the scene as I first walked into the hospital, the look, the smell, even signing my name on a sheet of paper the lady behind the desk gave me. I can remember that easily. But as we walked closer to his room, the images get harder to recall. I can get clear images up until his door was just a few steps away. Then it snaps to when I first saw him, tangled and covered in wires and tubes. Next is the way he forced himself to talk. It hurt. It hurt so badly it literally took all I had in me to keep from crying my eyes out right then and there. Then I snap to when we left, just as we passed out of the door, I broke. I choked back my voice and shook, tears rolling endlessly down my face, my hands pressed heavily against my eyes and my brother holding my shoulder tightly against him. I cried harder the farther we got. I'm about to cry now as I remember all this. It still hurts. No wonder my mind buried my memories so well. But then, why would it allow me to recall only the most painful parts. I know there's more to this timeline then just simple snaps of images and scenes, but recalling it just causes my mind to hide them away as quickly as possible.

Today... yes, today. Things seemed just a bit easier. It took all my courage to come up and visit him, all my will to keep from thinking about it till the last second. I forced myself to come. I forced myself to witness for myself what events had left me with. Whether he was crippled and sickly or just moments form death, I had prepared myself to see all of it, but I hadn't prepared myself to see what reality gave to me. It gave me probably the one thing I needed most right now. Pure faithless and childish hope. That's right. Hope. We sat in this restaurant, my mind constantly distracting me from what was to come. But no matter what I thought, I would have never expected to see what I did. I caught a glimpse of him in the corner of my eye as he appeared beyond the entrance to the restaurant. No crutches, no wires, no tubes. In fact, no nothing. He stood on his own. He walked in the room completely unhindered. As if nothing had ever happened, he walked in and gave me a smile. I smiled back, somewhat in shock, but not really realizing what was happening. The only thought going through my mind was, "I have to get to him." I stood there for a minute, listening to him speak. Waiting for the others to sit down. Then my legs started to move. Before I could even understand, I had weaseled my way past chairs and people and I stood in front of him. He opened his arms and I reflexively did the same, accepting the invitation for a hug. All at once, it hit me. "He's really here." I thought. "He's alive... he's really alive. I'm not dreaming. It's not a dream. Oh thank god he's really alright. Not dead. He's not dead." I couldn't help myself. I hugged him tightly, tighter and tighter with each thought. I didn't want to let go. I thought I might still be dreaming, just maybe, that tiny chance that it was the happiest dream ever and I didn't want to let go.

I had gotten another chance to get to know him. He was alive! I cried, and cried, and cried, and cried some more. My sweater was soaked by the time I could finally speak and look at him and say "I love you" back without bursting out in tears. Oh god, he's alive! That's all that matters. He's alive. He's really alive.

Because I love him, I'm still alive...

Do you know why I stay up so late?

Do you know why I stay awake until the beginnings of light start to trickle over the horizon and the night's darkness begins to fade? Do you know why I stay awake when all of you have fallen so far into sleep that the world is as good as dead to you? Do you know why I am still awake when the house is quiet and still? Why I find peace in the absence of light, in the comfort of dark? Why even though I fear the night's silence I still prefer it over your presence?

Do you know why being around you feels like I am being confined in a small box, while a noise unlike any other suffocates me whenever I hear you move or speak? Do you know why I hide in the darkness of the late night just to find relief and release from being near you? Do you know why I wait every day for midnight to come because I know you won't wake up? Do you know why I use the drastic difference in sleep schedules between us as an excuse to avoid you?

Do you know why I hate being around you?

Of course you don't. You've never asked. You never will.

The simple question of "Why?" The simple thought behind my actions and my reasoning.

Those are the things you will never know. Those are the things you won't care to know. Those questions and thoughts that I know you will never have, but have wished so badly for you to ask only to be disappointed.

That is the reason I hate you. That is the reason I will never love you. That is the reason.

That is the reason why I am immersed in loneliness every day. That is why I clutch desperately at the pillow against my chest until my fingertips burn with pain. That is what you have driven me to.

That is why my chest aches when I try to think of my "Tristan." That is the reason behind why I can barely stand the empty feeling of loving someone I've never met, someone I've never seen, never heard, never known.

I may love him, but I know "Tristan" doesn't exist. I love him, but he won't ever be real. I love him, and I will wait for the man who will become my "Tristan." I will wait for my eternal lover to finally surface from the sea of people in the world. I will always wait for him, because I love him.

Because I love him, I'll wait forever for him. Forever. No matter what. Because I love him....

Hope is a pointless lie...

Please note that I have NEVER said any of this aloud. Not even to myself. None of it. This is my last resort to try and feel something again.

I thought I was done with this place... I really thought I could handle my fears, my pain, and all the hurtful things on my own now.... What a stupid lie. What a stupid and ignorant lie. I was wrong, so very wrong that it hurts. I made this place to shelter the painful feelings and after some time I was beginning to feel the warmth of reality after being lost in a dream for so long. I had thought that I wouldn't need this place full of all the pain I've locked between these words rather than within myself, within my thoughts and my heart.I thought I could finally be strong enough to stand on my own two feet... but I was wrong. I'm weak. I'm so very weak. My mask will only take me so far. After all that has happened, my dad especially.... That's right, I haven't said anything about all of this, about all the things that have happened. I thought I wouldn't need to come here and say anything... but that was my stupid hope, a hope I should have known wouldn't work out. I should have known how weak I was. After the ups and downs of having hope my dad would pull through, eventually along the line somewhere, I just gave up completely.


It was easier to give up any hope of him surviving, it was easier to convince myself he was dead rather than have hope he would be fine and find out he died in spite of my hope. Hope is useless. Hope won't change what will occur. Hope won't change the fact that he went in and out of surgery, or the fact that when I went to visit him he looked so frail. He looked like he would break, like that was the last time I would ever see him... and I had no choice in the matter. I didn't want to go see him, I didn't want to see him like that. I wish I had never gone. You're reading this thinking I'm just saying that, but you don't get it. I've lived without regrets and now I believe the only regret I have is going to see him. I would have rather seen him once he was better, or at the very least, email or texts, but not that. Not seeing him like that. I wish I hadn't seen him. I wish I hadn't. Seeing him didn't make things better, seeing him unable to speak and so close to death only brought more pain, more fear, more sadness. I didn't want that. I didn't want to feel so close to giving up on seeing him ever again in this life. I didn't want to feel like I had to die just to see him again. I didn't want to feel like that, but after seeing him, I did. So I shut it off. I shut off the pain, locked it away with ALL other things that hurt me. EVERYTHING was locked away. Things about my mom, things about being lonely, things about being mentally abused by my family when I was younger, anything that hurt was locked deep inside. Every now and again, some of it would resurface and in fear of the pain, the memories, and the tears, I would push it back down and lock it up again, except it would be a tighter lock every time. I would have rather died than feel like this again after such a long time.

I'm still locking it away... I had no idea how much pain just doing that would cause. I want to cry. I want to feel even just a little bit. It hurts. I don't remember how I used to be able to let it out before. I can't remember how I used to allow myself to feel and then move on. How did I do it? Even now, while I'm writing this, I want to cry, but I can't. I feel the tears in my eyes, but they choke up and fade away too quickly. It hurts. I want to feel something again. Something.... I used to be so strong. I used to be able to shoulder this burden. Hearing the things about my dad, going to see him, being trapped in this house with my mom and the family I resent and hate for what they did to me. All of it has made me weak again. That fantasy I was lost in not long ago, the one that was literally inches away from killing me, it seems so inviting now. I want to go back. It was easier then. I felt none of this because it didn't exist. Nothing but my fantasy world existed... Daddy....

It's easier to let myself believe him to be dead. I don't know if he'll read this, but it doesn't matter. Not now. If he's alive, then that's fine. Just please, please don't tell me unless you're sure you're back at 100% for good. If not, I don't want to feel that painful hope again. He's dead to me now. He died the day I went to see him. His heart stopped and he died. It's easier. He has no idea, none of them do. One day I get a call from the half sister who abandoned me saying our dad was in critical condition and headed to a hospital. "Daddy is going to die," was what I thought. "Before I even got the chance to know him at all, the only one I can't hate because I don't even know him. He's going to die. He's dying and I can't do anything. I can't do anything. I'm useless... please don't die." My hope began with that. "Please don't die." It was all I could think about for the next few weeks. Then I get a call saying his surgery went well, but was nowhere near fully recovered and would need rehab. "At least he's alive," right? No. I went to see him then, stuck in a long car ride with mom, her boyfriend, and my brother and his child. The last two were fine, but the first two fought, loudly.

Ever since I saw my mom and dad fight the night before he left, I've always been afraid of fights. It hurts to see two people fight loudly and shout things. It hurts even more when I try to stop it with "please don't fight" and get yelled at with "shut up." "Shut up" has become a poisonous phrase due to my brother when he was younger. He used to tell me that all the time after Daddy left. The reaction I had then hasn't changed to this day. The moment I hear it I shut down. I go quiet and fearful of the slightest sound, afraid I'll be yelled at again. Fear. Fear. So much fear. When I went to see Daddy, my hands were shaking. Fear of what I would see setting into my heart. I don't love Daddy, I can't love him when I don't know him. It's the same reason I can't hate him. But that doesn't mean that I don't fear his death. Even if no one else "fears" his death, I do. I'm deathly afraid of it. "Please let me at least get to know you first." "Don't die yet." "Not yet." The moment I saw him: wires, tubes, and monitors everywhere. My brother took the lead and started saying hi. Daddy couldn't talk. He couldn't talk. "He's not better yet." "Why did I hope in the first place when he's not better yet?" I said hi, clenching my fists, holding back tears. Fighting the loss of hope, fighting the pain in my chest that gripped at my breath. "It's okay, he'll get better." There it was again, hope. I said my goodbyes, said "I love you" like it was the last chance I had. You think I'm being dramatic for thinking so much over his inability to speak. "Well of course! He was just in surgery! There's bound to be recovery time. Just be patient!" I was. Patience... yeah, I had it. I had it. Then my half sister called again. She said he was rushed to another hospital, another heart valve ruptured or something else unexpected and urgent happened. "Hope... what was the point? He was going to die anyways." I had patience, I had hope, but nothing changed. Believing in something doesn't change fate. Believing in a fantasy won't change reality. Heh... ironic, isn't it? I was living in a fantasy for 5 years, all alone in my own world without anyone noticing. I had to realize that hiding from my reality, my fate, wouldn't change anything... and yet, I still believed that hoping Daddy would get better would guarantee his recovery. I'm a fool. I'm a stupid fool.

After all this, I was done hoping. I gave up. In that moment, Daddy was dead. He wasn't coming back. Just like the night he left out the door of this house, he was never going to come back. I said my goodbyes... but it still hurt. To me, and to no one else's knowledge, in my heart and in my mind, I forced myself to accept that Daddy was dead. I forced the pain to go away. I forced ALL the pain to disappear  It's gone. All the tears are gone. I said goodbye to more than just Daddy. I said goodbye to all my emotions. I don't know how to get them back. I want to feel again. It feels like when I was in my fantasy. During that time, I felt nothing. How could I? Nothing around me was real, so none of it could hurt me. Maybe that's why the silence made my head hurt so much.

Back then and still true now, I was afraid of silence. Do you know that sound you hear when there is no sound to be heard? That high-pitched nothingness. Back then it hurt my head so bad that I wouldn't be able to take it. I would scream of the floor in pain. I called them my "attacks." Some weren't so bad, some were horrible. I remember two of the worst. The first: I was at home alone and I had the TV on (back when I still watched TV) and the moment I turned it off, the silence set in. I heard that sound and the pain was unbearable. I screamed and screamed until my own screams made the silence disappear  The second: it was late at night and I woke up from the heat. People were home, but it was still quiet at that time of the night. I listen to music as I fall asleep because of my fear, but after that goes off, there's no sound in my room. The silence became deafening. I clenched my teeth, grabbed my head, covering my ears, and wished the pain to stop. I wanted it to go away. But it wouldn't. I started banging my head against the wall, hoping it would stop. "Make it stop, make it stop." I kept saying it over and over, like a chant to the gods (if they exist). My mom woke up to go to work around this time and heard the banging from my room. She came in to see what was going on and she couldn't figure out what I was talking about. Eventually, she accidentally pressed a button on my stereo and turned my music back on. The silence stopped. I told her I was fine and to leave, so she left to get ready for work - clueless of what had happened. I concentrated on the music and calmed myself. That was when it really hit me that not one person in this house gave enough crap about me to notice the pain I was in. Even though they were always around, they never knew. The next day, I tried to talk to my mom. She had forgotten all about it. I gave up. I had no hope in the first place, but I couldn't feel anything at the time, so giving up was easier than trying. The past repeats itself I guess. It's easier to give up.

Normally I try to end these posts with some bit of inspirational stuff to lift myself up after finally getting it all out, but not this time. This only scratched the surface of what I've buried deep inside. But I've had enough. I don't want to think anymore. I don't want to go anyfurther. For now, I'm done, and even if I had continued with this, I don't think I would have ever been able to get it all out. It's been 18 years. That's a lot of time filled with painful memories. I don't have the strength to think about the painful things for such a long time. I've had enough. I'm done.

My reality...

Living a life of lies and this is all I have to show for it:

"I don't have the strength nor the desire to talk to any of you, so I shall ignore all of you. It's so much easier that way since I don't get as sad, angry, or afraid if all I can feel is loneliness from the absence of a love I never knew." This is the mindset I go into whenever I return home, have vacations from school, or am near family members. Makes me think what exactly made the collapse of my family happen and why not one person in this household seems to notice that their futile attempts to fake a loving family only makes the situation worse. When you haven't got anyone to talk to but yourself, all you have left is an endless cycle of pain. Knowing that the only one you'll ever be able to explain everything to is yourself, listening to the pain in your own voice as you realize you can't change a damn thing, and forcing yourself to admit that no matter what you do, the only true freedom from the never ending pain is death; every moment I allow myself to break down is just one step closer to that freedom and more than anything else, it truly scares me. Inside I know that if I constantly wear a mask of smiles I can easily deceive both the people around me and myself, but at the same time I know that doing so means forsaking the little sanity I've been able to retain after all these years of suffering. If it weren't for the belief that if I were to give in to that promise of freedom those oblivious bastards would win; if it weren't for the pride I tightly hold onto, I would have died that night long ago when I picked up a knife and pressed it to my skin.

One of these days, the constant battle between pride and true freedom will end, and when it does I fear I will not live to see it's aftermath.

People go through many different problems, but only the psychological ones such as fear, anger, sadness, or loneliness can leave behind scars deeper than any physical wound could inflict. Unless you've felt that true form of suffering you can never hope to understand another person's pain, but even then the depths of each person's scars can never be fully realized unless you are that person yourself. The next time you think of saying "I understand what you are going through," make sure you know that no matter what you yourself have been through, you can never truly understand what someone else has witnessed, felt, endured, or lived along side. The demons in someone's heart and mind are very different from person to person and regardless of whether a situation is identical or not, the way a person reacts to or reflects on it depends on their own thoughts, personality, and if they are able to become strong enough to live through it on their own. Every human being is alone until they find someone they believe with whom they can share the weight of their suffering, but until that person comes around, the solitary inner battle must be fought with their strength alone.

It's a lonely battle, but if we push through it long enough, even if it takes countless decades, one day our solitary battle will be fought with someone's back pressed against ours. That is the day I live for. That is the day for which I put back that knife, that shortcut to my freedom, in order to wait for it's arrival.