Midtown seemed so far away then. I was only 13. The University area 10 miles away only felt close because my school was near there. Did they send me across town so I wouldn’t embarrass my sister at her school? Now that I think about it, that makes more sense. I wasn’t trustworthy enough for public school so they sent me to a different version of the same all-girls prep school. I don’t think they considered the Midtown element until it was a little too late. I always tended blue, that part of town sealed the deal. Often, I think they’d be happier if I was a lesbian but stayed Republican.

Once I chose this bleeding heart on my sleeve, any chance of a conventional life went out the mid-South window. I tended defensive in my early years. I didn’t understand why I was mad at the world. I took it out on anyone that got close to me. Jealousy, abandonment, no way to process my feelings. I still can’t forgive some of my friends from back then. The betrayal of my trust was a cardinal sin. In time, I’ve learned to simply not give it out. When it comes to intimacy, I’m pretty much celibate.

I can count on one hand the number of sexual experiences I’ve had that made me feel loved. Orgasms are a visceral pleasure only fully realized when you can relax. Everything else is just stimulation, stored up for after everyone is gone and I can make myself feel sexy. I love my body. I love how I see myself when I’m alone. An observed thing changing, my usual self portrait isn’t what you would call erotic. But alone I can feel my skin brushed by air, nipples hard and toes curled as I close my eyes and remember what it feels like to be adored. Standards based on past experiences set a dangerous precedent for an entropic future. We’re all just decomposing bags of meat after all.

I know I’m not really alone except that I’m so completely lonely. Until I can find someone to talk to, someone that vaguely sees where I’m coming from. Until then I keep finding ways to redirect strife into a story. Make it worth something. Trying to find any reason to keep using my space in this world. Moments of utter hopelessness come around and I try to remember why I’m here. Is it to heal myself? I still feel broken. Was it to escape something? Often painfully homesick. Is there such a thing as fate? I must suck at this game. I have always said I don’t want to die where I grew up. So it’s more like a bucket list thing.

I’ve seen a whole year and many reasons to believe I’m still right. Until I’m wrong. Life is a funny thing, always sneaking up on me. I laugh until I cry, sometimes.