Pretty Girls in coffee shops

About two years ago, I went on my first real date with a girl.  To preface, I do not date.  I despise it.  Maybe because it doesn’t come easily to me, maybe because it doesn’t feel safe, but definitely because I’m the biggest introvert there is with a ton of anxiety hiding behind a façade of confidence.  Because I knew this girl relatively well, I didn’t feel shy around her, which was the basis for why I agreed to go out in the first place.  She essentially ticked all of the boxes: funny, sweet, a total geek, she actually liked me (one of the most important boxes).  And I liked her, too.

We met up at an adorable local coffee shop, something calm and safe, perfect for the first outing together.  She was radiant, sitting across from me, knees drawn to her chest as a breeze cooled my burning cheeks and the iced coffee soothed the butterflies in my stomach.  We talked and laughed for hours until it was time to leave.  I had a class to get to and was too much of a goody two-shoes to skip it, so we said our lingering goodbyes.  We didn’t hug, but we locked eyes for what felt like way too long.  It was nearly impossible to leave that moment.  In reality, it was only a couple of fleeting seconds until she turned and left to her car, the sunlight following her every step.  And as she drove away, all of my hope in the world left with her.  

Whatever that relationship was or could have been, was severed as she shut the door of her Jeep and lay bruised in the parking lot, run over by cars and drowned in the rain.  That sounds dramatic.  It was really a lack of action on my part that was the main cause of the fatality.  I gave her arbitrary reasons as to why I was not ready to date, many of which, even I wasn’t convinced by.  We never followed up after the coffee date and I still don’t entirely know why.  But, as painful as that was, and yes it was painful, that’s not exactly where this story begins.  After years of being open about who I am and how I identify, I realized that a kind of internal hatred kept me from committing, from opening up and showing the deepest parts of myself to anyone.  This moment in the parking lot sparked a memory that I had suppressed for years and was the spoiled seed that had taken root inside of me, forcing this hatred to grow undetected.  

When I was younger, about middle school age, a new girl moved into town and was placed into my class.  Looking back, she reminded me of a cheesy teenage rom com; the misunderstood girl, dressed all in black, possessing the sweetest smile and the kindest heart.  Truly a girl of legend.  I, of course, fell head over heels for her and desperately wanted to talk to her, simply to have her recognition.  It was always difficult for me to make friends, partly the fear or embarrassing myself and partly because I didn’t know how to talk to people.  I always felt I was unlikable, too much energy, too weird to be friends with just anyone.  But despite this fear, I plucked up the courage to sit with her and strike up some kind of conversation, about what I honestly can’t remember.  I’m sure I had no clue what I was talking about in the moment, but it didn’t seem to matter.  She talked back.  She granted me that reward, that gift, of being noticed.  Being seen.  Something that really never happened.  

What I felt for her was pure and innocent, but I didn’t know that it was also wrong.  For where I lived, where I went to school, how I was raised, this feeling was the opposite of innocent.  It was disgusting, ugly.  I couldn’t understand why, but the thought of being deemed some kind of abomination was so much more than I could handle.  I would almost rather forget who I was and how I felt than be condemned and hated.  It was never something I was told, but it was something I gathered like missing pieces of a puzzle that showed exactly what a little girl should be, what she needed to be, for acceptance to be gifted to her like it was something to earn.    

So I forgot about her.  I tossed her into a hole where I sealed away all of the things I was afraid of.  I threw this doe eyed angel into a dank pit of every intruding thought that I shoved away, left to fester and rot.  I forever tainted this thing of beauty, changed it into a symbol of shame and doubt.  And that symbol, that sign above my head illuminated the darkest parts of my brain.  It showed me how horrible I could be to myself.  How much I can cut myself down to only ribbons of what I thought could be palatable to others.  A people pleaser, through and through.  At one time, the only thing I felt I could understand in this world was myself, but in a matter of moments, I became a stranger.  This stranger, someone I didn’t recognize, hated being honest.  It was almost impossible.  Something that came so naturally, now foreign and dangerous.  Buried so incredibly deep, that it was forgotten.  I destroyed every bit of myself that could have these feelings and pretended they never existed.  Until, over time, it grew stronger than the barricades I had built. 

It’s not a surprise that this girl I tried to forget, forgot me in turn.  She stopped talking to me as soon as I stopped talking to her and moved out of town, which was not something I could replicate.  As much as I wanted to run away to a place that never knew me, I was stuck in a purgatory of faces and ideals that never changed.  I never ran the risk of being physically harmed, at least as far as I knew, but whatever was mental was almost worse.  

My identity and self-worth writhed around in my mind.  Churning, one day clear as the warm summer sky and the next, dark and murky, a storm ready to let go its wrath.  Years went by, pretending I was normal, just like everyone else, until I learned more and more about what being queer really meant.  The pieces placed themselves together, almost without my knowledge.  I remembered key moments of my life that provided themselves as evidence; coveting lingerie magazines and hiding them under my bed, obsessing over a female fictional character, falling in love with that doe eyed angle.  The moment I recalled the very real girl that I left behind out of selfish fear, every memory that I had buried, every feeling that I had pushed away, threw open the gates and towered over me.  You would think that a moment of realization would be welcomed or at least comforting.  In reality, it forced me to accept that I had become that terrible beast that lurked within the wicked and the weak.  It also helped me to realize that this original thought was an utter lie, told by a society that despised this “beast.”  The beast of an unchanging identity.    

I was not in fact wicked or weak in any sense.  I was not disgusting.  I was not ugly.  I was not alone.  This realization only showed itself after five years of holding it in, understanding who I am, but not really living fully open or proud.  I’ve been this way my whole life.  I’ve been the same person all twenty-four years on this earth, simply growing and altering some aspects, but the facts never changed.  I am who I am, that’s easy to say, significantly harder to believe, and still harder to share with the world.  

I have pride for who I am now, so much more than I ever have.  I can accept myself for who I am.  Being honest and authentic is easier as the years go on, but vulnerability is an entirely different entity.  Vulnerability is only a few steps from danger.  Danger of what I am not entirely sure, but it’s enough of a threat to keep me ever distant.  I feel most vulnerable when being honest and open is necessary.  Honesty is, as I understand it, an unstated rule in dating, hence the reason why the pretty girl who took me on an adorable coffee date terrified me.  The part of my brain that screamed danger pulled me back into the cave inhabited only by me and my relentless thoughts. 

Why do I do this to myself?  Why do I deny myself connection simply because it requires transparency?  Surely something like transparency shouldn’t be this difficult if I pour my heart and my fears and my doubts on paper for strangers to consume.  So why do I find one side of my brain laughing at me for speaking truthfully?  Laughing at me for thinking that I have traumas, that I have damage, and maybe some issues that arise for no other reason than happenstance?  As if I’m taking these things for granted, making excuses, discrediting other people who really suffer.  The other side of me recognizes my experiences.  My pain, my damage.  That side respects it and believes me.  It validates everything I've been through, everything I feel.  But that toxic, malevolent side continues to kick me when I’m down.  And even when I’m up, when I’m ready to fight, when I’m all alone and bruised, it continues its violence.  This inability to fight back is something that I hate sharing with people.  Maybe because I’m afraid people will grow tired of me.  Tired of how much effort it takes to give me a simple compliment, tired of how much I deny my own feelings.  Maybe it’s because I don’t want to show how much I need help, but never ask for it.  Maybe I’m just afraid, once again, of how people see me.   

Maybe this is why I hate dating.  Not because people are terrifying and vulnerability is dangerous.  Not because I’m an odd person, hard to understand, hard to love.  Not because I’d rather be alone.  But because I don’t believe I deserve anything more than loneliness.  The peculiar fact of the situation is that distance from vulnerable connection almost feels safe.  Distancing myself from the people that demand transparency and honesty, as lonely as it is, eliminates my fear of showing people how weak I am.  How damaged I am.    

I’ve been alone, isolated from any relationships, for a long time.  Even when surrounded by people, I feel immensely lonely, trapped in my own head with my thoughts that are louder than the silence ever could be.  But with the reflection that has come from too much time in my own head, I have realized that being proud of who you are is not the same as loving or forgiving yourself.  I want, so badly, to fall in love with the perfect person who is understanding and sees through me better than I ever could.  I can feel how unrealistic this idea is.  Fantasy seems so real in your head until it comes into being and weighs down your shoulders.  I have a lot of baggage.  A metaphor that is overused, but constantly sounds accurate.  These bags weigh me down, sometimes in ways that are hard to imagine.  And I still, with all of this, want love so badly.  But I can understand that some things come before pretty girls at coffee shops who drive Jeeps into the sun set.            

something deep inside

The sounds of pencil on paper and of tapping pens echoed through the cold, dull classroom as mindless thoughts of chemical bonds and quantum theory slowly melted away.  Mr. Stilla, the man who believed science was simply amazing along with outdated sweater vests and plastic finger pointers, wrapped up his monotone lecture and explained the night’s homework.  I leaned back in my seat with a long sigh and glanced to my right as my friend, Dan, frantically finished his notes over the lecture.  My eyes began to burn as I focused on his scribbles and I decided to rub my eyes until a kaleidoscope rainbow emerged from the black.  A pain emerged as well, so I finally lowered my hands.  “I am so tired”.  I muttered towards him. 
“Mm…” he responded with little movement.  I glanced at his busy hand, then to the board, and ultimately back at him. 
“Are you really taking notes on this stuff?”  I asked, raising my eyebrow.  This class was an absolute joke, even to people who hate science. 
“Not everyone can be a stupid genius like you, Ben.”  He intensely whispered back at me.  I sighed and turned towards the front, tapping my closed notebook with what little nail I possessed as a result of nervous biting. 
“I’m not a genius.”  I couldn’t help but wonder why everyone in school thought that I was so much smarter than the typical highschooler.  I did my homework, thought extensively about my future, and gave this terrible school my all.  If I didn’t have stellar grades, then what did I have to show colleges?  Absolutely nothing.
Dan paused his incessant writing and looked up at me.  “I meant it in a good way.  Let’s be honest, you have the best chance out of anyone in this school to go to your dream college.  It’s not a bad thing to be smart and it’s definitely not bad to be a genius.”  He ended in a less than concerned tone and continued his work.  I understood that being intelligent helps greatly in life, but in the back of my head, I knew it was one of the least important aspects of a human being.  No human has ever valued another simply because they were intelligent.  Usually, if they seem to be a terrible person they don’t make many friends in life.   
A belting wail interrupted my thoughts and made me cringe.  The noise cued chaos within the classroom and soon the halls.  Dan had a class beginning in the next four minutes and decided his time was best spent walking the longest route in the school to avoid the mass of bodies.  I had an hour free for lunch, so I decided to wait out the insanity through the door of this seemingly safe classroom.
The second bell finally rang, signaling who was late and who was just barely on time.  I threw my bag over my shoulder and sauntered out of the room.  I shuffled a few steps out of the doorway and gasped as my air was suddenly and unexpectedly taken by force.  A fist collided with my shoulder and I was shoved against the rows of lockers.  It hit me fast and hard, leaving me blinking in shock.
When I finally realized what was happening, a menacing hand grabbed my shoulder, gipping my shirt collar and pushing me down.  I winced at the pressure growing on my collarbone and glanced up at the shadowed face looming over me.  Childish teens were cackling at my sides and either egging the massive animal on or telling him to put me down as I was, evidently, not worth it. 
“Come on Jake, we’re gonna be late to class.” One boy stated, chuckling at the horrified face I was most definitely sporting.
“Just hit him and be done with it already, Jake.” Another chimed in. 
“I will, I will, just give me a minute.” growled, annoyed at the impatience of his minions. “I want to have a word with my little ‘friend’.”  He raised his left hand.  I flinched hard, but he only grabbed the other side of my collar rather than punching me outright.  “Do you remember how you said you wouldn’t tell anyone, especially a teacher, about me ‘picking’ on you?  Do you remember that or was secrecy not programmed into your brain?”  He pushed my shirt closer to my throat.  My hands shot up and tugged on his fists, but the attempt failed to loosen his death grip.  “Do you remember, Ben?!” He yelled it into my face as I winced at the booming voice of the bully.
“Yeah, yeah, I remember!”  I uttered back, not even close to the intensity he possessed. 
“Then why did you tell Mrs. Baker?! She gave me a whole month of detention!”
“Oh God, a couple of weeks?  That must really ruin all of those important plans that you definitely have.  I think they should have taken you out of this school, you shouldn’t even be going here!” I yelled back in his face.  I felt a drop in my stomach as I realized what I just said to the man that was so much bigger and already in the mood to kill me.  He had the ability and drive to beat me to death with his bare hands and I screamed in his face. 
“Look Ben, I’ve known you for a long time, right?  I know how much of an anxious little bitch you are.  All you have going for you is your brain, but even that’s messed up.  What do you think everyone would say if all your little secrets go out?”  He paused and leaned in closer.  “How would everyone feel if they knew you were gay?”  My face burned red and I pushed him away with all of my strength.  He moved a few steps back and after a short pause I reached out and pushed again, forcing him to lose his balance for a split second while I fell back into the lockers. 
Jake said nothing more, but chuckled at my feeble attempt to defend myself and walked down the hall with his posse not far behind.   I couldn’t tell what was audible to the others in that conversation, but I felt my legs go weak as I stumbled to my back pack that somehow was across the hallway.  The wall at that point was the only thing keeping me from falling to the floor where I would lay with no incentive to ever stand again.  
I headed to the double doors washed out by light pouring in through the window.  There was a silhouette standing in front of the doors, too dark to determine who it was.  As I grew closer to the image of a boy that I knew all too well staring at me with a mysterious smirk flawlessly crafted on his face emerged.  My stomach churned.  A bell sounded, alerting students and teachers that the first half of the lunch period was over and some classes would be starting.  People soon surrounded the halls, passing by the boy, failing to notice his existence.  I glared into his eyes and moved past him with ease, my shoulder brushing against his. 
I quickly stepped out the doors and in the direction of my car with tears welling in my eyes.  I heard the heavy metal doors shut and immediately open behind me.  I knew exactly who was chasing after me and I hated it, I hated him, but there was no way around him.  He was much too persistent to be rid of his company.
I quickened my pace into a small skip, but it was all in vain as a hand wrapped gingerly, yet firmly, around my wrist and froze me in my place.  I heard a heavy exhalation and a small chuckle followed by a harsh flick on the side of my ear.  I whipped around and formed my hand into a fist, prepared to unleash all of my pent up anger and pain on this relentless kid.  We looked each other in the eyes without hesitation, mine furious and his mischievous. 
“Why do you keep bothering me?  Why can’t you just leave me alone?”  I demanded, my voice almost trembling.  The boy ditched his smirk and adopted a serious frown.
“Maybe it’s just you.  Sounds to me like you’re making a big deal out of nothing.” He said in a sarcastic tone.  All I could do at that moment was glare at him and rip my hand away from his grip.  I turned and continued toward my car, but was inevitably followed by the boy like a puppy:  A condescending, unbearable, malicious puppy. 
“I am not in the mood for this again.  Can you please just leave me alone?” With his long legs he was finally able to catch up with me and he jabbed my side with a thin finger and pulled on my ear.  I winced and attempted to defend myself with a flailing hand, but instead he simply laughed and took a step back.  I finally reached my silver 2014 Ford Focus and ripped out my keys from my backpack, fumbling, and unlocked it.  When I finally got in, falling on the seat, I glanced over to the passenger side to see the boy staring back at me with a smug look.  I sat still with wide, livid eyes.  “Why are you in my car?” 
“Drive somewhere.”  He turned back to the front, still grinning.
“What?”
“Drive to Chipotle or something.  It’s lunch, right?” 
“What the-” This kid always rendered me speechless, but that was the first time he said something of worth and didn’t make me more depressed than I already was.  I didn’t feel very hungry at the moment, I had another idea in mind.
In a matter of awkwardly silent minutes, I parked the car, stepped out, and slammed the door shut.  Surveying my surroundings, I made sure there was no one in sight and, to my expectation, not a soul to be seen.  The opposite door opened as the kid hesitantly slid out of the car.  “The park?”  He inquired, rather confused as to what could possibly have compelled me to drive here.  In reality, it was the one place I could think of that would be void of human beings at this time. 
I moved around the car to face him, placed my hands on my hips, and huffed, answering his question with a simple nod.  I felt a burning rage deep inside and felt the need to let it out, but I realized that talking might turn out better than throwing a punch, and making sure no one was around would make me feel less crazed.  “Why?”  He inquired.
“We need to talk.”  I avoided eye contact as best as I could.  His piercing eyes brought back painful memories and feelings that cut like a knife, but I knew I couldn't avoid them any longer.
“Talk?  Are we an old married couple now?”  He smirked and I bit my lip, trying to hold back the anger that surely emanated off of me. 
“Why do you keep bothering me?”  I pressed him for the answer that I sorely desired.  He sighed and moved awkwardly, shoving his hands in his pockets.
“Why do you make such a big deal about it?” He frowned at my incessant inquiry, which automatically made me fume. 
“Just answer my damn question.”  I raised my voice and growled.  He smiled and looked around the baron park.
“I want you to understand what you’re doing to yourself.”  He chuckled.  “It’s actually kind of funny.” 
“Funny?”  I could feel my face burn red, this time with absolute frustration. 
“Yes Ben, funny.  It’s hilarious seeing you get so worked up about what’s your own fault.  All of this complaining and crying about how hard your life is and in reality, your life really does suck.  You have so many anxieties that will never be tamed, and questions that will never be answered.  To be honest, I love it.”  He gritted his teeth with a malicious smile.  “I love seeing you beaten and broken down by this cruel, cruel world.”  I struggled to keep my confidence and my purpose in this conversation, but the boy’s threatening eyes made it so hard to look at him.  He stepped closer to me, forcing me to shrink in his dark presence. 
“Stop it-”
“Stop what?  Telling the truth that you are severely deprived of?  I think you need to be taught who’s in charge here.”  He struck my shoulder with enough force to put motion into my lifeless body.  I bit my lip to prepare for the oncoming tornado of hurtful words.  “There are so many things wrong with you that I don’t even know where to start.  For one thing you have absolutely no backbone.  You stood up to that bully at school, sure, but you can’t stand up to your parents, you can’t stand up to society, and you can’t even stand up to me.  Do you realize how easy it is to pick on you?  It’s a joke.  You’re a joke.”  His words cut deeper than usually did and they knocked down any ounce of dignity I had left.  Since I was forced to deal with them every day, they were bearable, but time can only heal if the wounds aren’t constantly reopened.  
I clenched my fists, battling the tears that formed in my eyes, but it was all in vain as they came trickling down my face.  “You’re a joke.  Your anxieties are stupid and you are stupid for letting them define you.”  He cackled at the sight of my tears streaming down..  “I actually wish you would fight back.  I hate everything that you are.  You don’t deserve to breathe-”
“I get it!”  I broke my own silence and closed my eyes tightly.  “I get it, ok?  I realize that I shouldn’t be afraid, but it’s killing me! It’s ripping me apart that I am what no one wants me to be!  I’m terrified of what might happen in my life and what may never happen!  I am so angry, all the time and I realize self-acceptance is such a big thing, but I just can’t do it, and I don’t know why!”  I could feel my knees go weak and I thought they would betray me and falter, but surprisingly they had enough strength for a few more moments.  “Why does all of this hurt so much?  I am who I am, right?  So why do I feel so sick?!” 
All of a sudden, something deep inside sparked a small flame and I could feel myself gaining control again.  “But why does it have to hurt?  Why should I let it kill me?”  My hands balled into fists at my sides.  “It shouldn’t.  I’m not going to let it.  I’m not going to let this take control of my life, and I’m not going to let this ruin me.  My anxieties are a part of me, but why should they be all of me?  Why should they take over me and why should they be allowed to bully me.  This is who I am and this is who I always will be!  You can’t bother me anymore if there’s nothing to bother!  This is my life and I’m not letting my high school years define it!” 
Silence fell over the park and the intense feeling of the moment slowly faded.  I hesitantly opened my eyes and gazed in front of me at nothing.  I turned in a 360, but the boy was gone.  There was no trace of him anywhere. 
Although nothing had drastically changed, I did feel different.  I felt whole, like there was a part of me that, evidently, was missing and I never noticed it before, but the missing puzzle piece had finally been replaced.  I wondered about the boy again.  He was nowhere to be found, so why did it feel like he was still in my presence?  The feeling wasn’t threatening the way it had been in the past, but instead it felt peaceful.
I opened the driver side door and sat.  I smiled slightly and dropped my head.  For the first time, I didn’t feel the need to cry.  All I felt was the need to eat.  In light of recent events, I was overwhelmingly tired and hungry.  “I’m ok.  It’ll all be ok.”  Starting my car, I slowly maneuvered out of the gravel covered parking lot and pulled out onto the main road.            

the test

I sat in a hard, freezing chair in an icy classroom and shook my leg furiously.  I tapped my pen incessantly on the table in front of me and chewed my lip until it was raw.  You could say I was nervous for this test in my AP Chemistry class, but you would be horribly wrong.  I wasn’t nervous, I was freaking out.  Without a doubt, this was going to be one of the hardest tests of my entire high school career, maybe my life.  I studied all night, just for this test.  I am running on three hours of sleep, one rather large energy drink, and two bowls of the most sugary cereals I could find.  It may sound like I’m overreacting.  I might be.  But if I fail this test, my life is over.     

         The teacher strolled into the classroom, six-inch black suede heels clicking elegantly on the floor as she succeeded in striking fear into our hearts.  She always looked nice, but today she was beaming with excitement.  She enjoyed seeing her students alive and buzzing with crippling anxiety.  “Good morning ladies and gentlemen.  Ready for the assessment?” her voice sang with excitement.  She was too good to call it a test, too ecstatic to use a word that only carried doom with it. 

         All she received were blank stares and moans.  “I will take that as a ‘most definitely’”.  She walked around the room and handed out the ‘assessment’, continuously smiling with pearly white teeth that made my heart drop only slightly.  She gently placed the packet of papers, too thick to imagine, and stared.  My mind was asleep despite the sugar and caffeine coursing through my veins.  I glanced around the room, meeting eyes with not a single student.  We were all mortified and as still as stone. 

My eyes slid back to the paper on my desk.  I could feel them suddenly flutter and droop until they were half closed.  Maybe if I rest my eyes for a bit I’ll be fully ready for this test.  I let my mind drift out of the classroom, out of the school, and into the universe.  A warm glow touched my cheek and I reluctantly opened my eyes.  A beam of sunlight shone in my eyes, forcing me to retreat back into the darkness behind my eyelids.  As I slowly got used to the bright sun the world around me became clear.  It was not the stale classroom with its cold, fluorescent lights.  It was a world beyond my wildest dreams.  Trees as tall as mountains and flowers as colorful as rainbows filled this vast world.  Dense forests of long vines and leaves, glowing from the golden sun, filled all of my senses and filled my lungs with awe. 

         Hesitant, my feet tread on through the cool cover of the canopy above, leaving all my worries in the marks of footprints behind me.  I was baffled, overwhelmed, frantic to take in absolutely everything, leaving nothing unseen.  Sounds of chirping and cooing buzzed all around and up above.  A small, soft monkey darted in front of me and up a tree, guiding my eyes up to the thick roof of leaves.  The sun peeked through the heavy cover above as shadows of animals passed through the beams that dripped all the way down onto my face. 

         I let out a giddy laugh, childlike wonder flowing through my body as if the sunlight had found its way in and bounced throughout.  A loud squeak sounded below me, pulling my attention to the dirt and grass covered floor.  A small woodland creature looked up at me, upset by the careless trampling of my feet.  I took a step back, silently apologizing, allowing the petite creature to carry on.  Grinning to myself, I continued with my journey, setting out to find everything that this beautiful world could offer. 

  I paused at a tree the width of a car and taller than any building I had ever seen.  My gaze followed the twisting vines up the monstrous tree and fixed itself to a bird, casually resting on one of the branches.  It was short and fat and contained every color of the rainbow, sporting a long beak that was a vibrant orange.  Its huge eyes stared into my soul and I felt a small twinge in my gut, as if something were missing.  Something I had forgotten.  I cocked my head in confusion as the bird opened its large beak in preparation.  It let out a piercing screech, drilling into my core.  I winced and reached for my ears, expecting them to be bleeding as the drums rang within.  As soon as the ungodly scream ceased to ring through my head, I felt a chill run up my spine.  The warmth that had filled my cheeks was replaced by a frigid staleness.  When I finally opened my eyes I was back in the classroom in my seat, staring into the back of the student in front of me.  She began to rise, as did everyone else around me, and I glanced at the glowing paper of the test on my desk.  It was completely blank.  What have I done?