Repost from 2012
I had never been so scared in my life. I watched my friend’s face contort as she read the rest of the letter that I had handed to her. She looked kinda pissed. But then again she always looked kinda pissed. I guess she looked extraordinarily pissed off as she read the letter-
“Wow,” she sighed, cutting my nervous thoughts off. She didn’t look at me right away, she just fiddled with the letter, her face twisted in thought. I looked straight ahead of me, watching the little kids draw on the blacktop in chalk. They were so cute and happy. I wish I were the same way.
“So everything is still up in the air? You don’t know what’s going to happen?”
She finally looked over at me, her expression cautionary. Evidently she didn’t know how to go about things or what to say. But neither did I.
I shrugged my shoulders, slumping a bit as I began to think of what this evil villain that I’ve created has dragged me into, thinking about how this villain, that was, but wasn’t me, has ruined my life. There was only one way to terminate this evil villain because I couldn’t be my own superhero, but those thoughts have landed me in this fucked up situation in the first place.
© 2015 Vic Romero
Three years isn’t a long time in the grand scheme of life, but at my age (I’m nineteen), it feels substantial.
Three years ago I was in high school, which is a completely different world in contrast to college. I was a minor at age sixteen and in the midst of my downward spiral of depression. I also lost my best friend three years ago. Not “lost” as in death, but “lost” as in, no longer friends.
I lost most of my friends three years ago, but only one of those losses wasn’t my fault. That loss hurt me the most.
TRIGGER WARNING: suicide
I’ve been training to be a sexual violence response advocate for the past three weeks, and it’s been very difficult. Aside from the material itself being upsetting, the training has triggered unpleasant memories as well. I’ve also had multiple nightmares about being drunk.
Saturday Repost from Fall 2012
“I’m reading The Perks of Being A Wallflower right now and a lot of it is really hitting home for me…it’s kinda scary.
This time last year, I was losing myself, I was depressed, and I didn’t care. As long as my grades looked okay, everything was okay with me…I hung out with the wrong crowd…But then it hit me: Why am I doing this? I’m miserable. I lost a lot of my friends. My “new friends” are shitty friends. They’re not even friends. They don’t talk to me unless I’m doing something stupid with them.
Then came the summer, I started putting my life back together.
Why am I looking at the Facebook of a dead girl?
I ignore my mind and continue perusing through her photos and her statuses. Photos of her in Manhattan with Phantom of the Opera posters, statuses of her latest relationships and of her nearing fourteenth birthday party…
Guys, I have a confession: I’m bi.
I close my eyes as the scene plays behind my eyelids. The images are a little dark and blurry, but I am still able to make out all their faces.
“You’re what?” I asked, intrigued.
“I like girls and I like boys,” she explained.
“You like-like girls?” my friend Jess asked to clarify.
She nodded her head and smiled. I made a face. “I don’t believe you,” I said.
“My first kiss was with a girl,” she recalled.
I laid my head back against the wall, mulling over her declaration and envying her for having had her first kiss already.
“Do you guys believe in ghosts?” she asked, changing the topic.
I shook my head ‘no’ as she pulled out the Weird NJ book.
“I see my grandfather sometimes.” She began to flip through the pages of the book. “It’s freaky. Okay, here. I like this story…”
I opened my eyes and looked back at the computer screen, frowning. Her face was scowling back at me.
I wish I could have…
I shook my head, unwilling myself to regret. There was no point, it was too late. I had made my decisions many years ago, and now I had to deal with them. Besides, I shouldn’t be pitying the deceased, I should be honoring them.
After staring into her pixelated, brown eyes for a minute, I sighed and logged out of Facebook.