First Love / Late Spring
Babe! It's 1 AM! Time to write another supremely intimate journal entry that'll be broadcast and preserved on the internet for all eight billion living specimens of Homo sapiens to read!
At some point, it'll be possible for someone to do a deep dive on these posts and assemble a fairly complete and compelling facsimile of my actual personality and life. Maybe someone clever will figure out who I really am! Not that it would really affect me—they'll just know, like, an inordinate amount about my inner world, and I honestly don't see how that would be a net benefit to them.
As has become commonplace, I haven't been able to sleep tonight, so I've opted to journal until I get incorrigibly tired and have no choice but to retire. Earlier tonight, to pass the time and distract myself from my typical BadThinkâ„¢, I somewhat stupidly elected to scroll through my ancient texts with my first-ever love and boyfriend. Let's call him... Y! That feels suitably mysterious and entrancing.
I'll start this story in media res: I want you to understand why I've been thinking about Y so much lately, and not just recently, but for the last several years. We broke up before I began college. I honestly don't remember the specific date; it was more of a protracted, painful sizzle, and one day it was over. But the breakup certainly happened before my senior year of high school. One day, Y told me that I'd hurt him too much and he no longer wanted me to talk to him (largely because of my own neglect, to be honest), and that was the end of things. This was an ending that certainly left many things unsaid, and it's bothered me greatly since then.
At the time, Y was experiencing a severe depressive episode. I knew this was the case—or, rather, I should've realized this was the case and empathized more—but I didn't. It alienated me because I didn't know how to deal with emotions that appeared intense, difficult, and frightening to me. Instead of drawing him in closer or at least communicating how I felt, I chose to gently push him away because I was too scared to help him navigate his life. Or perhaps I didn't feel capable at the time. Or perhaps (and this is a possibility that often unsettles me) I just couldn't be bothered; it was too hard. I don't really remember how I felt at the time, but I've felt guilty about my behavior ever since then. Not only had I let him down in a time of immense need, I'd also let go of someone who was truly, truly special.
I met Y when I was in middle school over the internet. We were introduced by a mutual friend who'd attended the same elementary school as me, and while both of us were very much socially awkward, geeky adolescents who spent altogether too much time on the World Wide Web, we became close friends very quickly. We had common interests—anime, indie games, alternative music—but we also had something more in common. In an adorably sophomoric way, we both liked to think of ourselves as misunderstood outsiders who nonetheless held a deep and precious reverence for beauty, friendship, and life. And on a deeper level, I think he simply got me in a way that nobody ever had. If you've ever been in the presence of a person like that before, then you know how rare and inimitable that unspoken quality is. I've dated people since then, and I've made amazing friends since then, but to truly see me for everything I am—I think he's the only one who's ever been capable. (This isn't a slight against the people around me whom I love dearly and who cherish me greatly! I'm just saying, like, if you know, you know.)
We were in the habit of overanalyzing every piece of media we consumed and sharing our overwrought, feverish theories with one another deep into the night over text. We shared new music, books, shows, and observations with each other every day. During our long evening walks, I loved listening to him talk about things he liked, which were invariably new, obscure, and interesting to me, from Joy Division and The Cure (well, those are less obscure) to Alien Nine and Vietnamese sociolinguistics. And I'd talk his ear off about Duster, Elliott Smith, Welcome to the NHK, and anarchist communism. When we couldn't sleep, we'd talk about companionship and meaning and beauty as we watched the moon from separate windows. In a period of our lives where we felt alone and diffident, we found refuge in each other. I think that experience was deeply valuable to me. Y's presence in my life as a close friend profoundly impressed upon me and helped me become a more thoughtful, empathetic soul, and I feel bits and pieces of him in me everywhere I go.
At the same time, adolescence is a time of self-discovery. As our friendship grew closer and closer, I self-discovered something very unexpected: my ability to experience romantic attraction to boys! This is honestly something I should've realized earlier; there were plenty of signs pointing to this before I ever became friends with Y, but it came as a surprise nonetheless. An element of gendered exploration also came to life in our relationship as it progressed. Slotting neatly into roles of "boyfriend" and "girlfriend" helped both of us navigate the challenges that come with transitioning to young adulthood, and for me in particular, to perform a gender that I'd never had the freedom to before. At the same time, the way we went about this queer love was naive, essentializing. It was the first time either of us had experienced that strange, taboo romance, of course—and even then, we'd only known what love meant from the things America had fed us. So I understand why things fell apart in the end. We were just lowercase-gay teenagers trying to figure things out with very little to go off of.
Despite the complicated nature of our relationship, however, there is one thing I will unequivocally always appreciate Y for from the deepest reaches of my heart. During the most difficult period of my life—sophomore and junior year, when my home became a dangerous and terrifying place—Y kept me alive. He listened and understood when things were bad. He lent me a shoulder to cry on when I felt like I couldn't do it anymore. He offered a refuge, both real and imagined, from the horrible storm that was threatening to drown me. Would I still be here today if not for him? I genuinely can't say. I will never, ever forget what he did for me.
This is why I feel guilty. Y didn't deserve the way I eventually pushed him away when he faced his own struggles. I think I was a coward, and it deeply saddens me to know that I'll likely never be his friend again.
We've talked only once since the breakup, which feels so distant now. Two months ago, I awoke from a vivid and bittersweet dream, the first time I'd dreamed of him in years. It felt like a sign to rebuild burnt bridges. As I described it to him:
I'd come to visit you at the Half-Price Books and we decided to take an evening walk into the park where you gave me that pair of jeans, but before we could speak I was jolted awake and there was nothing I could do to return to it. I figured it was a sign from the universe that I should tell you that you really did mean something profound to me, and that I'm sorry that I wasn't kinder, more present, and more understanding in those final months.
To paraphrase a long-winded message, I apologized as much as I could. I told him just how important he was to me. And with the kind of clarity, eloquence, and maturity so characteristic of him, he replied:
The reason you could hurt me is because I trusted you with my soul, and souls are really such delicate items - they should be stored in satin like porcelain, not set in shop windows. Even though that pain was very real, I don't regret putting that trust in you, nor do I feel you violated that trust in any way, because however much it hurt when my soul was in your hands, it grew, and it grew into something better than it was. You've taught me so much; I hope you know that, and pain fades away; scars heal, but a dilated soul can never shrink, and my feeling towards you now is one of gratitude rather than resentment. ...
The one thing I can say for sure is that for us the word "friend" was far more important, and it really seems like only humans, and even among humans, only a lucky few, ever get to genuinely feel the emotion hiding behind that word.
How could I even respond to something like that? Simple: put on "Stay Home" off American Football 's debut LP and sob. I'd finally understood that I'd experienced something beautiful and extraordinary with a beautiful and extraordinary person, even if it was fleeting. That kind of special first love will never happen again, and that's okay. But a small, immature part of me wishes I could cling onto what he represented forever—a vast, comforting soul which could envelop me completely and accept me for who I was, as I was, without hesitation or reservation. And even more than that—a dear, loving companion. A true friend. That's something I never want to lose again.