•Thursday•I feel my family only loves the me from 20 years ago. The me who didn't really care for boys. The one whose heart was as flawless as his skin. The me who needed everyone. Who cried every time I broke something. The very much fragile me.
And who am I now? A boy, a man who craves and wants and tries to get and do things on my own. The older me who has an apartment right across from the greatest city in the world. Who can stay up till 6am if I want to. Eat or don't eat what and when I want or don't want to. No more bedtimes.
I feel my family barely know me. And it's sad. They hold on to the Angel Boi from 20 years ago. Again with the frozen memory thing. I'm locked in. Maybe not as far as 20 years back but at least 16. I was still somewhat innocent at seven. Straight A's, shiny-eyed, perfect-teethed, kid. Kissing my mom and grandmother with my patented 'jaw-boring' kiss. Soon traded for a french kiss in a tree house.
It's not that I'm living a lie exactly. They know at 23 if you still don't have at least a casual girlfriend and you don't leave your socks in the middle of the floor, chances are you don't see girls as more than very good friends and the only people who love shopping as much as you do. I did tell my mom I was gay at 17. She didn't kick me out and call me a good for nothing man whore but things did change. And although when I talk to her she'll end the conversation with "..love you more than you'll ever know." I sometimes think "Which version of me? At which age am I frozen for you?" It makes me sad and I quickly feel more alone than I have ever felt.
