Hope.

This is a short story written by yours truly.

The reason why I'm writing this story is actually because my best friend wanted me to write about how he feels and what he is going through. He wanted to tell people that there is nothing wrong with wanting to be happy and to feel love just like any other normal teenager.

Except he's gay.

 And this is His Story.

*Names have been changed*

Abandoned. Alone. Broken. As I stand on the rooftop of my apartment, I'm thinking to myself why should I continue breathing? I’ve hit a dead end with no way of escaping my fate. I'm alone. I have no reason to walk this earth anymore. No reason to continue breathing. I walk towards the end where the floor turns transparent. My toes are protruding and curling around the edge of the building. I take a deep breath hoping it will be my last and close my eyes. Oh how I wish I could just end it that easily. No more pain. Why does living have to be so bloody difficult? I think back to myself and tell myself, “Eric Towers, you are only 19 years old and you are gay. Accept it and move away from the edge.” I walk away holding my breath. Three slow steps away from flying into an abyss of happiness. One more attempt at taking my own life.

            Allow me to introduce myself officially. My name is Eric Towers. I am a 19 year old boy with dark blonde hair and bright blue eyes. I am gay. I’ve learned to accept that fact and to be honest I am quite comfortable with it. Yes, there were doubts in the beginning, but I’ve learned to overcome them. I am simply attracted to men. There’s nothing wrong with it. Is there? This is my story. My words. My thoughts. My feelings. This is who I am.

            I stepped away from the edge and continued walking barefoot home. The cold, rough and vacant gravel under my feet reminded me of my life. Every day is the same itinerary. As I am walking back home I happened to pass by a teenage couple holding hands. The boy was probably 15 years old and he was laughing and smiling about something. I want to be able to feel that. Happiness. Love. I want to be wanted. I want to be desired. Maybe its just not meant to be. Maybe I am not supposed to feel these heavenly emotions. I reach home, opened the door and turned the lights on. My apartment is quite small. Its more of a studio actually. There is a turquoise colored sofa set that was gifted to me by my boss in the middle of the room facing the TV. Sandwiched between one of the sofa’s and the wall was a single bed where I would lie awake at night. The kitchen was on the left side of the room equipped with a sink, cabinets, fridge, and a stove. My fridge was often vacant, besides a few slices of bread, cheese and orange juice.

            I walk towards the balcony and opened the sliding door to let some fresh air in. I feel  like crying. I am crying. The tears managed to poor out of me. I simply had no control over it. So there I am frozen on my bed, crying. I light a cigarette and inhale the cancer stick. I want to die. I wish Death could pluck the life out of me and take me away, to a place full of bliss. I managed to finish my cigarette then I somehow dozed off and fell asleep, curled like a cat on the floor. My knees were bent and pushed up against my chest, my arms holding them in place. The connection was warm and pleasant.

            The next morning my alarm rang at eight. I switched it off and irritably got out of bed, took a shower and got ready for work. I reached the shop at half past nine and prepared all the ingredients before opening the shop. I work eleven hours a day, six times a week at a Pizza Hut which is located in one of Europe’s longest mall’s food court on Hamburger Street in Germany. Since the shop is quite small, I am the only one in the shop, I’m alone. Not much of a surprise there. I serve whoever that wants pizza, otherwise I just stand there waiting for the next person who wants pizza.

Sometimes, I think about him. How perfect he was. How I no longer have him in my life. Its as though my heart is broken and cold, all I want is to feel love, I want to be with him. Oh, how I wish. My thoughts usually get interrupted by a customer, and I grab the spatula and scoop up a slice of pizza, place it on a paper plate and collect money. Then, I'm back to being alone. At six in the afternoon Mark would come and help me out. He’s a student and therefore only allowed to work three hours a day. Mark is a 16 year old boy with brown curly hair and warm brown eyes. I consider him one of my closest friends, since I don’t do anything but work, I spend most of my time talking to him.

Its six and Mark walks into the shop, puts his cap on and the first thing he says to me is,” hey Eric, sup?” I'm not in my best of moods today, so I end up glaring at him and replying,” get to work Mark”. He just smiles and does his job. I respect that about him actually, he doesn’t dare to say anything back. I try to push him away without a reason, I'm just antisocial I guess. The day is coming to an end and I watch mark close up the shop.

I make my way home and reached in about an hour. I sit on my windowsill, the cool fresh air blowing in my tear-stained face. A part of me feels like a knife has stabbed me, yet another part wants to tell myself to stop being so pathetic. The society I live in think I'm probably unstable. I prefer going out with other gay guys, it makes me feel “normal”. He entered my mind all of a sudden, it’s as though someone slammed open the door which leads to all my memories containing him. I whisper to myself what I wish I could tell him,” stay with me or watch me bleed because you walked out of my life and your words felt like a knife”. I'm desperate for his voice; I just want to hear it again. I feel as though I was born to tell him I love him and it kills me knowing that he’s out there living his life when I'm here wishing to end it. I see couples in love every damn day and I'm tired of being alone. I want the empty spaces between my fingers to be filled with someone’s. Someone I love. I hold my hand out in front of me and can’t help but observe the spaces and the next thing I know my cheeks are wet from the tears that manage to escape my eyes yet again.

It’s not easy being strong in front of people when inside I'm bruised, broken and unloved. Why can’t I find someone to share my bed with every night? Why can’t I find someone to play with my hair and make me laugh? Why is it so god damn difficult for someone to love me with no boundaries? Is it that I'm not good enough? Is something wrong with me? Aghhhhhh!!!! I want to be able to just SCREAM and give up! But how can I? Who would help me through this stage? With all these thoughts in my mind, I ended up crying myself to sleep. I had a dream about him. He was the definition of perfection. He broke me. His hand and my hand were locked together and he smiled at me with his green eyes. Whispering in my ear the words, “I Love You”. We were just lying in a big green field, looking up at the blue sky filled with white cotton-like clouds. I wanted to freeze that moment and to never wake up.

Unfortunately, the dream was forced to end by the ringing of my alarm. I was so happy in my dream. I guess that’s why it’s called a dream because then reality can give you a slap across the face. How time changes huh? The beginning is always blissful and surreal, and then it ends up being fallacious and painful. To make things worse I thought to myself, “God, another day of work. Ugh.” I got ready and went to work. The same sights, the same people, the same job. It’s as though someone pressed the repeat button on my life. There’s no excitement anymore, it’s really very sad actually. 

I reached the mall and prepared the ingredients, yet again. Made pizza’s and sold them. Same routine different day, that’s all. Mark would come at six after school and help out, then I left. It was half past eight and I decided to go to Voo. Voo is a gay bar located in the gay street, it was decorated with red lights everywhere and they played really mellow music. It was the place to go when you have nothing else better to do. I had something to drink and sat there on my own. I used to come here with him when he was mine. I don’t know why I enjoy rubbing salt on the wound. I knew coming here would just make me more depressed, yet I still came. “Hey there darling, what brings you here alone?” a voice appeared behind me. I turned around hoping it wasn’t who I thought it was. And thank God it wasn’t him. The hair on the back of my neck settled down, knowing it was a total stranger. “Actually I was just about to leave, nice talking to you.” I gave him a quick smile and left. He just stood there shocked.

It was almost midnight and I was headed home. I put my headphones on and blocked out the world, I feel more comfortable knowing that it was just me; I became oblivious to anything and anyone. I was listening to something by The Script. Let’s just say that the song did not make me feel any less depressed, it added to my depression actually. I got the bus and headed home. My small room with nothing else but me standing blankly in the middle, if there was one picture that could sum up my life, it would be this. I sat down at the corner of the room and said to myself,” It’s time.” I left my apartment and headed to the roof. It was the same scenario that happened just the other night. I stepped on the edge and counted to three. Before I reached the word three I slipped and then next thing I know the floor underneath my feet disappeared and I clenched my eyes shut and tried to pull myself up.

My thoughts were running wild. What if this was the way it would end? What if this was the last time I would be able to breathe? Is death really the answer? I didn’t want to die anymore, I didn’t want it to end like this. I kept slipping and my fingers couldn't get a proper grip of the rough edge which was slowly starting to slice into my palm. The pain shot through my entire body and my heartbeat was pounding against my chest. I was scared. For the first time I was actually scared. I saw my life flash in front of my eyes just the way it was supposed to. After one last try to get myself up I managed to achieve pulling myself onto the edge.

I crawled off the edge and sat with my back against the cold wet wall. I went home with dried tears and stripped myself down to just my boxers, climbed in bed and laid there, closed my eyes and went to sleep feeling hopeful about what tomorrow will bring. I’m no longer going to allow myself to feel this way. I am no longer going to be weak. I believe things will get better. All I have now that’s keeping me alive is hope.

I hope this ramble helped you understand that there is nothing wrong with being different and being unique. We are all individuals and we should be proud of it. :)

x