Today is Wednesday. It is currently 6:30 PM. I took two finals today.
That's not why I'm here.
Today, I decided that torturing myself over a boy isnt worth it.
Let me explain.
I made a mistake, of opening up to a boy. I fell in love, and fell onto my face.
Let me be more specific?
My name is BLANK. I'm 15. I have severe anxiety, high depression, and suicidal tendencies.
I met a guy, and didn't think much about him. We talked for a few minutes, and exchanged numbers as he left. We talked for one day. At the time, I had currently been having a lot of trouble at home, and my friends were all pushing me away. I felt alone. And so, three days after I met and spoke to Kevin, I took a blade to my foot, and cut. It dripped on my phone, and onto the conversation between Kevin and I.
I thought to myself "Maybe things could get better, maybe things could change. Give it a whirl. If it doesn't work out, you'll be okay."
So, I cleaned myself up, bandaged myself, and sent a message to Kevin. (Kevin, and Blank)
Hey Kevin.
Hey! I honestly didn't think I'd hear from you again!
Why would you think that?
Well, I figured you have boys all begging for your attention.
I dont.
From there, an amazing friendship bloomed. I liked him, I really truly like liked him. I didn't know if he felt the same. Slowly, I fell in love with this boy.
One day, we were talking about horrible yearbook pictures, when he asked me to send him a picture of myself, just my face. I refused, because I'm extremely insecure. He would call me perfect, I'd deny it. I didn't tell him about my problems at home or my scars.
Eventually, tired of bickering, I said "If I'm so perfect, what's your favorite part of me?"
He didn't respond, and I could feel my insecurities rising. I went to shut my phone off and shower, when I got a message.
"Favorite part? I love your blue eyes, so light that they are grey. I love your lips, and how you bit them when you're nervous or excited. I love your nose, so smooth when I nuzzle it with mine. I love your long arms, and tiny hands. I love your long legs, and tiny feet. I love when you shift around because your body goes numb. I love when you ask me to repeat myself, because your music had been so loud that it messed up your hearing. I love when you bite your cheek. I love when you shake your head back and forth to fix your hair. I love your style. I love your confidence. I love your short hair, and your pointy ears. I love when I see you covered in dirt, paint, ink, anything! I love when you try and beat me at basketball. I love when we stay up late talking. I love when we sing to our favorite bands. I love when your little tongue moves across your bottom lip. I love your tongue, your hair, your nose, your ears, your laugh, your eyes, and you!"
I read that message to myself over and over again, each time my eyes hit the sentence, my heart would go crazy.
"I didn't mean to tell you that! Please don't let that ruin whatever relationship we had! I'm sorry!"
"Kevin."
"Blank?"
"I love you too"
":DDDD"
Our relationship kick started from there. We talked 24/7, constantly. Through work, school, showers, and until one of us fell asleep.
It was perfect.
We were perfect.
Eventually, I did tell him about my family problems, and about how I got my scars and how he saved my life.
"I understand if you want to stop talking to me."
"It only makes me love you more."
I had never felt something as real as our love.
He made my problems and insecurities disappear. He made me feel loved, and perfect.
He had forgotten my birthday, (March 13)and I told him it was fine and it didn't bother me. Because honestly it didn't.
Throughout March, April, and half of May, everything was amazing. He was my Knight in Shining Armor.
He was home schooled, and I am not.
I'd wake up at 6:50, get ready and at 7:30 I'd send him a "Goodmorning." He would respond when he woke up, around 10. We'd talk whenever we could. Around the second week of May, he stopped talking to me ask much. I didn't worry about it, it seemed normal. We were comfortable in the relationship. The days passed slowly, and he stopped talking completely at the beginning of the third week.
"Kevin?"
"Goodmorning"
"Are you up yet?"
"Goodnight :("
"Are you okay?"
"Please answer me."
I started to worry. Had something happened? Is he okay? Was he hurt? What's going on?
I texted, no response. I called, no answer. I sent him a message on Facebook, wasn't even opened. Message on kik, not opened.
I was worrying myself to the point where k wasn't eating.
Friday, May 23, 2014.
Kevin's birthday. I opened Facebook on my phone to see if I had gotten anything. I went to messages, and noticed it had his picture, the message, unread, and "Facebook User" instead of his name.
Doesn't that show up when someone blocks you? I typed his name in the search bar, nothing came up. Nothing.
I sat back in my chair, thinking.
No response to texts
No answer to calls.
Facebook said blocked.
Resorting to plan y, I searched "What does the sent/delivered symbol on kik look like if you're blocked?"
It looked exactly the same as if it was unblocked, so I sighed happily, knowing it was misunderstanding.
I typed "Goodmorning c:" and hit send.
"Oops, it looks like (removed for privacy)'s phone has been off/disconnected for a while. We'll deliver your message when they connect again."
He had deleted me, blocked me, ignored me, lied to me and broke my heart.
But, in the end, it feels like a weight was lifted off my shoulders.
I know now, he isn't hurt, he is okay.
I wish he had given me an explanation, but I dont think I'd want to hear it.
Why do I need another insecurity or more pain?
Remember what you said, if it didnt work, you'd be okay. So, I am okay. I am, truly okay.
I don't really consider him a relationship. It was more of friends who flirted and shit. He never asked me out.
I wish I knew what was going on. I wish I could ask him if he had lied about everything. If it was just a game to him. I had everything at one point. Kevin, my family had stopped fighting, my friends stopped pushing me away, I had softball, and for once in my life, I felt love.
There's one problem, I'm not okay.
That is why I hate #23, and Fridays.
