Tags
alcoholic, bisexual, closet, confused, diary, instagram, LGBT, love, love is love, sex, teenage, twenty-three
Twenty-Three
I can remember as all of my peers ran amuck, I simply admired. I admired the pretty girls doing long division when I was six; I admired the cheerleaders making their way off to college when I was thirteen; I admired everyone graduating college when I was nineteen. Now I’m twenty three and I admire the six year olds doing addition and subtraction, the thirteen year olds just entering high school, and the nineteen year olds taking their easy GE classes at their junior college. Currently I’m thousands of dollars in debt to the school system, the judicial system, and I rack up a hundred dollar tab everywhere I step foot. My heart aches nearly as much as my wallet and my teary-eyes are almost as red as the cherries in my old fashions.
I came out of the closet when I was eleven, and pushed myself back into it before I was twelve. I’ve fallen in love with a fair few women, only one of which I ever pursued and let into my heart fully. Suddenly I find myself trapped in a world that does not coexist with the LGBT+ community. They are on separate areas of the downtown, a realistic divide that my heart so metaphorically feels. I’ve let a few men into my heart though, a true passion and a true love that I admire every day.
The more days that pass and the more tinder accounts and instagram accounts that I encounter, the more I find myself struggling with the life I push myself to be in every day. I find a disconnect between my body’s sexual thirst and my mind’s sexual attraction – a disconnect between whether I want breasts in my mouth more, or a perfectly god-made penis in it instead.
Twenty-three was probably the age I always thought I wanted to be. Twenty-six always seemed old as a kid, and I knew that by twenty-three I would be in a stable relationship, quickly planning my wedding, but not have any wrinkles yet. As I began finally doing long division at nine years-old, I knew that I was on the right track – I knew that twenty-three was the place to aspire to be. Twelve years later, I’m in the midst of the worst year of my life.
I’m seemingly straight, without a degree, and without any friends, searching for the perfect girlfriend and the perfect job in a mix of serving jobs, class waitlists, and bills, more potent than my typical whiskey cocktail.
Waking up every day is more painful than a wine hangover, and all I ever want is the hair of the dog…and of the pussy.