Untitled Up to This Point

She’s always been there, waiting for when I was my weakest.

She was very patient, which was very peculiar, considering her personality. She was my best friend and worst enemy. She was my nightmare, but she was beyond my wildest dreams. She was me, but she wasn’t.

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My freshman year was unlike an other year, but a typical first year. First real boyfriends, sneaking out, drinking, smoking, blow jobs, and drama.

For the most part I stayed out of that stream of events the best I could, but occasionally, like everybody, I got tangled up in it.

“Tangled up” is probably an understatement. I was so tightly wrapped up in some of the drama, I could hardly sleep at night and occasionally went into hysterics.

And by hysterics I mean random crying and having to sit on the floor in fetal position while singing to myself in order to calm down.

Sometimes I think I was autistic.

I always dreamt about being wanted and loved, which often led to my demise, as much as I’d hate to admit it.

I’m not here to lie to you.

I’ve been lying my whole life, and here I am, setting the record straight, and I swear to tell you the truth, or nothing.

At the same time, I’m not here to explain how naive I was. Because I wasn’t. I was just ready for love, but I was an addict to being wanted. It was my downfall, my catch 22.

I never had the courage to confront these guys, these people, who hurt me in high school. Contrary to what people believed, and what I like to think, I was too shy.

This is my story, my life, and only the smallest fraction of a history.