Normalcy

They think I’m gay, they all do.
They think I like men. They don’t know the half of it.

Or maybe even a quarter…
Or a half of a half, or even smaller, they know absolutely nothing.

I can’t stand it, I’m so…
Afraid isn’t really the correct word to describe this, this complete and utter…fear?
That doesn’t really work either; it’s too hard to explain in just one word.

I’m not gay. I swear to God I’m not gay, if I can’t stand being around them, how the hell could I be gay? If I can barely stand to look in the mirror because of what I am, how could I in my right mind possibly be gay, be a homosexual, a freak, a nonconformist?

These are the names I get called on a daily bases, these are the words I get slashed and burned with because of people’s simple minds and their lack of ability to wrap their heads around the possibility that maybe I’m afraid to be around…men.

Even saying the word…it terrifies me.

You’re reading this, thinking, this person is absolutely insane, to be afraid of what they are, what they were born as. You probably are thinking, right now, that I’ve been through something, something traumatizing and horrible and absolutely disgusting.

But I haven’t. My life has been amazing, so I have no idea where this has come from. This complete mental instability that I have acquired through something that I may not remember, something that has maybe been drilled into my brain and my body at such a young age it’s almost impossible for me to remember it.

Saying all this, it almost seems hypocritical, because as I am; I’m lying here beneath this…man. His face is hovering above mine, staring, sweating. My heart is still, calm, steady. This is all completely new, being calm in this situation, being calm with someone…like them. Someone just like…someone just like me.

“Have you ever even thought of trying to fix this? Maybe you could fix it after all, dear. This isn’t healthy, you know this. We both know this. You’re going to scare yourself into a coma. You get anxiety attacks in the hallways at school whenever a guy accidentally brushes against you. I have to catch you because you almost collapse every time one even talks to you. You’re like an inexperienced twelve-year old with this massive crush on a guy who barely notices her. You wonder why people think you’re gay, when I saw you I thought you were. You need to fix this. You need to fix it soon.”

Through this whole “lecture” by my supposed best friend, my hands are clenched into tight, sweating fists. My teeth are foul-tasting powder inside my mouth, and my eyes are burning, hoping to set her aflame eventually.

“I know, I know, you want to kill me for saying this, don’t you? I can tell you’re trying to set me on fire with your eyes. You won’t succeed dear, trust me. I’ve had worse.” She paused, her eyes flashing sadness before looking down at the table we were sitting at. A pang of idiotic guilt pricked my gasping heart. Our hands found each other, both reassuring.

“But, anyway, there’s a party, Friday, you should come. See if you can fix this.” I took my hand away quickly, glaring at her once more. “Come on, dear, please. It will help you so much, if you get over this. So, so much. I promise it will. I’ll come with you, to help you through it. I know it’s going to be hard, you know it too. But I’ll be there, okay? I promise I’ll be there to help, no matter what.”

She took my hand back and squeezed it softly. I let a soft smile find its way to my face, before nodding. Only she would know what the nod meant. The other people surrounding us were clueless. To them, we may have been a couple. To them, I may have been normal. It was a feeling I had felt rarely, and it elated me. It caused my face to split in half with the smile it brought. It caused me to start laughing out of pure joy, to think that maybe someone thought I was absolutely normal, that I wasn’t afraid. She noticed and hugged me tight, whispering “thank you” in my ear.

His lips and hands are gentle, and I feel at ease, as if I was with someone I had known my entire life, someone of whom I was absolutely sure that they would never dare think of hurting me. I am not even in this calm in the best of dreams I have ever had. It is only him.

It is only him, because now, it is the same situation, and I am sweating bullets, crying my lungs out, screaming my lungs raw. There is no pleasure or pain, only complete fear, horror, the absolute need to run away, the absolute need to run away into his arms.

He isn’t spectacular; he isn’t anything to take a second glance at. He’s one of the most average human beings you could ever walk past. Yet, it is him that makes my heart become calm and my mind serene. It is him who takes my body, mind, and heart into a piece of our own idea of heaven.

People tend to overlook him, they tend to write him off as soon as they meet him, but there is something in him that causes me to somehow… forget everything. He makes me forget, and for that I love him.

His eyes stare down at me, as his lips form those three words that make my heart swell and soar into the palm of his hand. His hands take the fear and hide in a dark corner, in the back of my mind; they place it inside a small box, locked with chains and a padlock. He takes everything that hurts me, he cures me. It is only him who can do this.

It is only him.