I don’t want to be a freak.

Who am I? do I really control this? I don’t want to be a freak! I want to fit it, I want to be friends with the ditzy popular girls and be part of the school’s elite. I don’t want to be a freak. That’s what they’d think of me. Is it really worth it? I don’t think it is. I’ve been screwed over twice by my best friends who told me they liked me, in the lesbian way, and kissed me. With one of them it resulted in the greatest relationship of my life. That later fell to shit and I'm still torn up about after eight or nine months away from her. With the other, it all fell to shit right away, I don’t think we’ll ever truly be that close again.
I can’t keep friends; I'm losing all of them slowly because I subconsciously push them away. I don’t want them getting close to me; I don’t need any more scars. My wrists have suffered enough and so has my dignity. I don’t want to get hurt anymore. But I don’t want to hurt anyone else. I don’t have enough problems to really cut myself the way I do, but I do.
Maybe I cut to prove a point, maybe I slit my wrists with such determination because it might allow other people to see the suffering that’s really going on inside me. Does it really make me feel better? To tell the truth, only sometimes, and only recently has it actually helped. Once I had developed the habit for it. It’s like smoking but worse. I could die much faster and push even more people away. I don’t want to be a loser.

I don’t want to be a freak.

But I do want to feel loved again. I do want my family to trust me again. I want my friends to think of me as sane and secure, not even that, I just want them to think I'm amusing to be around. I miss that, I used to have so many friends before the issue of my sexuality came up.
I never realized I was gay; all I knew was that I wasn’t as into boys as everyone else was. I never jumped to ‘I'm gay’ because my parents religion had been so crammed into my head that I refused to accept that, or to even consider it. But once I started too, everything seemed more right. It was weird and new to me but it felt true. I explored that a little more and it ended up hurting me more than any 13 year old should’ve been allowed to feel.

I was a freak.

She told me she was bi, and a few days later, she asked me out. I said yes of course. She was my best friend. We progressed slowly, and at the night of one of the middle school ‘Dances’ she kissed me. I will never forget that, my first kiss. It’s impossible to describe.
It was like my blood was burning, my heart was pounding in my chest, I felt dizzy with joy. I saw in my head briefly what true perfection was, a mountain top with orange skies, and an eagle soaring close. In this fantasy that literally appeared in my head as clear as a dream I was kissing her. And no one was freaked out, n o one was calling us dykes. It was in that instant that I knew my best friend of two years was my soul mate. We had something so powerful that only people who feel it know what I'm saying.

They say teenagers can’t feel love. Adults know nothing. They might have gone through the same things we did, but they have no idea the circumstances. My relationship with her was the best thing that I will ever know; I was truly in love with her. I would’ve died for her. We weren’t soft little teenage girls who were all “oooh imma date this guy cuz he's funny and cute. I looove him” that’s the bullshit love that makes me mad. It makes the rest of us look stupid and ignorant to the real world.

I dated her for about six or seven month’s altogether. I'm not positive because we broke up in there a couple times because I was afraid of what people were going to say to me. I had finally reached the status where people stopped calling me an emo freak, but then I started dating another girl. And that is so bad for your rep in middle school; you can’t understand the ridicule I felt. She must've too, but she was a lot tougher than me back then. She still is, even though she’s so different.

I was always the freak.

After our last break up, I fell into a deep depression that I couldn’t rise out of. I didn’t want to rise out of it; I wanted to keep feeling that love for her. Even though it was one sided, it was still strong and pure. But it hurt; it stung like the razors that for so long bit my skin night after night of crying in my bed, staring up at the moon. Remembering, oh god, the memories were the worst. They still pop up, the time by the pond that she told me she loved me, I will never forget a single moment of us.

What made everything worse was that she started doing drugs, and not just pot, but hardcore stuff. She’d tried crack and a handful of different pills; she drank a lot and still does. And now, she’s a major whore. I think that’s verification that she’s still gay. She wants people to know how much sex she has, she overplays her part. Few others will see that like I do. No matter how much she changes, I’ll always know her.

I didn’t come out of my depression truly until I met this other girl, freshman year. I didn’t know she was bi at first, but I assumed so for some reason that I don’t understand fully. Her name will be omitted just in case someone comes across this, same as the first girl. I didn’t realize we were going to be so much alike. She had this horrible guy in her life, he was a senior and she was a freshman. He was the worst to her, he told her she looked awful, that she wasn’t beautiful. That she needed to grow up.

She is the most mature person my age that I have ever met. It has to do with her horrible past, she’s tried to kill herself three times and she lets guys take advantage of her. She settles for the trashy assholes that are in for the sex. She sees something more in them, but that sweet side never stays for long.

Back to my point, she kissed me one night and we held each other close. And after that moment, it was over, we barely spoke and we fought a lot. We still do, I have no clue what to do, I just want my friend back.

But I can’t do that without risk being known as a freak, me and her both.

I don’t want to be a freak.

But more importantly, I don’t want them to think she’s a freak.

I can’t be the only gay who is having problems like this. And for the record, this is the first time I’ve openly admitting this story to the general public, if you read this far, I appreciate your kindness and attention span. I’ll ask Santa to send you a cookie.