Can You Find Me? II: Exordium

Disclaimer: Mature Content

I always knew there was something fucked up in my head.

It wasn’t like I was really destined to be this way. Mom and dad were in the picture from birth. Neither of them ever raised a hand to me that was too harsh or spoke a word to me that was too cruel. My mother doted on me for every minor achievement I made growing up and my father was your typical suburban dad, dead-set on making me the king of football or baseball while teaching me life lessons on how to be a man. We had money, we had a nice house, and I never went for longer than a day without something I asked for. Sure, I was a spoiled kid but I wasn’t a spoiled brat. My best friend in high school was even more well-off than I was and anyone would call him a good kid. A good friend, a good guy, a good son, yet his only faults were a short fuse and a tendency to be over-protective. At least his mistakes never hurt anybody; Mine did.

In regards to the “Nature vs. Nurture” argument I have trouble seeing where my nurturing failed me. I mean, maybe my good life was the reason for my problems, but then I remember my best friend and that he doesn’t have the same issues I do. In fact, he doesn’t have any of the same issues that I do. He had his emotional outbursts so that it was no secret what was going on in his head. I was always calm, cool, and collected. My demons rarely came to the surface.

I grew up being everything my parents wanted me to be. Don’t get me wrong, I wanted to play baseball and take photography classes, I’m just lucky that I wasn’t stuck doing anything that I hated. I was being cultivated into the perfect little plant for all to see. Once I hit high school my GPA and sportsmanship spoke for themselves. By junior year I was good-looking, I was successful, and I was popular. My future seemed unlimited to everyone else but me. My paraphilia was the demon hidden inside of me, waiting for me to slip back into his clutches at any moment. I started over-stepping my boundaries as a child. Many young children are caught and disciplined for certain behaviors before it can get worse. Sadly, I was never caught and never disciplined. Because of this, what started as simple curiosity morphed into a complete obsession. That obsession took me down an unforgivable road that put some of the most precious people in my life in danger.

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Forever and Always

“I bend and bend until I break.”

Those words stuck with him. The first boy I loved was told that by the first girl he loved. I idolized them when we were friends, thinking that they really were perfect for each other. I was jealous of it until they fell apart. I had never had anything except hopeless dreams and fruitless crushes before that. And when he came to me to be mended, I thought I was the luckiest girl in the world. It was the first time someone had said “forever and always” and I believed it. And I believed in it with all of my heart for over a year. The first time he left was the first time I felt a pain in my chest and tears running endlessly down my face. My mom heard me crying out, she told me it’d be alright. Surely it was when he confessed his feelings the next morning. I was back to “forever and always” again. But it would later fall apart as first love so often does in it’s naivety and infancy. Someone else with the same sweet words found me but soon revealed that their true intention was to own me, not love me. I bent and broke. My first love found me again and ignited the fire that had died months before. “Forever and always”. The flame died out and we drifted apart, hurt but not lost like the first time. I was alright for awhile and other men had inspired the hopeless romantic in me, but in the end they would keep me at a distance. It made me bitter at first in my youthful desire for love but I would find that everything happens for a reason.

I found that my next “Forever and always” would be somewhat more tame. The pain I felt from harsh words and confusing nights would be heavy but not unbearable. I gave my all as I always do and I took him back each time, be it from another woman’s lips or a crippling argument on the ride home. Doubt grew in my stomach and left me with sleepless nights wondering “Why?”. When the roots took hold I finally said goodbye, sitting in this very spot as he was beside me. It became easier as the anger set it. I bent and I broke. Again I was picking up the pieces that I had morphed out of shape and snapped just to say I was a “good girl”. They would try to return again and leave me wondering: Why did you have to lose everything in order to change?

I don’t know how to be worth something unless I am lost.

This would be my life story.

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Finding Home

“She’s just so moody you know…”

“So was I.”

I rubbed the handle of my coffee cup as my eyes traced the lines of the wooden table. He sighed again as he looked at me. A single breath traveling the lengths of many seasons to finally come to rest. I looked up.

“I know you. You get lost with people and you think you have to look beyond them to fix it. You think that talking to a girl who isn’t moody will make up for it. You’re not a boy anymore, it’s time to stop the games.”

This whole afternoon had become a game. From the embrace of our greeting to his eagerness to talk about all the good times we had. What was he trying to remind me of? What did he want?

“I’m not playing games, it’s just I know an ongoing problem when I see it. I feel like she doesn’t even try anymore.”

“Don’t you talk to her about it?”

“Of course I do.”

“Hm.” I pondered taking another drink. His eyes were pleading with me, looking for guidance. I had coddled him for so many years of our friendship. I had dipped sweet words into his heart when I called him mine. I was used to being the wrong one, the “moody” one. He was rarely keen on his own reflection. I wondered when he’d learn.

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