the silent confessions of your average teenager

First.

A few things I'd like to declare:
I wrote the first half a year or two ago, and I wrote the second part about six months later. Just goes to show you how fast things can change. But it's alright now. I'm better now. Im posting this nearly 2ish years after the initial part was written because I feel as if I'm ready. To let the old me go. I've changed, and I don't know if it's for the better or worse but that's okay. We all grow up. All of this is true. It's all based on real events.

With no further delay...these are the silent confessions of your average teenager.

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The Looking Glass Shatters.

   Infatuation.
   Inflation.

   The overwhelming feeling of need makes me feel as if I've been removed from earth. My fingertips feel numb, my head is unfocused, noise seems to draw a blank. Even through this sudden course of thought I manage to remain seated. The teacher still bores on and the students still listen. The world still turns and I still breathe. I wonder how all of these things function around me in the most interesting way possible, and yet all I've got on my mind is the way their fingers make me feel. The way their laughter makes me smile too. The way I simply cannot focus on equations anymore, because everything has suddenly become nothing of value to me.

   I find these feelings odd and overwhelming. I fear that these thoughts are just an infatuation with something smaller. I fear my fingertips fall numb for false reasons. I fear my thoughts have surrendered to a wrongful dictator.

    They love scary movies. Horror, more specifically. It seems fitting that I, am one to dislike them. With every pop up and scare they gain thrill and I gain another thing to fear at 4 am on my way to the toilet. Ghosts and ghouls and gore excite them, robots and classical music suit me. We're polar opposites in some ways I suppose.

   They tell me they love me.

    They kiss me behind stalls at school, when no one roams the halls. They hug me so tightly sometimes I feel as if I melt beneath the surface my skin. They call me by my real name, and don't misgender me.

   I love them, a little too much I suppose. Is the thought of them cuddling me supposed to make me feel giddy? Should I be planning to move so far away so soon? Am I trying to find something I've never felt, and pining a four letter word onto a person? Surely, my mind couldn't be fooling me so greatly.

    Love has no gender, and neither do they.

    Now, my feet have gone loose too. I cannot feel them, for I am drifting away into a land of curiosity and wonder. You could say I'm alice, and you can say they're wonderland. But you'd be wrong, because I do not wear dresses, and I certainly do not eat strange cakes in strange rooms that specifically ask me to eat them. And they're not a place. They're a destination. Somewhere I want to be, though their mind may be filled with whimsical wonder and rabbits to chase; they are far better than just a place to be. They're a destination to explore, to photograph, to wander. They're not easy to get to, because they're so strong, but they're the most beautiful place I've ever wanted to visit.

    Sometimes I wonder if I wander their mind as they do mine. Am I the well-dressed rabbit; sprinting after them as if they are the only place I've got to be? Am I a flower? One to lead the thoughts they think? Am I the souls in the moat; a head in a mass of others just like me? Or am I the drink? The one to conjure thoughts and bring emotion; make them grow as a person?

   If I've ever longed to be a bottle of grape juice labeled Drink Me, it'd be now.

    You see, I don't think you realize how far gone I am. I don't think you've realized that I've spiraled down so deep I think I've surpassed the length of the rabbit hole. Don't get me wrong, I haven't fallen in, I've crawled in it willingly. I knew my knees would ache sometimes and my hands would become caked in mud. I would have someone else's story smudged onto my finger nails, but I'd keep digging. For what? Who knows .I was well aware that my hands would most likely suffer wounds that will leave scars. Still, I could not find it inside myself to care. They tell me they love me, and I say the same.

    It's not as bad as you think. Or as I may make it out to be. Its not like there was a pistol in their grasp and I snuck it between my lips when the shot went off. Hell no. The barrel pointed upward, and the bullet came back right down between us; destroying whatever kept us distant. The ammunition wasn't made of metal, and the gun wasn't solid steel. It's casing was made of who we were pretending to be, and its cargo was communication. When I fell in love with them I realized that nothing would ever be the same. I'd never look at them without thinking of kissing their lips so desperately, and I'd never hug them with the intention of letting go soon.
    Though I'm battered, dirty, and matted; there are silver linings. They might be as thin as a grain of sand, but they're there. One metallic strip I've noticed is how they've grown. They've found themselves in front of me. They went from going from she to they, from sad to better, from lost to found. I don't know where my stripes are, but I'm sure they're somewhere. They're hard to find sometimes, and sometimes I feel too tired to dig. But if there's one thing I've learned in my few years of life its shit isn't easy. I kind of like it that way, though. It makes things better.

    And I was right.
    Nothing ever was the same.
    A few months later I declared I'd never speak to them again.

   The moment we fell out of love it felt like the kaleidoscope had been shattered, playful beads scattered the floor. It felt like I had fallen with them, and this time I had no plush reassurance to cuddle me when I was down. Being by yourself for the first time when you're already  used to someone being for you is far worse torture. I would have rather been pulled apart by the midevils, cut by the Chinese until I bled to death. Everyday after the night I climbed out of the rabbit hole has been grey. After you hear the talking flowers, and see the mad hatter you'll never  be the same. You'll long and you'll chase that feeling until a doctor decides that you're insane.

    I guess the worst part was after they pulled the trigger....they pulled it again. Only this time it didn't fall between us. It went straight through me, and I haven't healed since. We all think our love is bountiful, and it probably is. But when it comes to showing it...that always ends. We broke up even before it was official. Messages every night turned to every week then turned to every month. We slowly climbed out with dirt between our nails; we no longer heard the flowers speak and we no longer drank juice until our stomachs ached. Wonderland was no longer our friend.

   Deflation,
   Until I was a new person.

   I don't know who I was then, although...Id love to meet them.