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I’m pretty sure this started at the birthday party. It was supposed to be a surprise party, but the surprise was kind of taken out. That part wasn’t really a big deal, because I still appreciated the effort. Actually, though, I probably should have appreciated it more. And I probably could have shown my appreciation a lot better. I don’t think I’ve ever been good at that at all.

I remember her being there, and I remember being really surprised that she would show up. It made me feel really cool that she took the time to come and see me turn fourteen. It was a happy day, definitely. And she was being really nice to me. It made me feel good inside. Calm, but excited, too. I had never felt like that before. I liked it very much.

There were a lot of kids there. And balloons, and presents, and a really big chocolate cake, decorated with squiggles of black and red frosting. My parents had done all of this work for me, and really, I don’t even know why they did it. I really don’t.

My clearest and most vibrant memory from that day is of our two bodies making actual contact. Just her standing next to me, both of us with our arms folded, and our skin touching one another’s. It was so soft and smooth and nice. It gave me more of that feeling that was all like, calm but still excited.

Then after the party, I begged my mom to let me go to my friend Kyle’s house. I know I mostly wanted to go because she was going. And I needed some more time with her, though I didn’t even realize yet how I actually felt. That would take some more time, because I was so young, and I just didn’t get it yet.

I’m sorry. This isn’t really right.

To be honest, I don’t know where this all started. I don’t know where anything starts anymore. At some point, everything gets blurred together, from the fits of anger and the sleepless nights and the cough syrup, mostly. But it wasn’t always like that. There was a time where everything made sense, and life really just felt right, and I wasn’t so goddamn confused all the time. And I still can’t understand how or why that changed.

That’s why I’m writing this right now. I need to figure this out, for myself. I need to figure out who I really am. And if I can manage to explain it to you, maybe then I’ll be able to explain it to myself, too.

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