I was somewhere between the devil's hand and the angel's call,

unsettled in my rippling skin and waiting to tear into it to reveal the new parts underneath. I remember stepping up to the edge, putting my foot down on the half-floor and stepping off to fall into the descending hell of screams and waved hands.

And then I closed my eyes, closed my eyes to the dark that consumed me as I fell within it. I had accepted the animal within me, batting away at the seraphim's behest, telling her I was mindful, but I was two cents shy of expending that bit of myself too. Two cents shy.

Upon the reveal of my eyes to the light, my lashes overshadowed them and my pupils dilated like a wolf set on prey and I saw the blur of peach colored skin and some other auburn colored hair before wicked thoughts flew through me. Agitation building, rising, but I tamped it down to reduce the glory so as to not make my satisfaction feel underdone and I struck her. Not twice, but once.

I snorted to myself, laughing in short, and then watched the unbridled rage pop out of her before I saw her jump at me and I was ready to leap back and assault her face once more if she laid hands on me before our argument turned towards the center of itself. Another woman. The woman neither of us could come to agreement on and yet I scowled at her presence, knowing she'd be nothing of what I wanted or what I expected, but she'd take the insults all the same.

Had I been aware, I would have known that I wasn't cowed by this woman, no- I had felt remarkable pity for her that she took every insult hurled, demanded respect and did nothing to show for it and I took off out of reach. I remember there being some catch of two fists, more hands, and then the assault of my victory turning to ash on my tongue to prove not just one instance of hatred turned real to be, but a shocking two.

I never thought I could hate her. I told myself otherwise, demanded my mind make some sort of amend to the simple sentence that might have even slipped from my lips, but who was I but an emotionally destitute girl playing with the mentality of jail versus homelessness for freedom from such a despicable set of women. No amount of money in this god-forsaken family could twist me to bend over backwards to create some façade that I would ever think otherwise.

With foolish hope he crossed the land

The wretch who sought the maiden's hand

Beneath the shell that he had grown

He called with voice that was his own

His desperate hope was not returned

As what he asked for was not earned

Not worthy or familiar, he

Hoped for what was not to be

The shell he grew he finally knew

To take his heart and cloud his view

And as his head fell in his hands

He laughed, became an evil man

I kissed a woman for the first time when I was eighteen. I still remember that night- the whole weekend, really- like it was yesterday. I’m going to phenomenally impress you and tell you that it was October 1, 1994. There’s a reason I remember that exact date, and not just because it was the first time I kissed Claire.

Claire and her roommates had a party that night and damn near everyone in the music department was in attendance. As I was learning pretty quickly as a college student, after a hard week of school it was time to party. Since I wasn’t yet 21 and was a total rule follower, I wasn’t super into drinking just yet. I enjoyed hanging around my new music friends and getting to know them through sober lenses. I guess you’re not getting to know the real person when they are a few Everclear shots into the night, but I digress.

Claire’s house was pretty far from campus, so I had hitched a ride with a friend. Several hours into the party, he let me know that he was leaving. I gathered my belongings to join him, and I realized that my dorm identification was missing. As it was pretty late, I wouldn’t be allowed into the dorm without it. Claire offered to let me stay the night, and said she would drive me home in the morning. I helped her clean up, and she invited me back to her bedroom to keep talking. Nervously twitching, I followed her.

I should pause here a moment and explain a few things: I found myself oddly and fiercely attracted to Claire. She was 24, and I seemed like such a baby at 18. Besides the fact that she was gorgeous and every guy in the music department was in love with her, her voice was incredible. Her speaking voice was soft and soothing, but then she opened her mouth to sing, and this effortless, glorious soprano voice filled the room. She would finish singing in seminar and flash her stunning smile as people applauded. I was mesmerized.

But there was one thing that constantly plagued me: she was a woman- why did I melt into a puddle when I was around her? This was a totally new feeling to me, and something that I couldn’t reconcile.

Okay, back to her bedroom. We were talking nonstop getting to know each other, and we laid down on her bed and kept talking. And talking. We kept moving closer to one another and suddenly we were holding hands; then a little while later, we were holding one another as we were talking. She started stroking the back of my hair as we were talking and laughing. I melted everywhere, not being able to breathe. My face was buried in her neck. I felt deliriously happy. I pulled my head back to say something, and without hesitation, our lips met.

Now, I can’t say that at that point in my life I had kissed that many guys, but I can say that I had never experienced the feeling that I was having while kissing her. It was euphoric. I didn’t know if it was the softness of her lips, her intoxicating perfume, the feeling of her body pressed against mine, or feeling like I had an emotional connection to her. Or it was all of it. All I knew is that it was the most normal I had ever felt being close to someone, and I didn’t want to let her go or stop kissing her. I guess she was feeling the same as I was since we didn’t stop holding and kissing each other for hours. We eventually kissed each other to sleep.

When we woke up, Claire and I both seemed a little stunned and confused. We talked for a little while about what had happened overnight. We both got dressed and she drove me back to my dorm. Just like the ease of taking a breath, I leaned over to kiss her goodbye; our lips met and I felt my breath leave me again. It was just so normal and I felt like I floated up to my dorm room.

That feeling of weightlessness left me as soon as I walked into my dorm room to 14 missed calls, and nearly as many voicemails. My grandmother had died the day before- October 1, 1994. I immediately made travel plans and Claire drove me to the airport. She got out of the car, wrapped her arms around me, and deeply kissed me before smiling and saying “I’ll see you when you get back.”

I was not at all mentally or emotionally present at my grandmother’s funeral. I was so consumed with thoughts of my night with Claire, desperately wanting to get back on the plane to go back to school so I could see her... I so badly wanted to kiss her and be in her arms again. But was that going to happen? Would this week apart from one another kill whatever brought us close together to begin with that night? Was it all just a dream?

Claire and I were together for nearly 4 years. As we were each other’s first girlfriends, it was not at all an easy road, especially in the South in the mid-1990s. There were parents and siblings to contend with and guilt over religious upbringings in conflict with being gay and friends who did not agree about our relationship and on and on. Sex was awkward for a long time for a multitude of reasons but we learned to talk about needs and desires. Communication was tough, but we always seemed to sort out our thoughts together. Even though we were together, we found ourselves dating guys on the side as if we were trying to prove to ourselves who we really were; were we actually gay? Were we just confused? Did we happen to fall in love with who we were as humans and not necessarily because we were women? We’d go on dates or make out with guys and come back together and just laugh. We gave each other the space to figure it out, but we were always each other’s safe space to land.

That night- October 1, 1994- and the following years, as tumultuous as they were, changed the trajectory of my life. I learned to trust my intuition, to approach all of life’s chaos gently with patience and understanding, the most important thing you can offer a partner is your ability to listen and learn, to loudly be proud of who I am, and above all else…

Love is Love.

I didn't actually want to be like them.

I realized this at my sixth grade lunch table. I was friends with the stereotypical mean girls. The ones who would laugh when someone liked anime or didn't have name brand shoes.

I'm pretty sure they didn't even like me. I was chubby, not good at sports, and talked too loud. Every time they would have a sleepover the only one without an invitation was me. They would never include me in their activities. One time whenever we were hanging out we decided to do a fashion show. I was so excited to pretend to walk down a runway, but they told me I had to be a judge. "Models don't have your body type, and you'll probably stretch out our clothes anyways."

I went home and cried after that. My mom begged me to tell her what was wrong, but I never did.

After that I tried even harder to make them like me. I would eat less to try to be skinny, pretend to like sports, and never ever talk above a whisper. I started to slowly lose myself among all the expectations. Even though I was a shell of the girl I used to be, I was happy. Well, I thought I was happy.

That all changed on a chilly, crisp spring morning in sixth grade. We were all sat down for lunch. They did their usual spiel, making fun of me for how many goldfish I was eating and picking on me for my curly hair. It had made me upset, but that didn't matter. It was okay that they were making fun of me, but then a seventh grader walked by.

I was too naive to understand at the time, but those scars on his arms weren't from a cat. Apparently everyone but me knew this, because as soon as he walked by our table, of course one of the girls had to say something.

"Hey emo!" She called from a few feet away, "Wrist check!"

The guy looked stunned. He shook his head slowly before trying to walk away. The leader of our group, Mia, just couldn't have that. She stood up, pushing her way around our lunch table.

"I said wrist check." She grabbed on to his sleeve, trying to pull it up.

The boy put up a fight, but eventually Mia won. His sleeve was rolled up, and the scars were on display for everyone.

Tears started pouring down his face right away. He yanked his wrist from Mia's grasp, running to the nearest bathroom.

Mia smiled.

She actually smiled at this.

I didn't know what to do at that moment, but that was my tipping point. I didn't want to be like them. I never wanted to say another hurtful thing to someone just to get a laugh. I never wanted to make fun of somebody for something they can't control.

A flip switched in my mind. It was like the world became clearer. The purpose of everything suddenly switched, and I finally had true vision.

The next day it was safe to say I was eating lunch with somebody else.

Drunk and tripping over tipsy,

she closes her eyes, holds her lips out to me, an offering, that I do not take

Now the blanket is twirled around her like a web, she is pressed against the door, blocking my way out with a sly grin, knowing full well how trapped I am inside her snare

And there

The moment

That I did not take

"Don't come into my room, ok?" She smiles like a smudge, nudges me down the stair

But she comes to me the next morning, a storm round her waist, her eyes like thunder

"Don't you know that when someone says not to do something, they don't really mean it."

I didn't know. And now I never know what to do.

On that night of a splayed out dress that has haunted me ever since.

7th grade me had no idea that everything that comes after will impact me forever.

I shouldn't blame myself, because I didn't know better. All I ever wanted at that time were friends. Throughout my entire childhood, I was a lonely child. No one ever wanted to be friends with me. And when people did want to be friends with me, they would immediately find someone better. Someone that doesn't do the things that I do. I acted weird. I stim in front of them. They shame me for it. I talk about things that I like. They shamed me for it. I'm too happy. I'm too happy-go-lucky. So I stayed emotionless. I sat alone on the swings, wondering why no one wanted to interact with me. Am I scary to them? Is there... something wrong with me? I remember coming home every single day, wishing I wasn't lonely like this. Wishing I had friends, like everyone else. Wishing I was someone else. Someone better. Someone popular. Someone happier.

And when a girl asked me to hang out with them during lunch, I felt like I won the lottery. No one ever asked me to hang out with them before. Of course, I accepted, because all I ever wanted was to talk to someone. It was the first Christmas present that actually lasted forever. In my memories. But of course, I didn't know better. Back then, I didn't know a singular "Yes" would lead me to typing out this essay right now.

At first, it was wonderful. At first, I felt like I was finally accepted into this terrifying society. I mean, that was all I ever wanted, right?

Fast forwarding to April. Suddenly, her friend was about to "out" me for my sexuality. I panicked, of course. I didn't want anyone else to know. Even though I specifically told them to not tell anyone else... they did. They weren't so accepting about my sexuality in the first place. I felt pathetic for even telling them in the first place. I quickly stopped being friends with them---it was entirely an impulse decision. But it was only her friend, and my friend must be better, right?

Fast forward to summer. God. It. Was. The. Worst. I thought I had a supportive friend who would understand me. Or maybe she was and I got the wrong idea of her. When I was excited about something and I would go and tell her, she would respond with, "K...?" That immediately deflated my happiness. Hm, I thought to myself. Maybe she had a bad day. Just a bad day. It didn't stop there. She would constantly judge me for things I couldn't control. Next, she would pressure me to reveal information that I don't even want to share. And yet I felt pressured to answer just so she could be happy. She wants to know everything I'm doing, and she would even try to control my future as well. She wants it her way and her way only. She would also try to belittle people's feelings, making it seem like their feelings don't matter at all. Like her feelings were superior and others' were not. Not to mention, comparing her mental health to mines so it makes it seem like her mental health is worse.

I talk about my feelings? She would go, Well, at least you're not having severe panic attacks and having to constantly battle severe depression. And then I would feel guilty for sharing my feelings because it wouldn't matter anyway. Others dealt with worse.

Also, not to mention, I can't do my own things without "her" permission. As if she lived in a state above me and she really can't do anything about it. If I want to pursue my dream, nope. Cannot unless she approves.

Because of these constant events, I felt worthless. Drained. Exhausted. My problems don't even matter because others have dealt with worse. Thinking that the world would be better if I wasn't there. I feel like I'm overreacting, but it still affected me anyway. These events affected me years later, and it still does to this day. I will never view the world the same way again. I lose my trust in new friends. I isolate myself to avoid any further conflict. I bottle every single soul-crushing feeling from others so no one has to deal with me being a burden.

Which all started because of one single "Yes."

There are multiple details that I left out here because I want to keep this essay clean. Multiples that are actually important, but I'm leaving it out for the sake of the audience who are reading this. In case I trigger anyone.

It was a major tipping point in my life. It changed everything I saw in people forever, and I've practically convinced myself that every person is a bad person that will hurt me. And the only person who's responsible for fixing the damages that were left behind would be me. I'm responsible for letting it go, of course.

And if you were the friend reading this right now...

I don't exactly miss you.

I miss how you were before.

Seven years old

Secret admirer

Plastic cheap toys from the dollar store

Too hard of a trier

First grade fling

Love at first sight

A small red ring from his heart

Throw it away without a fight

‘That girl is a monster’, he said

He’s the one I liked

Young hearts hurt but they don’t break

Why did I even try?

Four years after I tried once more

He swung the other way and I fled

My heart burst when he declared it

Never trying it again

She was getting desperate. She wanted a child really badly, she had wanted one for a long time. She also wanted to marry really badly. She wanted to marry Gawain, though he seemed hesitant. So she wondered if she could evade the curse, and was severely tempted to run away with him. She was alone, and deliberating, and falling, when a raven of Moros came and perched on her bed post. It said, “I have come from Moros.”

She asked, “I thought Moros himself came after the deed, not sending a raven before.”

The raven said, “Light has ordered me to be sent. You know not what you plan, for no mortal wish could put one above the Law of Light. Light sees all, he knows more than your mind can ever fathom; he is beyond the most powerful of created creatures.”

“Do you know the deep yearning in me? Twas placed there by him himself, in the order of his nature. What shall I do?”

“If thy wish be claimed wrongly, the Dark will claim you; if thy wish be gained rightly, the Dark will tremble.” And the raven left. She remembered then the Doom of Twilight, and resolved not to delve deeper. There must be another way.

If my life was a movie, I reckon, no I know that there would be points of no return. Where the audience would groan as I went somewhere or said something that would lead to some much bigger problem. Like in a bad horror movie where the idiotic lead goes through the door, or outside only to find the monster lurking round the corner.

Problem is that life isn’t a movie, it's real, and there are plenty of times sprinkled throughout where a decision made sets into motion a whole plethora of events that you could have never imagined. Looking back is pointless all you can do is hope for a better tomorrow.

Like one morning, middle of lockdown, just sitting at the kitchen table reading through some book for English when I thought, 'who needs breakfast?'

It's funny, I remember in PE we did a topic on eating disorders, it was only short, barely scratching the surface, one of my friends said she found it triggering. I personally found it stupid, I couldn’t fathom not eating, not then.

I don't completely remember the first days of it, I remember drinking a glass of milk instead of cereal, chowing down on lunch as though my life depended on it, in a way it did. I'd go on bike rides with my dad, fun at first then a necessity, a goal to be met each and every day. Then the scale came. At first, I didn’t care, I'd glance at it, more concerned with how my body looked, not its weight. Then I did care.

That's how it all begins, a thought a whim. Suddenly food becomes terrifying, and exercise is the only release from a world of torture, brain spiralling, always thinking, judging not just yourself but others to, you feel evil and ugly and unworthy. All from that first thought.

If my life was a movie, I think I'd replay that PE lesson and laugh a my naivety, though I'd probably skip the rest, much of it isn’t worth reliving....