I had a bad week. One of those kinds of weeks that seem like they will never end, but not in the ‘I worked so hard this week’ kind of way but in the mentally exhausting kind of way. I haven’t really had an episode in a while. By episode I mean panic attack or anxiety attack, I call them episodes because it can be hard for me to sometimes know if they stem from panic or anxiety.

I feel like my life in in limbo. This semester is coming to a close and I am worried that I will have nothing to do this summer. I have and internship and a job lined up, but the OCD sort of nags at me and tells me that even though I have plans and things to do, that maybe they wont actually happen. Maybe my internship will fall through, maybe my job will end up not needing me. Maybe I wont get the funding I need to do the internship that is unpaid. Maybe, maybe, maybe.

The moment before the episodes start I feel like I am in a tunnel. Like I am in a tunnel that is 100 feet under the water and I also have four winter hats on and three pairs of socks, so that the heat and stress has no place to come out of. As the moment progresses I also feel like I have been stuck in the cold, its like the heat reaches a point that is near boiling and then I get cold. I can’t hear anything around me, all I can hear is my own heart beat. It’s off from normal, but that can be expected. Before I have time to bring myself down I’m crying, nearly uncontrollably.

When they end, it take hours, days, weeks maybe just maybe even months. This is because they don’t ever actually end, they go on and on and on forever with no end and I’m just a passenger to my own like at this point. I sit behind the wall of my own unhinged emotions and I let them talk for me, let them hug people, answer questions and most of all I let them take over. I fall distant even when I want to be present. I want so badly to reach inside of myself, to grab the anxiety and smush it. I want to look it in the eye and tell it that is has not control over me, but I can’t. All I can do is let it run its course, like a cold or a sore muscle.

Maybe I can live a year without this feeling. Maybe I can even go a few months. Maybe, maybe, maybe.


When we Change and How we Know

There had always been a part of me, a part of me that was very aware of who I was. There was also the part of me that knew, knew that I did not have the courage or the knowledge to accept this. Is it like this for everyone?

I would not actually know. This day in age coming out is a right, it is a part of a persons identity. It happens when someone is most willing to let it happen, and it happens exactly how they want it to (or hope to want it to). I am no different. I had that privilege. Nobody got to tell before I was ready, but then again I did not know I was coming out until I was in the process of doing it.


You. I have known you for years. I have laid with you, hugged you and you have done all the same to me. The relationship used to be platonic. It was weekend sleepovers and midnight movies, until it was not. One summer we grew into weekend ice cream ‘friend’ dates and midnight cuddles, and then it became harder and harder for me to let you go home on Sundays, and almost increasingly more difficult not to instinctively kiss you goodbye.

Then one night you told me. Through a text message because it was still hard to say it aloud. You told me, before anyone else, that you were bisexual. From that moment my world went hazy. It was like you told me, and then I knew. I knew that there was something I needed to tell you, myself, my mother, yet I was SO hesitant.

When I really realized that I was in love, I do not think I really KNEW. There was not a shift in how I acted around you or how you made me feel, yet there was a shift in the status. I wanted to hold your hand in public, and kiss your forehead when I left for class, I wanted and wanted and wanted until I exploded.

I told a friend, looked her dead in the eye and told her I loved you. This did not seem to phase her, she simply told me to tell you because I was blind to see you did not feel the same. But I had not even come out yet, was not even sure if I needed to come out. Was there any part of me that was gay, bisexual or even straight? I had no idea what to identify myself as.

I did tell you though. Weeks later with tears in my eyes and whispers of never having loved anyone as much as you. You responded with tears and reassurance that is had always been me. I came out that day, not as a bisexual or as gay, but as someone who loved you.

Today, I identify as bisexual. I am not sure if this is for ease of explanation to family members, or because I truly recognize myself as such. I wonder if it is bad that I do not care, that I think loving you is simply the best outcome I could have ever asked for. Is it wrong to put my love for you above my own self identification?

I changed overtime, and I changed because I grew to love you. I knew I always loved you. From that fateful moment in high school when you knew I was wearing a purple shirt in honor of a band members birthday. When you laughed at my jokes, and stuck around when I was at my worst.

I am not sure what this means for me. This is something that would have surely made my palms sweat 6 months ago, yet here I am looking at you from across the room realizing that if you are here, then it is okay.

I answered my own question; loving you is allowed to be put above my self identification and I will never feel guilty for that.