The Most Personal Piece Of Writing That I Could Possibly Ever Write

A Story by Leh

I drank a lot of coffee and had a lot on my mind.

The Most Personal Piece Of Writing That I Could Possibly Ever Write.

I am mute in his presence.

I have never been the type to let emotion hinder my mentality, but lately I’ve been finding myself confined in a glass box. I tremor in despondency upon the thought of his company. It comes to no surprise that accidental eye contact has been the top cause of tummy aches nowadays; or that the brief encounters in the corridors leave me contemplating my role in his life until the next indelicate sighting, usually resulting in me staring at the surrounding until our paths are no longer directed towards one another.

Hell began to form the day he appeared out of the blue.

At a first glance, my schemata told me that he didn't have the least awkward smile, and that he didn’t surround himself with the most socially accepted crowd, but there was something that interested me; and to this day, I have not figured out what that was. Maybe it was that he seemed so content who he was, or possibly that he was someone I could not define from mere observations. Whatever it was that kept me on edge, I have never been so intrigued to understand someone.

At first, there was one element which prevented from initiating contact, one that I could in no way ignore. I had gotten myself into a relationship prior to my encounter with the new interest. This factor meant that I morally would not forgive myself if I showed an external interest in the other, even if I felt that it was going to make me feel the incomprehensible belonging which I had so desperately craved.

Naive as I was, I put the emotions of a person ahead of mine, who would later prove that this would inevitably lead to my first romantic heartbreak. Betrayal and disappointment like never before surged through my veins; I was physically weakened by a self-inflicted ache. Sometimes I ponder what life would be like if my emotions hadn't gotten the better of me. If I never needed to feel regret for the “heat of the moment” decisions I had made far too often. When these thoughts come to mind, it is important to know that our experiences mould us into the people we are today.

For instance, during my younger years, my uncle was a part of the Royal Air Forces of the United Kingdom. I still remember the day he told my cousins, Jamie and Joe,that he was going to have to go away to fight in Iraq and that it wasn’t guaranteed that he’d return. The look on two his son’s faces broke my 10 year old heart as my expression began to mimic theirs and tears filled the room from every corner. When I think back to that day, I can hear the thousands of queries I had, circulating my mind, and it makes me feel dizzy.

Jamie and Joe both have autism, which partially means that they cannot understand communication to a full extent, but this one message was crystal clear. The day that my uncle returned from Iraq was the highest peak of empathetic relief that I have ever felt in my life.

Not to mention the times as a child when daddy wasn’t there, or even the times when I sat alone in the playground in a corner on the floor, only to return to my grandmother’s house to excuse my strange behaviour by telling her that I knew I wasn’t pretty enough for friendship and witnessing her uncertainty of how to react every time I told her of my low self-esteem with a grin painted on my face.

It was even common for me to envision my teddy bears moving around before bed, sometimes I’d even swear by sightings of non-existent clusters of spiders crawling on my walls. I couldn’t understand the epitome of my loneliness. I can still remember seeing myself floating around my room, outside of my body, as if it actually happened. Not to mention my sleep walking or habits of bursting into tears when I saw certain inanimate objects such as candles or balloons. The fear of people thinking I was more insane than I had already proven to be, had always prevented me from sharing the torment which my own imagination had put me through.

I still feel sickened around spiders to this day.

Experiences like these allow me to connect with others in ways that I know wouldn’t be possible had I gone through my childhood without the conviction to sadness which was usually in the deeper, hidden recesses of my mind. Don’t get me wrong, of course I have many positive memories, and they lead me to develop a strong sense of appreciation for the diversity of our world, and how absolutely incomprehensible the idea of everything wonderful that a human being can experience is.

After I had been healing internally for what I decided was enough time, I agreed to go out for drinks with a few of my most cherished friends. The night was announced to me as a “casual ladies night” meaning that I had nobody to impress and I could leave my home without so much makeup and my old t-shirt and sneakers on, complimented by my heavy, square, glasses. Although I didn’t feel like the hottest tamale on the menu, I certainly felt comfortable and I was fully prepared to dance until I saw the sun set and re-appear.

My level of comfort sharply took a downwards turn approximately twenty minutes into the night when an equal group of three boys joined our trio; one of whom was the boy I had grown so fond of learning more about.

At this point, I wished to be adorned in my tight black dress with my 6-inch heels and red lipstick. I wished my nails had been painted and my hair had been curled. I wished I had made an effort, or at least looked like I did every other day of the week. I wished my scent reflected subtle hints of sweet perfume, rather than that of over-priced coffee and cigarettes. I wished that I had the most interesting sense of humour to share and a charming, feminine, laugh to pair with it. I wished I was constantly cheerful and made those around me feel happy. On top of all of this, I wished that the ground would just swallow me up, before I had to establish contact whilst sporting the look similar to that of a sleep-deprived, homeless person.

Have you ever heard somebody tell you that confidence can be the most attractive thing a person can have? I always thought that this was something that fat girls told themselves to feel conventionally appealing, however, this night changed my views for good.

Although I wished that I looked half as beautiful as my friends did that night, I did not let my desires slip forth into my attitude. I kept myself composed for once, and soon enough, we had begun casual conversation. I was swooning on the inside, but externally I remained relaxed. Of course I wanted to say something over-eager, this was my one chance to get his attention! Then I realized that I couldn’t sound over-eager because this was my one chance to get his attention. If I ruined this, he might never speak to me again!

I walked on eggshells, until I had become absolutely intoxicated by both the alcohol and that voice in my head screaming with heartfelt joy that I had finally gotten a chance and it was almost impossible at this point to cease letting evidence of my fondness tear through the fine sheet of my external shield.

Then I could hear his unsteady breath getting closer, his hands made their way to either side of my lower back. I kept mine on his shoulders as it happened. Time froze when his lips met mine. At that moment it was like my first heart break had never happened. I felt as if my uncle had returned from war again, and the spiders on my walls had never existed, and I had played together with every other average child in the playground. I felt like my parents had never had to separate, and that I was a size eight, blue eyed beauty. All I knew at that moment in time was him. For two solid minutes, I had forgotten about everything else, I didn’t concern myself with my surroundings or future; I focused on that euphoric moment. Nothing else existed.

I shall spare you the tales of the headache I suffered the next day, and promptly shift forward to summarizing what had happened between us in the following months…

Nothing happened

We did not utter a word to one another since that night. Soon I visited England and suppressed my feelings for him. During my extended visit, I had met another by the name of Owen.

We did not hesitate to rid ourselves of our “stranger” titles and quickly begin a relationship. I felt great, of course! I was accepted into his family, his friends, even his pet cat, Oliver, took a liking to me.

My experience with other boys had shown that mainly, their goal was to get me to part my legs for them, and I can proudly say that even after the sexual pressure I have faced with relationships since ages as early as twelve, I have kept my virginity solidly intact, waiting for the right boy to come along and claim it. Every boy so far whom I have encountered, and had a romantic connection with, has tried to convince me that they are the one that deserves to take it. This shows me that they are indeed, not. The one thing about Owen that differentiates him is that he wants nothing from me but my time, and has never wanted anything more, unless I brought it up. He had gained so much of my respect, and I grew to love him for the person he had shown me he was.

He always gave me his full attention and prioritized me insanely; he spent what little money he had on bus fees to come and see me every day, he made his best efforts to get along with my family and always made me feel wanted and welcome. I felt truly comfortable around him and soon we spent every day together and became dependent on one another. I felt as if all had been forgotten in regards of that night which occurred before I left.

When I returned from England, in my newly established relationship, feelings with the other began to heighten as I forgot what it was like to hold my boyfriend’s hand. As I saw the boy I had felt so strongly about, a stranger to me once again, it overpowered the strong emotion I had felt for Owen, and am still trying to convince myself that I feel. No amount of framed memories or pictures of us stuck over my bed could bring back the feeling of being around Owen. It fades away, and every day I see the other boy, and the lack of acknowledgement he provides me with leaves me frustrated and hurt. I feel emptied; did he not feel like I did? After all, I was his first kiss.

This is why I walk the halls avoiding his stare, and I sit as far away as I can at lunch, and why I distanced myself from the people he talks to. I know that as human beings, it is natural for us to want what we can never have, even if it in our dreams we are haunted by our hidden desires which we can never express in fear of others forming their opinions of us too quickly. All humans desire to belong, and things that may prevent this, scare us.

This is why I am mute in his presence.