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It’s three in the morning and I can’t sleep as well as you are able to. We are on a break from this huge argument we’re having through text messages but you fell asleep. Crying. I’m not sorry. You acuse me of things you think I’m doing wrong and refuse to listen to what I have to say. You’re afraid of being proved wrong. You say I shouldn’t do certain things because it’s not okay. But it’s perfectly fine when you do it and when I bring it up to your attention, you bring my history into play to win this argument. It was never about winning for me. It was about fixing something that was broken. I may raise my voice at times but it’s only out of frustration. I understand that I once had an emotional attachment with someone else when you were out of the picture. I was weak. You came back and mixed my emotions up. But you called it cheating. Not once she and I ever did anything. We had long conversations and most of them consisted of you. But you wouldn’t know that. She supported the idea of you and me even when her feelings were strong towards me. She’s now a friend. That is all. You however, also had an emotional attachment with another boy during our break up. You went to parties and got faded and physical with this boy and called it love. Not until when he was sober, you learned of his feelings for another girl who is with a different boy. He is now an obligated friend. You could not pursue him and came back when I was still in recovery. When I was beginning to build a foundation for myself, you destroyed what was created. She now only exists to me through a social network. FB. You become aggravated when she replies to my statuses. You become irritated when she uses virtual faces. You demand that I stop contacting her, completely. I do so. But it isn’t enough. All of out conversations are visible to you and you are able to refer back to it when needed be. I do not hide things from you. You are a photographer. A good one at that. You leave town to get away with him. Have coffee, ice cream, dinner, and take photos of it. Your contact with him is physical vs mine with hers is virtual. You take pictures with him and post it on social medias for the world to see. You make faces, real faces and gifs of these faces with this boy but yet, I’m the one who’s cheating. Unlike me, your conversations with him doesn’t happen where the world can view it. So you can pick and chose what to hide and what not to hide. You can also chose to do things and chose what to tell and what not to tell. There will be no evidences. I accepted him. Your relationship with him. Only because it was the only way to have you. I bit my tongue and bared this burden yet you tell me that I don’t work hard enough to deserve you. My life is consumed of my job and my family. You took all my friends away because you believed that I was cheating. There was no convincing you other wise and when I did, you speak of how I cheated on you and hurt you when realistically, I didn’t. I’m not sorry…

Sometimes I feel like strangers know me better than me. I don’t often enough step out of my shoes to view myself from a different perspective. But I’ve learned that not only trying to figure out who you really are is one of the toughest natural challenge, it is also one of the scariest. Personally, I’m curious to find out who I am and will be but simultaneously I am not doing anything to speed up the process only because I’m afraid that I won’t be able to accept me for me. In my experiences, I’ve made many regretful mistakes. Like losing someone who I really cared for, for example. There were a lot of questions that weren’t answered when it happened and most of them are not important or irrelevant. With all of these questions in the back of my head, it becomes overwhelming. Heavy. So heavy it’s depressing. To the point of break downs becoming an every night thing before bed. To the point where nothing else mattered and i start to lose sight of myself. To the point where I start to lose things that I’ve worked so hard for. My job, my car, my dog. Rent couldn’t be paid for. Cell phone was cut off. Weight was lost. Food had no taste. I locked myself up in my room for months with very little contact with anyone. All this happened because I couldn’t figure out one small thing about myself. What I wanted. Not knowing what I wanted killed not only me, but those around me too. I was indecisive. Always hesitant to make decisions. I was my own worst enemy. Finally, after a few months of locking myself in my room, I realized some things. Those questions, they don’t matter. What does matter is what I know I want. After I figured that out, I started working towards it. Planning, thinking, dreaming, researching. It consumed me. I couldn’t be stopped. I felt strong. But patience was key. First thing’s first. i started eating again. Applying for jobs. Got interviews. Turned down jobs. Because I know I’m more capable and qualified and worth something. Got my ideal temporary job. Petco. Department manager for cats and dogs. I felt like I owed something to Bailey, my former companion. Rent is now caught up. Car is back in shape. Insurance is paid for. Credit cards and over drafts fees are taken care of. I’m back on my feet. Now, it’s time to really work for what I wanted. What I originally had planned, thought of, dreamt about, and researched for. Her.

I find myself with a beer in my hand half full and a slice of orange. I stare at myself through the reflection of the glass and finally I hear the music - Then voices. I snapped back to reality and I see moving lights - of all colors and patterns. Then faces - of strangers who i most likely will never come across again. These strangers, they all come in numbers of even. These strangers, they come in with things in common. The color red. I blended in well with my fitted long sleeve collar shirt and black tie but I at the same time, stood out. I dressed accordingly to this occasion. Including my mask. But there was no hiding me for I am the number odd. The room was out of whack. Off balanced. The color red soon darkens. These strangers, they slowly become blurs. The moving lights of all colors and patterns become shades and unusual shapes. I then fall out of reality. Voices becomes sounds. Music becomes noises. The slice of orange sat at the rim. I find myself staring at my reflection on my cup that is now empty.