A Ride to a Heartbreak

Zepher

A fool, I am! I've fell for the person I swore off to because I knew my best friend like him, and because he had loved her and still love her. Why did I have to go and break my own heart?

My story will be long, but to understand it, you must read the next three paragraphs. And I surely hope that he don't ever read this.

Let my memories serve me wrong, but from it, I remember being sexually abuse. Let my past serve me right, but from it, I become a villain. And villains don't get happy endings.

Although I don't know if my memories are true, I remembered being sexually assault by no one but my family members, and it left me crippled because now I felt used, dirty, ugly and broken. I felt like I was the bad person in everything I did. I felt like a villain. They stopped when I turned age 11, and I finally realized what they were doing at age 13, so I distance myself. As I grew up, I felt like I couldn't tell anyone, mostly my other family members because I didn't want to risk their bonds. Through my memories and my past, I became a closed book and insecure to the point where I lock myself inside the walls I built and lock everyone out, then I glued a smile on my face to hide the pain inside. Everyone thought I was happy, and I made myself think that too.

At age 16, I found out I have depression, but I didn't tell my parents. Those who knew of my depression didn't know that it was because of what I've gone through. And being born on 4/20 didn't even help: I was nickname Hitler/Adolf(it's also his birthday), Pothead and the Weed Baby .

Now here's the story. At age 18, during my senior year of high school with my two best friends and a regular friend, I fell hard for this guy, Andy, who I messaged only through Facebook for two and a half months and knew of for almost two years, and he's two years younger than me. When I first met him, I told all my friends that if he was the last guy on earth, I would never ever date him, and out of all the guys I say that to, he was the first that I fell for. Moreover, he was the first guy that I ever like that was younger than me and the only person who got me acting like a stupid high school girl, instead of the mean, heartless tomboy everyone around me was use to. When he messaged me, I was smiling, giggling and blushing all at once. He could make me happy, sad and angry all at once. He could change my mood with a snap of his fingers. He was the only person who so far had gotten me open up to other people about my feelings that I once hid and how I was manipulated by my abusers to go steal my dad's stash of "books" for them. The only thing I didn't tell them was me being abused. I became very vulnerable to anyone around me, but I wasn't scare for I knew that if he knew my secrets, he wouldn't hurt me, and I felt relax, free and relieved of everything. While my friends told me that I was in love, my siblings told me I was infatuated because I don't know his family or anything personal about him. Seeing that they were true, I told myself that I was only infatuated by him.

The tricky thing was that my friends and I knew that he really like one of my best friend, Brendi, and she liked him too. However, Brendi stopped liking him, and he didn't. To make things worse, throughout middle school and the beginning of high school, Brendi and I look so much alike that everyone thought we were twins, and we were mistaken for each other most of the time. This made me uncomfortable and self-conscious because I knew that if Andy went out with me, I would feel like a replacement for Brendi, so I decided that I would tell Andy, but stay as friends. Furthermore, I also knew that he would only want to be friends.

Before I confessed, our club had a camping trip and all three of us were going. That was the worst week ever because I realized that both him and I were lost causes, since our love was an unrequited love. He would sit far away and steal glances at Brendi, while I stole glances at him. And once I caught his eyes, I saw that it showed hope, loneliness, sadness and pain: hope for something more, loneliness because she didn't care, sadness because she liked someone else and pain because he couldn't be at her side. He didn't even notice those emotions in my eyes, after a while I felt tears burning my eyes, so I isolated myself, not to cry but to recollect myself by giving myself a prep talk that I knew this already and it would be stupid for me to cry over an idea like this.

After camp, I came home and cried. I cried in my secret hideout, and I cried myself to sleep. During this time, I have also accept my memories of being abused and manipulated. I've always rejected these memories, but he made me realized I have to accept who I am and that I'm really broken. Then I used this to justify my feelings for him, saying that he made me feel whole, and it felt so good to be whole again that I've became attached to him, even though it might not have been true. More time went by and we kept talking, sometime personal, but mostly random. I knew his favorite band, the games he played, his favorite music genre(which is also mine-classical), his main instrument that he plays(he play six instruments-our favorite the piano) and his daily routine.

The time came when I built the courage enough to tell him. It was a night in May, that I decided to do it, but what was horrible about that night is that I was hungry, which meant I was either really b**chy or energic. Luckily I was energic. However, luck was never one my side, two of my friends from sixth period came, with one high on an empty stomach and was having a bad trip. I gave her medicine that she didn't take and dropped it in her cup of water. Later that night, she was feeling better, so I made her eat and the other told me to eat. I was like I need no food, I only need water, so I drank the cup of water with the medicine in it. I got scared and ate a sugar cookie to stop the affects of the medicine. It didn't work and my vision became tilted to the the right a little. Now, I was drugged, on a sugar rush, and nervous when I confess, but then I got mad at him for interrupting me when I was telling him and I yelled out loud, "I like you! There, are you freaking happy?! I've said it, are you guys freaking happy?!" And I just walked away from him, without getting a response.

Four days later, he messaged me if I wanted a response, but when he messaged me, I knew the response that he still wanted us to be friends and didn't need him to tell me. Furthermore, I was happy with that. Or I thought I did.

We didn't really talk anymore. We only talked once more after his "response" and it was after my graduation and during sober grad. His message had made my night, because early, my parents were arguing with my sister right before my graduation ceremony, which left me on the verge of bursting out crying.

Sometime, when I'm feeling down and no one can cheer me up, I want to message him because one word from him can make me the happiest person for a minute, but I told myself that I can't grow too attach or dependent on him, so I won't message him at all and dwell in my sadness til nightfall, when I can cry myself to sleep. And other times when I'm feeling angry, I need someone to calm me down right away, or I'll say mean, truthful things or throw the first punch, but everyone, except him, can't calm me down right away, yet I won't message him. To release my anger before I blow up in someone's face, I have to punch things, so I would go to my secret hideout and punch things til my hand bruised up or my skin start peeling off. He knows that I do this too, but I don't want to lean on him and put my worries on him.

Every once in a while, I want to message him, but then my past, my siblings words of infatuation and my freaking pride keep stopping me. I tell myself that he deserve someone better than me; that he deserve someone who isn't as broken as me; that he deserve someone who would love him fully; that he deserve someone like Brendi. I tell myself that I'm broken, used and dirty and not worthy of him; that I'm a villain and villains never get a happy ending; that I'm going through the phrase of self-pity; that I'm better without him; that I'm only infatuated; that I'm fine, but I cried myself to sleep every now and then because of him. Oh, how Karma can be such a pain in the gluts.

He, who doesn't know what he's done to me, doesn't need to know that I still like him. He doesn't need to know my past or how broken I really am. He just needs to know that I was glad that I've met him and became one of his friends.

That's my journey down the heartbreak zone. Thanks for reading, and I'm really sorry for this story being super duper long.