This Love, This Hate.

anxiety

"Hey, hey Jessie?" Mary asked while toying with her pencil and staring profoundly at the ceiling.

"What is it?"

"I was wondering... Would you rather be hated at home but be loved by everyone at school oooor vice versa?"

The question had taken me by surprise, I wasn't sure how to reply. I was hated in both environments. "Uhm.. I dunno actually."

"I see.. I think I'd rather be liked at home, since I could care less about what the people here at school think of me." She giggled a bit and I had to smile. Mary was my best friend, I would always love her to the ends of the earth in the most platonic way of course. Plus she had a boyfriend... A very kind, strong guy who I highly approved of.

"I get your point." Then I prodded her with a pen, grinning playfully,"Now get to work! This assignment won't do itself, ya know!"

-

I was running through the halls, I had stopped to speak to the Spanish teacher, Maestro Stephens, to see if I could do any extra credit to bring my grade up. He laughed and told me my grade was already good, extra credit wouldn't help... And yet I felt my heart pound like crazy. I didn't care how good it was. It had to be better. But he didn't understand that... Somewhat good grades were all that I had left.

And losing track of time, I rushed to the outside of school to catch the bus in time. And I probably would have... If something hadn't stopped me. As I sprinted down a nearly empty hall, I saw her, as short and cute as ever, wearing a nice floral skirt and a oversized hoodie, being embraced by another man. My blood boiled, I clenched my fists and felt tears, hot, frustrated, tears engulfed with rage and the humiliation of being known to be the feel to trust her. As he let go of her, I ran, harder than before. My footsteps fell heavy and my heart had converted to lead. I turned to look at her one last time, our eyes met for the first time in months.

And she looked away.

She was guilty and she knew it. Instead of feeling satisfied, I felt a terrible sinking feeling. I made it to the bus, barely, and that should have been great news but as soon as I did I heard the stupid shits in the back scream out tranny and dike, instead of defending myself, I plopped down on a empty space and plugged my ear phones in, wondering why.

-

"Dunno what's inside of me.. Don't forget a-b-b-b-bout me, even when I douuubt you. I'm no good without you." I fail at singing, rapping whatever the hell Tyler's doing. Currently, I roamed the neighborhood, walking over the concrete sidewalks and examining the cracks that sprang with grass, I wanted to shed my skin and remove every last filthy thing about me. I wanted to run away from home, life, anything tying me down to this wretched place and insecurities.

I hated her. I hated him. I hated them.

And yet I knew I could never hate them nearly as much as myself. I was the problem here, I was the issue. I pulled out a cig from the packet stuffed dormant in my back pocket, I was tired. I wanted to talk to someone, I badly needed a hug as stupid as it sounds, I just wanted physical contact... To make sure someone cared. That someone understood. I pulled out my phone, instead of texting Mary who I bother enough with my problems as it is, I put it away.

Relying on someone else is probably the worst mistake you could ever make. Other than the other hardcore crimes, like murder and thievery, to put yourself in the hands of someone else, another person that could possibly turn on you someday. I hated this paranoia so much, how it clung to my mind and screamed whenever I wanted to put my faith in someone.

'Can't blame you for doing this to yourself, slowly, slowly, slowly just killing yourself with these addicting drugs.'

Ah, voices are never good to hear. But lately, I've given up on any hopes of getting better. They say people like me were born sick, and if so, so be it... I didn't think so though. I thought people should be able to do what they feel is comfort, as long as it doesn't hurt themselves or others, it's okay, which is hypocrisy of course, but I could care less about what happens to me. Why should gender be based off of sex? Why should love be based off of what your partners genitals are? Shouldn't it be with the heart rather than the ability to reproduce...?

And I thought about these things. But what does it matter, I wish I could change the form in which other loving beings think, to open their hearts and shoe them the beautiful ways of being open minded. If only this world were a bit more accepting, of only the people could hear out others, and its not society's fault, we make society up.

Change is up to us..

And me ranting to myself and smoking won't make things better, I've realized. But I just haven't figured out how to make things right... With my parents or Diana, or anyone I could hurt. As much as I hated her, I knew I still loved her with all my heart. Her adorable laugh, how her eyes sparkled when she talked to me, how Diane would get so excited about the smallest of things... Her name was etched into my soul, forgot her, I could not... She was my first girlfriend and she... She told me that she loved me... Does this even matter? I took another puff. Does this trivial unrequited love even matter? In a few months from now, she'll be in the drawer of regrets and broken promises. Maybe I could if I really tried.

I wondered if my brother would come out to check on me. I hated him, yeah, but I also very much held him dear. And plus... He was all I had left. My parents hated me, hated my physical appearance, hated how some people called me sir, and others would refer to me as male. So they did their best to count me out of their "picture perfect" family... And right as they resented me, I loathed them back.

I dropped the cigarette and casually stepped on it, killing the flame, I walked slowly down the street, watching the sun set and the lampposts flicking to life. I shoved my hands into my pockets, continuing to ponder what it was really like to feel, to know exactly how you felt and why. I stopped in front of my home, knowing havoc would ignite when I stepped in. And it did, I heard my mother screaming where I was. My father glaring at me, I could barely tolerate the seething look. I wanted to break down right then and there, cry again. Instead, I did something incredibly regrettable. My gaze was caught by my brother, who stood behind my mother. He was evidently smirking.

And my fists once again trembled. I was through. I was beyond finished. It was the worst possible timing but I had to get this out. I had to let them know what I really feel, who I really am. Finally, I'd be able to live without the suffocation that would hold me down and would not permit me to live a free, honest life. I could no longer live in the fear of my brother going to snitch me out.

I could be free.

"Mom, dad, I-I'm panromantic... Asexual... And genderfluid." I choked out, breathing out and as I felt a smile break through my face, I also felt the palm of my father's hand slam against my cheek.