figure my heart out // muke

1

I stared at myself in the mirror, gripping the edge of the white granite bathroom banister. My sad green eyes judging every single thing about me while my brain took advantage to overthink.

I bit down on my bottom lip, it was chapped. My hands lightly shaking from anxiety as the muffled music banged against the white wooden door.

There were no still thoughts in my head. I was in full overdrive. My heart beating slightly faster than it usually did. My breathing staggered, I was gently hyperventilating.

I was overstimulated and I knew that. I don't usually go to parties, they're not my thing. I'm usually quiet, unheard of. But tonight I thought that I'd forced myself to have some fun to distract myself from the noises in my head.

My head snapped to the door as a light but loud knock was heard. It woke me up from the mirrored transe I was in.

"I'll be out in a minute!" I yelled, knowing I could set up camp in this bathroom all night if I felt like it.

"Come on," the whine dragged, "I really need to pee, I'm about to bust"

I cringed at the way the stranger worded their expression. I wasn't prepared to hear the word 'bust'. It made me think of inappropriate thoughts, dirty scenarios that I'd personally experienced with myself.

"OK," I panted, "I just need to wash my hands"

That was a lie. I had washed them about four times since I've been in here. My mind was going through a check list of compulsions, thinking about how many people I didn't know had touched that toilet. The thought made me shiver, I didn't know where their hands had been or what they had done previous to their bathroom break. It was a precaution.

I turned on the faucet, making sure to put a hand underneath the tap to make sure the temperature was cold. Once satisfied, I cupped both of my hands and splashed the cool water on my face. It was refreshing. It brought me back to reality a little.

I looked back at myself in the mirror, giving myself a small reassuring nod before opening the bathroom door.

Outside was a fairly tall guy, we were a similar height. He had brown hair, it was in loose curls and kind of long. His hazel eyes met mine as he smiled smugly and lightly laughed. I could smell the alcohol from here.

I lightly laughed with him, mimicking his movements. His laughter died down as his eyes widened in realisation. "I got to go" his voice small and pushed me aside with force.

I didn't like being touched by anyone. It felt foreign. It didn't matter if it was a stranger bumping into me or a friend embracing me in a hug, it still felt foreign. I couldn't put my finger on exactly why, but by spending some nights doom scrolling about my mental health symptoms I came to the conclusion that I was serverly touch starved.

I heard some clutter behind me followed by a stream and a sigh of relief. I took that as my cue to go.

I walked into the hallway of my friends house. It was familiar to my senses, but tonight it was slightly altered. As I made my way to the living room, the normal ceiling lights were replaced with mini disco strobe lights scattered across tables. Red plastic cups and beer bottles were dispersed on the couch, making me cringe at the thought of newly permanent alcohol stains on the fresh brown leather couch that was bought last week.

The scent of alcohol lingered like cologne. It reminded me of how much of a big drinker I could be tonight, but I didn't want to take the chance. I excused my lack of sculling to the fact I had to drive myself home - again, another lie.

Everywhere was crowded with people. Some familiar, some distant, some unknown. The only person I really knew was my friend, Calum. Everyone else were people that I knew of or were introduced to me but their names didn't stick. I knew I was surrounded by mostly strangers who probably couldn't recognise me in a line up, let alone acknowledge my existence.