i want to kiss her. i want to kiss her so bad. i miss her. but I hurt her, and I'm an idiot.

i flashback to the movies, where we kissed for the first time. we told each other it was an experiment, to see if we liked it or not. but we both new better than that, we both knew we would love it, and we did, and a kiss became a relationship,
became feeling something new,
became wondering what feelings for another girl meant
became wanting to be with her more and more,
became using the words i love you,
became thinking of and texting her all the time,
became how am i supposed to accept myself as someone so
much more different than i’d ever thought i’d be,
became thinking how could i tell my parents,
became sneaking around in our closets refusing to come out,
became shut bedroom doors,
became laying on the floor with no shirts or bras on,
became just skin on skin, hands on chests,
became the closet I’m hiding in becoming squished full with two people,
became whispered giggles and groans between kisses,
became knowing a foreign tongue,
became my closet becoming too full
due to all the extra baggage,
became i can’t do this,
became i’m scared,
became i’m done,
became me hurting you,
became i’m sorry,
became wanting you later that night
to fill the hole in my chest that i created,
became i miss you,
became i still love you,
became you moving on to some guy,
became you not needing a closet anymore,
became just me in a closet that now feels
so much bigger than before
because now that you’re gone my closet and my heart are empty.

I remember the first time someone explained to me what the word gay meant.
We were in middle school
Playing on the swing set behind Stoy Elementary
"He’s so gay," she said
Bitter disgust poured out of her mouth with every syllable
I could not think as to why being happy could be such a horrible thing
And so I asked
My exact words being
“Whats so wrong with being happy?”
Now both my friends looked at me weird
“Don’t you know what gay means?”
“Doesn’t it mean to be happy?”
“You’re such a little kid, gay does not mean happy. Gay is a boy who likes another boy”
I stood there wondering why it mattered so much that a boy liked another boy;
why it was such a distasteful thing.
And why it meant gay couldn’t still mean happy.

The instructor said,
    Go home and write
    a page tonight.
    And let that page come out of you—
    Then, it will be true.
I wonder if life could really be that simple?
I am twenty, confused, and clinically depressed
I went to therapy, then to inpatient, and now I’m home
to this house that I’ve known since birth,
Depression is not the only thing I feel, so it is not all of me.
But the path down this road has been long, and dark,
Going up hills and making turns, that got me lost sometimes,
But I’m starting to see the light of day,
Everything happens for a reason they say.
My journey isn’t over yet, but I’ll tell you what I’ve learned:

I’m not easy to understand, but nobody is,
at twenty, my age. But I know I am not  just what
I feel and see and hear. Instead I am also  what
I think, and say, and do. Aren’t we all?
The things that define me, aren’t only in my head.
They can be read, and heard, and seen,
My words spoken out loud, or written down are
The decisions I make, such as letting go, or fighting;
Telling a truth, or a lie;  giving, or taking
I guess having depression doesn’t make me a good or bad person
Despite my disorder, I make ordinary choices.
So will my definition of me be alright,
Even if it means, I’m not always delighted to be here.
But I will be here
Just like you are, instructor.
You might be happy with life---
Yet you have your troubles, just as I have mine.
That’s human.
Perhaps you don’t want to be a part of some sad occasions,
Nor do I often want to be a part of them either.
But we are, and that’s life!
As I learn from my mistakes and hard times,
I guess you learn from yours—
although you’re older—and wiser—
and I have less life experience than you.

In response to the text: "who wants to get ******* this weekend?"
I reply: I'll bring donuts, Gatorade, and Cards Against Humanity.
I tell the girls that the snacks are for them, so they don't get too drunk or hungover.
But really I know myself too well, and I binge when I feel lonely.
Its hard not to feel lonely, when you're the only sober one there.

At the Party:

Never Have I Ever reveals more than I ever thought it would.
I might be the oldest, but I am by no means the most mature.
Things I have never heard of, things I could have never thought of are things of which they speak.
Two donuts are gone.

Their alarms all go off at 10:00 for birth control. They take out their mini purse packs of 30 pills, no bigger than a credit card.

I don't take birth control, because my periods are regular, and well:

Depression+antidepressants+confusion of sexuality= no *** drive at all.
I mean zip, zero, nothing.

Leaving me to be the only ****** of the six girls here.
Three donuts are gone.

Hours ago though, I took my 300mg of Seroquel XR.
I timed it just right.
This time I won't fall asleep hours before everyone else

'Pong' requires drinking so I sit their and watch.
Four donuts are gone

Shots are taken.
I pour more tea into my mug.
Five Donuts are Gone

Drunk face-timing old friends who have moved away results in much yelling, and her hanging up.
I start a new group text where I talk only to myself.
All Donuts are gone

*There is no wonder why alcohol and depression don't mix

Monday:

The text said "who wants to get ******* this weekend?"
Life *****, as it always does,
but really its only Monday!

Tuesday:

I get assigned designated driver, but its not like we are

A. going anywhere
              or
B. I have any other choice

You know its dangerous to mix anti-depressants with alcohol?
And isn't the point of these pills, not to depress myself further, as alcohol has always seemed to do for everyone else?
Isn't that why they like it?
Because they feel numb?
I don't understand why anyone would want to be numb.
Maybe it feels good if its only for a little while.
Not for me though.
For me the numbness doesn't come in a bottle.
It comes in reflective surfaces, and anxieties, and sharp objects.
I cannot choose when to turn it on or off.
It just comes and goes as it wishes, as if I were a house and numbness called me home.

Wednesday:

The group message alerts are buzzing like their is no tomorrow.
Plans for where to go keep falling through.
But don't worry, the dead alcoholic's ex-wife and daughter are okay with hosting an underage drinking party.
And this is why I wonder about humanity.

Thursday:

We will all gather at that one girls house.
Everyone will bring alcohol.
I will bring donuts, Gatorade, and Cards Against Humanity.
I tell the girls that the snacks are for them, so they don't get too drunk or hungover.
But really I know myself too well, and I binge when I feel lonely.
Its hard not to feel lonely, when you're the only sober one there.

Friday:

They talk about this past year.
It was their freshman year of college.
I remember mine. Two years ago now. Time sure does fly.
We all talk about sophomore year.
I'll be back their again too... I hope.
You see, suicidal ideations don't usually help when trying to complete classes.  

Saturday:

Never Have I Ever  reveals more than I ever thought it would.
I might be the oldest, but I am by no means the most mature.
Things I have never heard of, things I could have never thought of are things of which they speak.
Two donuts are gone.

Their alarms all go off at 10:00 for birth control. They take out their mini purse packs of 30 pills, no bigger than a credit card.

I don't take birth control, because my periods are regular, and well:

Depression+antidepressants+confusion of sexuality= no *** drive at all.
I mean zip, zero, nothing.

Leaving me to be the only ****** of the six girls here.
Three donuts are gone.

Hours ago though, I took my 300mg of Seroquel XR.
I timed it just right.
This time I won't fall asleep hours before everyone else

'Pong' requires drinking so I sit their and watch.
Four donuts are gone

Shots are taken.
I pour more tea into my mug.
Five Donuts are Gone

Drunk face-timing old friends who have moved away results in much yelling, and her hanging up.
I start a new group text where I talk only to myself.
All Donuts are gone

*There is no wonder why alcohol and depression don't mix

The shirt that once hung loose from my shoulders, hugs me as tight as a small child does to its parent on the first day of swim lessons.

Shorts and pants that I used to swim in, now fit maybe a little too snugly.

And the weight I want to lose like a pair of glasses, or a set of keys, keeps adding up like apples in a math problem.

Does the saying "it will get worse before it gets better," have to apply to everything?

Maybe my shirts will hang lose again, just as the children get used to the water in time.

Maybe the snugness of my pants will wear old, and my bottoms will go back to needing belts to hold them up.

Maybe a friend named Sam will need some apples, and we will learn to subtract.

Maybe I will feel safe eating one of those apples, without wanting to throw it back up again.

Sometimes I think that I never want to give up this disordered habit of mine.

And other times I know it will never do me any good.