So I left school after first hour today with an earache that felt like I was being stabbed in the head. Turns out I have an ear infection, which was great to find out the day before an improv acting exam and while reading the part of Juliet for my English class' Romeo and Juliet unit. I must admit, although I have my doubts about some instances, I'm surprised by how much I'm enjoying the literation. Shakespeare really did write a masterpiece (even though personally I find the master technique in the writing style rather than the storyline.)
I saw a JennaMarbles video today that reminded me how much I miss writing, and how positively it influenced my life, whether or not what I was writing was cheerful or dismal. Writing always brings me clarity, and I could really use some of that right now. I've shared all of these stories, memories, and recollections with different and scattered friends, but I need to have them all in one place to look at, reflect upon. Hopefully find meaning. Probably find heartbreak. Either way, I'm hoping this will be a literary juice cleanse of sorts. We'll see. So this James. There's too much to go through the whole story, it would take days, weeks, to remember it all and write everything out. Of course every little detail matters (matters to me, anyway, I'm sure a lot of people would find many of these things irrelevant) but this is what I remember. The important pieces from over the years, plus the important stuff from the last few months. As I was saying, James. Obviously that's not his real name, but let's go with it. I met James in second grade, before I even met my best friend to this day. I've known him for over seven years, and he's one of the first few people I remember meeting when I moved to my current school district after going to kindergarten in the city I live in. I met him when I going E.L., short for Extended Learning. It's our school's advanced education program for students needing to be challenged. Y'know, excel on standardized testing, take an IQ test, your rejected or accepted, and I was accepted right after James. At first it was surprisingly fun. We were the only two in it that early on, and every day we'd spend an hour or so in there doing mind puzzles, learning ahead of the rest of the students so we didn't get bored of school. We had a lot of fun together, if I remember correctly. Then something changed. I'm not entirely sure what, and I guess I never really realized things were different until they were too far along. Three more students in our grade joined EL in third grade, only one of which is still in it with James and I. They started to gang up on, always leave me out. I tried to join in whenever they were doing something, but they always just made fun of me. Anything I do, they would put me down. I'd follow the rules, they'd say I'm no fun. Go outside the rules, they'd say I was too lame for them, in more or less words. James usually led in making fun of me. It got to the point that my mom contacted the principal and guidance counselor, but the counselor was awful and acted like it was all my fault, and there wasn't much the principal could do to stop it. Things didn't really change after that. The hatred grew between James and I, even though the other three layer off a little and I never really saw them anymore as the years went on. To be entirely honest, James and I didn't speak all that much in fourth and fifth grade, only in EL and when our EL teacher (who was super awesome) wasn't around to tell him to stop bullying me. However, I couldn't stop holding onto the grudge that developed in third grade. I'd never really had friends when I was little due to my already flourishing social anxiety and zero interest in sports. All the other kids would spend recess playing basketball and kickball, while I sat alone on a bench, reading my Nancy Drew books. I wanted to be like Nancy, and everyday superhero. Someone who people respected, someone who people liked because they were different. I was different… but nobody ever liked me. I could never hold on to friends for more than a few months before they got whatever they wanted from me and I was too lame for them to be around anymore. It kinda felt like being around me was social suicide, or whatever amounted to that in a third grader's mind. Before James, I never realized that I should be ashamed of who I was. Things changed between me and James in sixth grade. I finally got a best friend I could trust (at least, I thought so at the time. Haven't talked to her in three years) but sixth grade was pretty rough. This thing happened in our required music class, where we had to come up with a nickname using alliteration so the teacher could remember us. You know, "Fancy Fred," "Princess Peyton," stuff like that. I couldn't think of anything that went with mine, so when it came to my turn, my OTHER best friend (you'll be hearing about her a lot. We hate each other now.) told me to say Grahamcracker. Yes, I'll admit, my name starts with a "G." Anyway, I say, "Graham Cracker G_______," and everyone laughs for a second, and I don't think twice about it. Well, maybe I thought a little, but I figure nobody would remember it even the next day. Then, people started calling me graham cracker, specifically James. At first I thought it was nice, and I was happy that they even remember my name. However, of course they were just making fun of me. They used graham cracker in place of calling me stupid, goody-two-shoes, unwelcome, that sort of thing. And since you can't really link graham crackers to something negative, no teacher of principal could ever get them in trouble for making fun of me that way. Things escalated, one of James' friend tripped me while running laps on our gym's cement mezzanine and then laughed at my tears of pain with their other friends. It got even worse with James in seventh grade, because he really started noticing me again since the school had created an EL class so we'd have a full period every day rather than going to EL during the last half of the lunch period every day. Whenever I would try to speak up in EL or share an idea or purpose an option to whatever we were working on, James would say, "Shut up, ________," before I even had a chance to finish my sentence. He started ganging up with the other three members again, and I spent most day in that class alone in a corner working on an individual project because they didn't want me in their group. Not to mention, seventh grade was the culmination of all of mental health issues (we'll talk about that later) which didn't help much. Looking back, it wouldn't seem that James' action counted as bullying when you looked at them on paper. I was never physically harmed, never really threatened me (except for that time in third grade that he told me he was going to drop a cinderblock on my head), and he wouldn't say anything that expressly sounded like bullying. But you don't know how hard it is to look into someones eyes and see genuine hate, but have no clue what you ever did wrong. And if I couldn't remember doing something wrong, then it must have just been me who he hated. He must have seen the real me beneath my fleeting friends, mystery novels, and all the barriers I set up in hope I could distant myself from how out of place I felt. And apparently, that me was worth his hatred. One my birthday in November of eight grade, my first pet, a guinea pig named Trixie, died. I was really hard for me to accept, considering I'd never lost anyone or anything I truly cared about. I posted something about in on Instagram, my way of screaming to world and I asking why I deserved that pain, because other than social media I had nowhere to go. My best friend (still my best friend to this day) along with my other friends all definitely saw it, and so did James. However, none of them said a word. James texted me that night, saying he was really sorry that Trixie had died, and apologized for everything he'd put through since we were young. I was blown away, and could barely believe it. But, we exchanged a few texts, and he seemed very genuine. After that we didn't take much notice of each other until I became the manager for my school's basketball team of which he was the best player. Right before I began managing I lost my best friend of two years, someone who I was dangerously invested in, and all of my friends sided with her. So I spent two months with no friends except my ex-bullies on the team, and James. We became what you could consider casual friends, and I was so incredibly glad that all of that mutual dislike could end in something good, something kind, something worth the hate. I thought too soon. This year we got closer. We sit next to each other in our EL seminar every day, and he moved halfway through the semester to sit next to me in our english class. We make jokes all the time laugh together, always partner up for critiques. He'd say hi to me in basketball practice and at games, and never forget to thank me when I gave him water during games. We became increasingly friendly, and my feelings got confusing. I think you know what I mean. I'd look at him in practice, just happen to glance, and suddenly be unable to breath for a second. One time, while he was sitting down on the bench during the basketball game and I was handing him water, he winked at me. It wasn't a silly wink, at least from what I saw, it was more… seductive, for lack of a better word. the kind the star basketball player gives his cheerleader girlfriend after scoring a three-pointer. One of my best friends saw it as well cause he was sitting a few seats away, and she thought the same as me. That was the beginning of noticeable hints. It was always just little things. He'd see me sitting alone during a varsity game after he finished playing his, and this bright smile would grow on his face and he'd wave at me, and I'd feel like my heart was exploding. That certain thing happened multiple times. Or something funny or questionable would happen in english and I was the first person he'd look to. He'd go out of his way to say good morning to me when I walked into school. Those little instances repeated themselves with some other small things, and I was ecstatic. My feelings toward a guy had never been reciprocated, and I finally felt like someone might want me like I wanted them. Plus, a guy who'd only ever dating cheerleaders and sports stars wanted me? The geek on the scholar's bowl team who couldn't even do a good push-up in gym class? I was an idiot. Still am, to be honest. One day in seminar a friend of mine, resulting from some joke, thought it would be hilarious to ask everyone in the room if they would date me. It was silly, and everyone responded in a funny way, not serious at all. I could feel my heart thumping as she went around the table and landed on James, asking him the same question. Of course I didn't except him to confess that he liked me right in that moment, even though I desperately hoped so, but I thought he'd be the same with a silly answer or a blushing face. But, when he was asked, he looked straight at my friend with a totally serious face and monotone voice, and said, "I'd rather not." I stayed quiet, because my friend knew that I liked him and I hoped she wouldn't make a comment, but she moved on while I felt a lump the size of Alaska sink to the bottom of my stomach. When the bell rang I almost ran out of class and down to my locker, fighting tears the whole time. I promised myself I was over with this thing I'd been feeling, that this was the equivalent of me asking him out and him saying no, so there was no reason to keep holding on to him. But, that night, I saw him dressed up as a nerd for the varsity game spirit theme (cute guys with messy hair, glasses, and a buttoned up shirt make me weak at the knees) and all of that went flying out the window. He, like the frustrating guy he is, continued with those little hints. Every night I'd go to bed thinking either, "Tomorrow will be the start of a new me that doesn't care about how he feels towards me, or lack there of," or "Tomorrow I will ask him out once and for all, put myself out on the line, and face whatever happens." Neither of those things ever happened. In fact, one night I went to this little thing in our performing arts center (PAC) that was a male beauty pageant to raise money for one of our clubs. I was sitting alone, since none of my friends had come, and was surrounded on all sides by empty seats. James walked in, and I felt this huge weight lift of my shoulders when I saw him, and waved and smiled for him to sit next to me. I'm sure he saw. But behind him walked a girl I didn't know that he had obviously come with. He walked straight past me, and sat multiple rows away. The weight returned. Very recently my best friend, let's call her Jane for these purposes, laid everything down for me and told me straight up that I should not want to be with someone who brings me more pain than happiness these days, despite how great the good parts feel in those fleeting moments of hope for something to happen between James and I. It felt different from the other times, and I knew she was absolutely right and I started hardcore ignoring James. Not in a rude way, of course. I just wouldn't start or conversations in English, I'd see him playing basketball in his back yard and force myself to keep walk away without saying a word. It was hard as hell, but it felt good to feel like I could survive without needing his laughter ringing in my ears. That is, until we started reading Act II of Romeo and Juliet. I volunteered to be Juliet and every other character was filled until we only needed a Romeo and nobody raised their hand to be him. No shocker, anybody who asked to be my Romeo would most likely be made fun of. So I jokingly said, "So, who's gonna be my Romeo?" and immediately after I said that, James raised his hand and said, "I'll be Romeo." But, in some cruel cosmic joke, our teacher assigned the part to my friend, Santana. Admittedly this wasn't necessarily a bad thing considering Santana and I had tons of fun pretending to be ill-fated lovers, but I couldn't forget what James had said. He offered to be my Romeo, and I wanted him to me. I guess we were meant for mutual destruction. Unlike myself, though, I never questioned whether he would be okay without me. The other day I looked at his twitter, like I do whenever I wish I could just nonchalantly text him and ask what's up, and saw his latest post was a retweet from a senior girl at our school. It said something along the lines of, "tonight was so amazing omg," followed by multiple cutesy emojis. It was the same girl he'd ignored me for that one night in the PAC. I knew that considering how infrequently he tweeted and the fact that he's a guy, he wouldn't have retweeted that unless it was about him. I looked back at her twitter and found a tweet that was about her tire popping while she was in a car with a cute guy. It was the same day as the pageant. A couple days ago she tweeted again commenting on how 2/2 tires had popped while James was with her. This morning when I walked into school they were sitting very close to each other on a large bench, and I looked straight at the ground and walked past. I'm simultaneously pissed at him for leading me on, while also hating myself and knowing it was my fault for never speaking up. I just couldn't take the risk of ruining a friendship seven years in the making over my stupid feelings. Sometimes I see him looking at me. I keep looking straight ahead when I see his eyes on me. I know he must have just been using me as a play thing to amuse him while he was single, someone reliable that would always drop everything to help him if he needed. It was foolish of me to believe that he had changed since he had apologized in eight grade, that we were somehow meant to be together. He always ignores me in math class even though we sit a foot from each other and pushes his desk over really close to this sophomore girl I can't stand. But she wasn't there yesterday and near the end of class he brought over his iPad and set it in front of me on the desk to ask me a question about an english assignment. I knew the answer but he was so close and he never took his eyes off my face while leaning right over me that I blanked and took a moment longer than needed to reply. A couple of my friends who sit across the room saw this happening, took a photo, and instagrammed it on their fandom account with a huge heart around us because they think we're a great OTP (don't be alarmed, he doesn't know about their account). The feelings all rushed back and now I'm left confused, disappointed, hurting, and every other adjective along those lines. I wish there was a good way to end this entry. I wish there was a story arc, a plot line, a reason for all of this to either matter or not matter, instead of lying in the gray area between. I'm left here to sit with my pain, desperately wishing this was easier. I've never felt how I feel towards James for any other person. This feels different, special, but I know it isn't. He's never up late a night wondering what I'm thinking about. He never thinks about texting me. He never sees something that reminds him of me. It hurts like hell, and I'm just stuck here. That's about it. Other little stories about James and I are bound to leak out as I remember them, but that's the big stuff, or what feels big to me. It's pretty pathetic, I know. But I can't just stop feeling this way. And I can't imagine who I'd be without him, or what my life would be like if I didn't have his subtle jokes and similar sense of humor to look forward to every day. Sometimes I wonder if it would be better if I still hated him. Maybe that end of the spectrum would be better than this radical opposite. But to truly feel that, I would have to let go of all of the little smiles he directed towards me, all the times it felt like his eyes were focused on me and only me. It's hard to give up what little you have. There it is. The story of James and I. Through thick and thin, to hell and back, all for this. An unnecessarily long blog post, and a pile of regrets on my behalf. It really sucks that I don't matter to him. That's not how these stories end. I'm afraid. I'm afraid of a life without him and how I feel about him. I'm afraid that he'll never see me how I wish he would. I'm afraid we've gone through all of this for it not to matter. But that couldn't happen, because it matters to me, and it will always matter to me. It will never matter to him. ~Margo "The mind has no say in affairs of the heart." -OK GO
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