i didn't know what life could bring
I've kept too many secrets from too many people. There's no excuse for my actions except that I was foolishly worried about the reaction of others. I care too much about what others think, and it's time for that to stop. Here's a little insight into senior year of high school through my eyes, an excerpt from my memoir, perhaps... Anyway, try not to be too judgmental; I know "Max" wouldn't be.
The Secret Chapter
It was my senior year of high school. Everyone was so excited to leave Howard County behind. Everyone looked forward to college, the next big adventure. Yet, within the first few months of senior year I was beginning to wonder whether I'd make it to college. My grades were above average, my SAT scores were higher than college requirements, and I had a passion for writing. No, it wasn't being admitted to college that had me worried. The reason for my negative attitude toward college was merely this: I didn't think I would live long enough to see the day of graduation.
There's no excuse for this point of view. I hadn't been diagnosed with any life-threatening disease. Physically, I was in better health than most people my age. Note that I say "physically." Mentally, I was in the worst shape possible. With my best friend since kindergarten (let's call her "Anne") fighting an eating disorder and a drug addiction, my life had taken a turn for the worse. I watched her bounce back and forth between school and rehabilitation all over the country.
I blamed myself. I knew of all the things "Anne" was doing to herself--the drugs, alcohol, depression, and eating disorder. I knew every single thing that was slowly killing her, and I let it get the better of my emotions and her well-being. This was all because I was too afraid to be the rat, too afraid to save her from herself. For months, I blamed myself, hurting my self mentally and physically, crying myself to sleep, and keeping to myself.
"Anne" and I were more than just friends at time though, and this is where I admit one of my deepest secrets, a secret that I've only recently come to realize is not going to send me to a burning hell. Together, "Anne" and I experimented in the discovery of our sexualities. Eventually she came to decide that she was bisexual, and I was strictly attracted to males. Our love never exceeded that of friendship and family, but watching her change into a person whom I neither recognized nor liked broke me down.
During the Fall of my senior year, I seeked comfort in one person (let's call her "Max"). She is the reason I'm still alive today. She is the reason I walked across the stage at Merriweather Post Pavilion. She is the reason I'm sitting here in my college dorm. She picked me up in my lowest of times, when I completely disconnected myself from everyone around me. She was the friend I needed. But I found myself wanting more than just a friendship. While the word "girlfriend" never once crossed my lips, I knew that was what I wanted. Believe it or not, after time spent with "Max," I actually might have fallen for her. What I remember nost clearly that I loved about her, besides her amazing hugs, was that she was never judgmental. However, the idea of telling "Max" that my feelings had grown to exceed friendship scared me out of my mind. Until that moment, despite moments I shared with "Anne," I had considered myself decidedly straight.
Finally, I found the courage to tell "Max" how I felt about her, and still, she didn't judge me. She didn't place a label on me, like lesbian, dyke, or bisexual. I was still Emily. But "Max" didn't reciprocate my feelings. While her feelings toward other females has changed since, we have remained friends, and I don't expect anything more than that.
However, "Max" isn't the reason that I shy away from serious feelings towards females, nor is "Anne," really, though they both play significant roles in the reason I am how I am today. One girl nearly killed me while the other saved my life.
These two girls were the most important people in my life during that period, and perhaps that was the reason I cut myself. "Anne's" absence sent my life sprialling downward, and my feelings toward "Max" confused and scared me.
I was scared--terrified--of being different. I was scared that admitting that I was different meant admitting that I was more like "Anne," the girl who my mother figured would amount to nothing, than I wanted to be. Now I realize that being different doesn't have to be a bad thing. Just because "Anne" and I share a few of the same traits doesn't mean that I'm following the same path as her. It doesn't mean I'm going to be in rehabilitation and suffering withdrawal symptoms. I have choices.
That is my past. That is the very lowest point in my existence. Those were the days I promised ymself I would leave behind upon getting to college. Though "Anne's" mistakes still haunt me and even brought back the feelings of depression during my first few months at Lynchburg College, I never again cut myself. I never again fell into this feeling of inability to live. I never again wanted to die from the very pain of it all.
I also wanted to leave my past with girls--"Anne" and "Max" both--back in Maryland. With a boyfriend at the time, I still lived under the label of "straight." However, here I am in my second semester of my freshman year, single since last October, and experiencing the same feelings that I had during my senior year. So, maybe it's time to take a chance. Maybe I should see if I really can be just Emily, rather than another label.
It'll be difficult; I already told her that. I'm not good with trust, ever since things with "Anne" and her multiple betrayals, but I want to try. I think it might be worth it. It's hard to try to let go of things that others have done, but I know that if I want to change, then I must.
I can't make any promises, but I want to take a chance. I want to live in this moment and be happy, even if it hurts later.