*Originally posted on Medium.
The old age phrase rings true. Be careful what you wish for.
I’ve learned the more specific, the better. I wished for a summer you only see in movies, but seemed to forget movies are full of drama, romance, and untimely deaths. I wished for you and got some sneak peek of what is yet to come. I wished for happiness and felt it only when the drugs pushed it through my veins, feeling nothing but some sick form of happiness. I wished for numbness, but never realized what the hell I was truly asking for.
Hot, wild, bright days and nights are spent singing along to country music and Taylor Swift. We make plans for the upcoming semester, buying new dorm essentials and dreaming about the types of people we’ll meet. We see late night movies, laugh at the most minimal jokes, and hope this easiness never goes away. Some days are spent under sheets, kissing and finding intimacy in the least innocent ways. You see him texting other girls and ask yourself if he’s worth all that you’re giving him, but you fall for charmers and he finds every way to please your anxiety. Some nights are spent watching your best friend cry, while she spends some nights listening to your pain. What good movie doesn’t have some misery? You meet someone new, just as charming, but he doesn’t know your worth as much as you do. And what good movie doesn’t have one death? These were your choices, your blame, and you will never be able to forget the agony. The most controversial of deaths and you experienced it, at the sweet age of 17.
Hazy Thursday nights and 40’s in hands, drinking and waiting till the clock strikes midnight to finally reach your adulthood. He looks at you like he knows something about you, something you don’t even know about yourself and you begin to question your whole understanding of yourself. You know he wants you, most guys seem to, but something about this makes it completely different. He stares at the city from your bedroom and you see yourself thinking the same thoughts he is, knowing that the view is the only thing holding in your words. The kisses are sloppy, breathless, and begin to feel almost meaningless. But how could I feel nothing for the person that makes so much sense? Maybe your kisses produce no feeling when you feel everything but lust. Maybe you will never be mine, but you were never hers and you can only belong to yourself. A free soul like yours can never be tied down.
The beat haunted our beautiful trip of laughter, smiles, and peanuts. The slip of paper was tasteless, but oh, did it leave sparks of flavor and rainbows on my tongue. I remember laughing and looking at you, praying that I would never feel this happy ever again. The ecstasy surged inside my body, pouring serotonin into my brain and letting my thoughts flow freely, away from my conscious. I felt all things beautiful, but the happiness grew to fear and remained there. Maybe I’m not meant to feel happiness, real or synthetic. Or maybe my body refuses to let me feel anything fake, every free flowing thought and emotion must be genuine so that I can feel like I am not lying to myself. Either possibility leads me to pretending I am okay and wishing for less destructive happiness.
He touches my thigh. Numb. He calls me beautiful. Numb. She laughs at my jokes. Numb. We take a smiling picture. Numb. I lose another friend. Numb. I stop eating as much. Numb. I remember him, her, whatever it may have been. Numb. Numb. Numb.
Perhaps my wish for numbness never came true, but rather I naturally grew accustomed to the constant probing of my brain. I find myself realizing that I could not care what happens next, whether it be painful or utterly enjoyable, I am completely apathetic. My emotions are constantly being felt, acknowledged, but never addressed. Trust me, I feel everything but I ignore the pain, the joy, the confusion, the frustration, the fear, the anxiety.
Although I am numb, I have never felt happier.
