a disconnected diary entry
Dear Diary,
I want to be a clean, fit, productive, smart girl.
I hate being so emotionally unstable.
My mother and I fight like sisters. I'll kick her face, and she'll call me a bitch and tell me she hates me, and then she'll buy me a coffee and ask me about my day.
I don't like the person I become around my family.
But, to be honest, how much do I like the person I am around my friends?
Lately, she's been insecure and jealous. There are a hundred stories about stupid girls who get in the middle of relationships. Everyone knows, you get a bit self-obsessed and enter your own little world in the honeymoon stage of teenage love.
The honeymoon stage lasts 100x as long when they're closeted lesbians. The burden of being the only one who knows about "them", is heavy. Yes, I'm happy for them. Independently. I'm happy for each of my best friends, because they are in love. I just wish it wasn't with each other.
A lot of being closeted is solitary. It's just you. And I know they're so used to that, letting each other in feels so right. Like a breath of fresh air. But then it stops. I'm allowed to know, but not to see. You misunderstand. I don't want to see. I'm not a pervert. I just wish they didn't feel they had to hide. It only makes me feel left out. The more they lean into the "oh we're just friends" thing, the further away I feel. For many reasons.
The first being, I know you're lying. One of you giggles to me about the developments. I know your relationship. And the other, is that if you feel you can only be together, alone, you spend less time with me. I understand, I do. One day I'll find a lovely man and want to spend all of my time with him, because it is fresh and new and exciting in ways that you both can't be. But you'll still have each other. At the end of the day, you two are a team and I am alone.
I used to believe that it would always be the three of us. Even footing, forever. Yes, you knew each other before. But only a year! And yes, I'm separate in my attraction to men, but I can tuck that part away, bring it forward for comedy, and reshape it. Make it passive, not part of me, but a tagline in my description. I can fit in, I can be a part of something greater than myself. With you.
And yet, the moment you told me you had a past together, that you're together now. The moment you spilled that secret and poured poison into my ears, everything changed. My heart broke, and I know you saw it. Don't pretend you didn't.
I believed nothing would change, much like I believed my feelings could be held separate. So in conclusion, I love you. Both of you. Entirely and fully. But that love hurts me, it's killing me. A little bit every day. I don't know how to make it stop. And one day, someday soon, I'll leave you all behind, and it will break my heart, but I will survive. And maybe, someday, I'll feel brand new, with people who don't hurt my heart. That's the price you pay for loving someone. You give them the power to break your heart and put it back together. But they so rarely do the latter, and so easily do the former. So here I sit, alone in my knowledge that you're seeing each other. Whispering to each other. While I write about my pain.
With love,
A Heartbroken Girl
