(OLD VERSION) Pitted Cherries

Chapter Three (Alex Carr)

 I was 12 years old when Christmas stopped feeling like Christmas. It was something I hadn't anticipated, and something I didn't really understand. Christmas was- always had been- great. My family was always so enthusiastic about the holiday, and if I ever wasn't in the spirit, they didn't leave much room for me to stay that way.

Around sixth grade, I felt drained- like the "Christmas spirit," if you will, had been sucked out of my mind, my body. Depression, I think. That's probably what it was. I don't know for sure. Not important to this specific point.

Why was I (possibly) depressed?

I tried for years to figure out what the blockage was that prevented myself from feeling happiness. Eventually, I figured that out: I liked girls in a romantic way.

I know it sounds like a stretch relating it to Christmas. But the realization was like waking up on Christmas morning. But, like, with depression. Because it's all bright and new, but you still feel dulled and wrong and weird that you're not so happy about it.

It was such a simple and yet earth-shattering realization that I fought and argued with constantly. It was a nonstop battle, telling myself that I was straight, and that it was the only way things could be.

It wasn't like my parents were homophobic or anything. My parents would've been supportive no matter when I told them. I knew that much. Of course they would've been. They'd throw a pride parade themselves to show their daughter support if they had to. I knew they would still love me, but I started dating James to prove something to myself, and my family loved him so much. I didn't want to feel like a fraud for dating him only to come out as a lesbian later on.

When I was with James, I felt like his friend. When he kissed me, I felt kind of empty. His face scratched against mine in an unpleasant way, and his tongue was overpowering. Kissing wasn't so bad though. Sometimes, I pretended he was someone else; someone with boobs. And it was okay for a little while, you know? But when his body was pressed against mine, it didn't feel the way I wanted it to feel. We didn't fit like a puzzle. And I knew, being that close to him, he was a heck of a lot more excited about me than I was about him.

And I hated thinking that it was so one-sided between us, but I just felt stuck; I didn't love him. I knew I was using him, and I was doing it for all the wrong reasons. He was really a sweet guy, and he deserved more. It took me a while to realize I didn't even really like him all that much.

He was supposed to be a big, handsome, athletic kid that I was supposed to fall in love with. But when he asked me out a month after I moved here, I almost felt more obligated to say yes purely because if every girl was supposed to be in love with him, that meant I was supposed to be too. I had a lot of fear surrounding being gay, and I didn't know why. It was like a defense mechanism, pretending I was straight; I was a possum, playing dead in the streets to avoid getting killed.

Between my mother working across the country giving speeches for her own skincare line, and my dad working out of the new New York office for his company, I didn't see them all that much. Mostly, I saw my dad; he came home on weekends to be with me, my older sister, Brynn, and my older brother, Cameron; they were both in college. We'd moved to Seattle when my dad was transferred to a new Seattle location for his job. He still had to be in New York most of the time, though, to oversee operations. Still, both of my parents were great; they were amazingly understanding and open-minded people. I was scared to come out solely because of myself.

I was such a stereotypical-looking girl that I never expected anyone to believe me. I was scared of people thinking I was just going through my lesbian phase.