top ten mistakes you'll never make

I want you to be my therapist. Yes, you. I don't care what you look like, what you think, or who I am at the moment. All I want is your guidance.

Eventually, you'll ask me a question. You like doing that, thinking it'll lead somewhere. Maybe to the cure? Maybe down the rabbit hole.

I tell you each little fucking detail, all in chronological order, all raising my hidden insanity higher and higher.

1. Enter drama club; you'll tell me you remember your days in the band, honking your way through a children's song. I'll nod, curl my hair, and only pretend to listen; I didn't pay to hear your pity story. 

I was cast as the doctor in the fantastic play ‘Streetcar Named Desire'. As it so happens, I became immediately close to the nurse. Let's call her that; Nurse.

Nurse and I were backstage doing... what? It's hard to remember, even now. You'll prod me for answers, but the more you pry into me, the less I'll say.

We were handing her phone back and forth. Mine had died, so we thought the idea ingenious. Fancy that; our contacts swapped, numbers known, yet we texted each other inside that small note. Truths were revealed, photo albums scoured, and lefts were kept in, in case the audience below could hear us. In our heads, however, there was no show. Two lonely planets were drifting in our solar system, and we'd get to know each other more.

Certain lines can't be crossed; however, certain moments can blur them until your both standing on the same line, teetering through each edge. Cryptic messages led to idolized truths.

Which led to awkward smiles in the hallway, yet the fear of growing closer.

2. You may insist on me to continue, but I'm finished with that story. I don't care if it'll help you cross-reference some book from college you read in college that you've been waiting to lose; this time, it's about me.

A streetcar came and went. Soon enough, ‘Little Shop of Horrors' was taking up all of my time. Skid row was played thousands of times, friendships broke, and tears were shed. Of course, opening night always fixes everything. Trust me; if you're a drama kid looking for a way to ask someone out, makeup with someone, or anything, there's never a better time.

Since it's never a good idea to combine work with hobbies, people try to finish their work when they come home from late-night meetings in a flurry of badly scheduled essays and Ap exams. As a freshman, I didn't have that knowledge yet. I took it all in stride, pushing forward until it all stopped working. I had to make sacrifices; school is a pyramid. You can have a good social life, an empowering student career, or excellent mental health. Trying to get all of them leaves you with an empty hole. Being in the middle pushes you away from everyone else. I decided to sporadically slide from each point of the triangle during this point in my freshman year, leaving little time to just enjoy myself. People began to become concerned with my mental health, which in turn pushed them away from me. As they moved away, I found yet harder to focus on work, causing my grades to dip slowly in the c range, a realm they hadn't yet seen. High school is an impossible balancing act.

Nurse came to see me. At this point, she was a telemarketer, (I was a Chinese man selling rare plants. High school drama club isn't the most colorful place) but the name remained. As did our friendship. We moved through our hells together, leaning against each other through every difficult step.

We didn't see it then, but there was drama flying around us, our friends shooting them down like birds of prey.

We never knew how good we had it.

3. And like any writer would have, my problems began to spread into a book. And no, I won't let you read it.

Not yet, at least. You'll cross analyze my characters. You'll cross analyze anything, as long as you get paid.

Two books began at nearly the same time; one of only fantasy, the other reflecting reality. It doesn't take a genius to realize which one I enjoyed writing more.

I sent both to the nurse. One to show her to me. One to show her the world I wanted. Two different worlds, one to stay grounded, the other untethered.

Sometimes, love can't be explained. You don't even know who you want. She had two choices; her current boyfriend, one who kept her calm and safe, one of her parents were used to. And then there was me. If high school is a pyramid, then love is two-sided. You choose either the hardest option, or you try to make it easy. There's no such thing as an easy love that's worth it. You might slide around your wedding ring a little, thinking that all over. I'll pretend not to notice, just to keep our relationship unstrained.

There was no true choice that day. She tried to keep both of us and lost it all. She broke up with her boyfriend a day afterward, only to pause; would I be a better option? What would people think if she just jumped from one boy to the next? In the end, there was only one option.

Penitence and patience go hand in hand. As one runs out, the other grows stronger. Two parties stand across a board of chess, each one biding their time before they play their next move.

In this instance, we sacrificed each pawn, way of our opponent's next move.

Sometimes, there are moves you can't come back from.

4. And like all high school romances, homecoming was a make or break moment. Both wanted to go, yet neither knew the other's intentions. We had slowly been talking more and more, ranging from rants about little cousins to a slightly scandalous shot of Spongebob the musical socks under short shorts. Friendship was one way to describe it; our friends knew there was more.

There's no way to describe the feeling when two friend groups converge through one relationship, where each individual focuses on matchmaking more than anything else. Couples tried grouping us up together during the dance. Songs were recommended with a frenzy, each one trying to pull us together. She was the North Pole of the magnet, and I the south. Even a group session of the Macarena to ‘Fergalicious' (surprisingly, it worked well) couldn't bring us together. We just blushed and moved farther and farther, each poignant state closing the gap.

Somehow, we joined together. I swear I could hear a dozen gasps come out as we took each other's hands, nervous smiles breaking free. Cameras came out, snapping slow videos to save for our groups.

Neither of us prefer spotlights. When you're on stage, it's not you in that glare of light; you're playing someone, someone who just might be the opposite of you. In real life, it's so much worse. You hide your stress behind cynical laughs and broken stares. Before you can tell me that's not how I should be dealing with it, I get up to go to the bathroom.

We're almost halfway over with our session, yet I can't sit still for another second. I'll try splashing water in my face. I know it's all about to crash down. Maybe you do too.

Maybe we're all card houses.

5. And here it is, ladies and gentlemen. If two stars eventually align, they'll have to break away. It's an inevitable fact that we're all destined to our singular eternities. Maybe I should have faced the truth before.

I was in second-period creative writing,

my mind was destroyed by Ap Lang. All I wanted to do was destress via writing/wasting time. I was in my little universe that day, completely unreachable in that tiny plastic chair. For a moment, I was completely alone.

A buzz came in my backpack. When that happens, it's not like you can fight it; you have to answer. Maybe that's what I'll do to get through our nearly unbearable sessions; I'll just check my phone a few thousand times.

A text from nurse. She got in an accident, now she's in the hospital because of a minor concussion. She's not supposed to be on the phone, but she insisted on texting me.

Chaos ensues. From a slightly misunderstood line about her old boyfriend to a claim about my annoyance was a fervor that hides inside every relationship.

I can't. I won't, and I just can't.

Decide the ending yourself. Maybe it'll work out better than mine.

6. Of course, we couldn't stay mad at each other for long. There was a line that got crossed, and that was true. But she had to take me back at least as her friend. She had to talk to me again.

I think it all started the week before winter break, her tapping my phone's screen over and over to turn it on, facing away from me. I think she was checking for the time, furiously looking for a way out of practicing her scene to leave for her job. Or maybe she just wanted to get it done before she left. It wasn't like I could tell what she wanted before, and the connection was even less tethered than before.

Maybe we weren't supposed to be together.

Our Christmas party came, announcing each role for our musical. Surprisingly, despite my terrible acting and poor singing ability, I managed to nail one of the main parts. She ended up getting ensemble, pushing us away even more. She fled to the costume closet, swearing that she'd find something important to do.

She was left up there. In hindsight, I should have gone up there. As a friend. Even to brag about my part. Anything to get her to talk.

But her mouth stayed in that vacant line.

I couldn't take it anymore. Christmas Eve, I stood up to her for once. I told her everything that needed to be said, everything that can't be repeated here. I could see her smile through each text (sure, it was in a picture, but it's the thought that counts) our bond finally closed. The string was snapped, two sides falling without the stress of each other.

But it doesn't end there.

7. For a freshman, she had a considerable trail of exes, most of them dry and unappealing, barely lasting over a week. I'm not saying she was a slut; it was the inside that people loved.

Was it any chance that I met the only other ex she still cared about? Let's call her Obsequious. It matches her emotions, at least.

Obsequious and Nurse. Our list of victims is lengthening, but it isn't finished. You'll want to write a few notes so I know you're paying attention. At least, I know I haven't even been paying attention to you.

You're getting better at this ‘silently listening' strategy. I was right to choose you.

Nurse and I had finally made up, ensuing a sporadic chat room with each other, where we fled to during the more boring classes of the day. Currently, I was trapped inside of driver's ed's night class, learning how to further endanger my life.

Her ex came up in a conversation. I think it was because of a party. I talked with Obsequious a little, moving out into the snow, away from the lights and people.

We hit it off immediately.

I had to text Nurse immediately to know what the status of her and Obsequious was. It came up positive, with Nurse telling me about how they broke up a few months ago. I don't know where I was in the scene at that point, but I'd like to believe we didn't overlap.

Maybe you've seen that scene in chick flicks where the girls are all calling each other in a triangle.

It'd be pretty astute of you to assume I'd never been in one of these before that night. After a confusing session of texts to the wrong people and assuring the other that all will work out, I had a new proposal.

She'd promised to get to know me. If I could stay with her for about two months casually, we'd make it a thing.

In one year, I went from a loser whose biggest achievement was getting alright grades in a college prep class. Now I had cycled through girls like it was nothing, passed an Ap exam, and was preparing for college. In my junior year.

What was happening to me?

8. Our drama program puts on three big shows each year. We have the fall play, and the musical, which get enough attention as it is.

And then there's festival. Imagine a large cluster of drama kids festering in a poor school, running around half cloaked in costume, all fangirling over sets. What's supposed to be a civil competition becomes this quickly.

Our school never won. I can't say which district we're in, but it's hard for a low-income school like ours to win. Our set consisted of a few benches and a small door frame for my scene. The three schools that moved on built entire houses. In less than two minutes.

Obsequious and I spent the entire day together, inside jokes being shared as we watched each performance. Somehow, our whirlwind of hope caused a fight between her and Nurse. I don't like going over the details, so I'd rather just talk about the dance.

We split into our groups throughout the day, especially during the dance at the end of the day, where the DJ avoided every slow song. We were both much more confident with our skills during ‘the time warp' than with a slow dance.

But sometimes, there isn't enough. I can't ever claim to even be the hero of my own story; I'm more the villain of other's. Or the supporting role. I can't ever make myself the main focus. But, for once, I made the best bad decision.

I can't call him anything but Shark. You wouldn't know him. You don't know anyone I do, but we can hope you don't know this guy. If you knew him, you'd know why he's Shark.

We went on first, our show being watched by nearly everyone. We got to see every show before us, but we were judged harshly. Before we went on, I was trapped inside the darkroom of the set closet with him.

I'd never really noticed him before. My cousin was friends with him, but this was before I was close to her. He was just the boy with brown eyes. Low member on the football team, but invaluable for the art club and drama. He could draw up a set that looked good and was possible to design.

What began as a short talk about ‘set it off' quickly turned into a close confidant, where we told each other our deepest secrets.

And yet, I couldn't tell him my biggest, the one I figured out at just that moment.

I didn't even know if he liked guys.

9. With a terrible, terrible year being wrapped up, I felt an energy that wasn't matched. I had to turn to every art form I could to destroy my anxiety and excitement. Music. Books. Videos. Animal crossing.

I couldn't just sit there. I had to tell someone.

I had gone months with the knowledge that I was bi without telling anyone. I tried to hide it, tell myself that it wasn't real. I ignored any opinions my family could have. I wanted this to be mine.

Well, I didn't even want it to begin with. What do you do with a wanting that doesn't feel like yours?

My best friend got the first honor. Shark's name was surfing through my brain like crazy as I told her. When she said she didn't know him and couldn't tell if he was bi or gay or not, I had to turn to my cousin.

You don't know her. Her father passed away, and I felt bad about it, especially because I didn't reach out to her much before then. I didn't know the new realm of possibilities I was missing, new ideas and opinions swarming from my phone as texted back and forth.

With newfound confidence, I ruined another Christmas Eve. I don't know what it is about the holiday season; others like me find it destructive. I used to, back when my self-damage was an actual thing. Before you became my therapist. Now the air is nearly filled with hope.

A monologue. That's all it takes to make someone feel guilty, kids. Maybe I have a knack for being a villain. I meet all the requirements.

He replied quickly, but I didn't know how to answer. I couldn't even check my phone. I snapped on the string lights in my room when I was finally left alone, that pink glow splashing across my face.

It took all of two seconds for fate to curse me.

He was flattered. I can't be bitter about that. I can't even blame him for being

I don't even want to say it.

Let's cut this meeting short.

10.

11. Why

12. Am

13. I

14. Writing

15. This?

16. Do

17. I

18. Think

19. I'm

20. Going

21. To

22. Make

23. It

24. Any

25. Better?

26. Fuck 34 .You27.All 33. Need

28. Of 32.Even 29. This31 .Do n't 30.I 35.I'm

not evena good36.

W37 .

R38 .

I39 .

T40 . E41.R but I can't be bitter. :)