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No need to follow up with what I wrote about, but here it is. We had to submit it onto this website where we get graded for our work.
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"Paranoia"
Talking about an experience that changes your life is a hard task. Everything in this world is subjective, for one can proclaim that not having a parental figure in their life is worse than losing a soccer game. However, in all of my short life of fifteen years, I have had the pleasure, or rather the curse of being the closet to being in love. The love that makes your stomach flutters nervously when they are around. The love that keeps you up at night, tearing up, and making you hates yourself and that person with every tear that escapes your eyes. The love and hate, coupled together forged an experience that makes anything else pale in comparison. This is not a story of an adolescent boy finding what he thought was love; this is a cautionary tale for everyone seeking out what you covet the most.
At the ever so ripe age of thirteen, I was definitely a mess. About forty pounds heavier, neither sense of swagger nor the maturity I pride myself for having now, one could get the picture that love was the least of my worries. So, imagine as I walked into my class one day, and there I saw her. It was not like in the movies where the light shines solely on her, and my heart starts running into overdrive. But I definitely felt a heart string or two tugs in her general direction. I decided that I wanted to get to know her, and completely immerse myself into her world. This was the first time I got exactly what I wished for. First being declined by her, then after a month or two went by, we became friends. It was like everything I liked, she liked too. There was nothing that was off limits, and we both shared each other’s true, unfiltered selves. But, as do most things in my life, the great things tend to go in the exact inverse, and soon the one who I thought was actually “the one” turned into my greatest foe.
I thought, maybe admitting my feelings would end these repressed thoughts of sadness and anger. We were in different circumstances, and at the end of the day, same people, yet radically different. I finally rationalize that I only wanted her; for I knew she was off limits. Yet, all great villains from the movies or comic books never die the first time they are slain, and she proved to be no different. She ended up going out with someone, which was the first in many blows dealt directly to my soul. Yet, throughout it all, I stick by the fact that she knew how I felt. I tried breaking free from her, and not talking to her. But as if I was entranced, she drew me right back in. I followed her like a lost puppy, and deflected the rumors of me liking her and we remained like so until the summer.
I dub my summer with her the “catalyst”. Feeling like I was under control, I could actually confine with her once more. Then, a series of events plague us, and suddenly my intense feelings of infatuation, slightly tinged with lust crept back into my body, and as the school year started, it manifests itself into a beast. A howling, constantly shifting, and ever so present beast that sat at the tip of my tongue every time we spoke to each other. The start of this school year mirrored the start of the last one, yet I focused it all with her. Of course, new people waltzed into my life. Females that I was willing to give my heart up to, but it did not matter, for she was it. I was so adamant on the thought of her and keeping her happy, that I neglected other friends, family, and even myself. The reward for such devotion was standing there and helping her as she pursued other males. But that was the thing; I was locked up into her. Even though it pained me beyond belief to help her find her love, I knew my role was to be her best friend, and help her out until she was ready for me.
The moment when everything boiled over, and I achieved what I wished for, that was when I realized it was not worth it. Everything became quite clear one day, as I realized the implications of everything that went on. Little thoughts that lived in the back of my head dashed out to the forefront, and suddenly I just knew, she was just simply not right for me. There is only so many times one can give their heart out on a silver platter, and watch it dissected, smashed, and handed back. The only thing I could take solace in was that the ends justifies the means, and what I am going through, eventually it will equate to something. But so far it has not. I do not like playing the victim role, and yet I find myself permanently there. My modus operandi completely changed just to keep up with her even morphing personality, and there was a time I looked myself into the mirror and honestly questioned who was staring back. The feelings of paranoia, frustration, and anger accompanied with her existence made it terribly difficult to talk to her. However, what hurt even most was seeing the one that I could see myself loving, marrying, having the stereotypical American dream with, morphed into a creature that I have never ever dreamed of encountering. Perhaps that was always there, and I just updated my senses, or my perspective has just been seriously warped. Either way, the day I am rid of every trace of her will be a day I look forward to, if for nothing but to give me hope.
Experiences are a funny thing. With age, they become distorted until they are only a fragment of the former truth, yet people’s lives are directly affected by them. While it is superficial to say love has affected my life so extremely, without a shadow of a doubt, I know it has. I was propelled into growing up faster than I ever would want to. I became, or rather I am, a shell of my former self, and I have to deal constantly with the scars she left behind. I wish to say even at this very moment I was on my way to being rid of her. But she is just a presence that will always haunt me.
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And for the record; first submission:
friggggin' beast.
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