Is This It?

Please don't think that I'm jealous of you, that I don't want you to be happy. Because I do. So this thing, my all-telling silence at your experience, isn't your fault. It's completely mine. I don't particularly want him, but I want what you're feeling right now. I want to feel thrilled, intrigued, excited. I want be into someone too. I just want to feel. I've been kidding myself since I got here in September. I've been trying to fool myself since I got here in September. After all those weekend outings, after all the parties and the booze and the weed and the loud thumping humping music that blasts my eardrums to pieces--

I go back to my room, brush my teeth, and sit on the computer for a couple of hours before going to bed. It's as if I never went out. I don't squeal over that One Person whom I danced with most of the time or shriek over the phone to my friends, telling them about The Hot Guy I made out with. I don't think about these things at night. Oh, I'll tell you in the morning at Ross, embellishing a few details here and there, widening my eyes and clutching my face like I'm recounting the Juiciest Story you'll ever hear, EVER, but let it be known that I'm lying. Don't believe me when I say shit like:

"It felt sooo good."

"I hope I see him again."

"Do you think he remembers me?"

"It was so great, with his hands all over my ass and my hands running through his hair and blah diddy blah blah blah."

I'm lying through my teeth. It doesn't feel good. It feels mechanical, medical, like I'm performing a procedure. Move hips to the right. Do a little dip. Tilt my head towards his. Let him kiss me. Let his tongue probe around the inside of my mouth. Hold breath as he does so. Attempt non-tongue kissing on my part. Realize he only wants tongue. Pull face away. Rock hips some more. Repeat cycle.

You must think what an idiot I am by now. You are not incorrect in your assessment. I am an idiot. I am an idiot who doesn't want to acknowledge what might be the problem here and what might be the most perfect solution in the world for me. But I'll say it out loud, if only to jar myself into realization:

I might be a lesbian.

I mean, I'm already bisexual so what's another step to the left? I wouldn't act much differently from how I am right now. Except, of course, that I'd try to dance with girls. Right. And my family would disown me. They don't even know about my current swinging ways. So yeah, I'm a coward. I don't want to think about this small, very real possibility that I might exclusively prefer girls because then that would mean the end of Me and My Family and My Life. I'm scared to death. I don't want that.

Th more I think about it, the angrier I get. I rage at myself. Why can't I just pick a gender (or two) and be done with it? Why can't I seem to decide what I like and what I don't like? Why don't I like kissing these people? Why don't I like them to touch me? Obviously, the solution to this dilemma is to simply not go to these hook-up events or go to them and dance by myself the whole time. But guess WHAT? I start complaining. I start whining that I'm not attractive or no one likes an awkward Asian girl leaning against a wall of the Bunker. I feel unwanted and nasty. And then someone grabs my hand for a dance. You know what happens next.

I don't hate very often (actually rarely), but when I do, I mean it whole-heartedly. I hate myself in these moments. I hate my indecisiveness, my swaying, my inability to figure out what the fuck do I actually want. I mentally beat myself up over and over until I suppress these murderous thoughts and prepare myself for another weekend.

And this self-hate, like so many other things, only gets deeper and uglier.

Sometimes I wake up to completely uneventful mornings. I go to class, eat lunch, go to class, do homework, eat dinner, sit in front of the computer, go to bed. I have scenes with my friends in between my robotic actions in which I laugh and all is good. And then there are days when I have too much homework, or I haven't seen anyone in a while, or I am just tired. My thoughts wander and go wild then. I get so tired, you know, and I get so frustrated with my life in Academia that I wonder why I'm here. Not here in Middlebury. Just here in school, studying. For what? To get a job? And then what? To make money? Then marry and have kids and grow old and die? That's it?

It only gets worse. I think about wanting to go home, but remember that I would go to work and take care of my little brother and other sisterly activities. Then I don't want to go home, but neither do I want to stay in school. So where can I go? My mind wants out, but there is no place I can retreat to. Not even the weekends help stimulate me. I grow bored of them, to be honest. What's the point of hooking up with someone at a party? What's the point of finding out my sexuality for sure? What's the point of all of this? Someone please get me out of here. I wish I could detach myself and float away. I might not even come back. Maybe there's something more interesting Out There than what I've been forced to live through since my conception.

I think about killing myself again, but for different reasons this time.

This isn't a cry for attention, and neither is it for revenge. In stupid terms, I contemplate it because I'm bored. Disillusioned. Tired. That's the perfect word. Tired. I'm tired of going to school and going home and thinking about my future and maintaining friendships and thinking about stupid retarded romance crap that gets me abso-fucking-lutely nowhere. There's nothing interesting or exciting about life. All of it feels so automatic and predictable. I don't feel unique; I don't feel like an individual. What do these problems matter once I'm old and feeble and dying? Nothing. In the end, I'm going to die anyway, and I probably won't even remember the good times/bad times. So what's wrong with wanting to escape now? I can cut the mind-numbing process called Life in half and be done with it. I won't have to play Neopets. I won't have to refresh Facebook a million times. I won't have to hide within myself when I'm out on Friday/Saturday nights. And I won't have to wake up to uneventful mornings anymore.

It's the only thing I know that I want. So can you blame me? Seriously, can you?