Too Many Maybe's

Prologue

I used to think there'd be no living without you.

Then, you walked away.

Like it was the easiest thing in the world. We finally stopped making sense to you. So, you left. Why wouldn't you? It didn't matter that it still made sense to me. That I still held on to all those what-ifs and unanswered questions of us. Still hoped for things to work out somehow. Still needed things to work out. Needed it like food and water.

And I know it's pathetic to be that dependent on someone. To think your whole life hangs in the balance of someone else. It doesn't, no matter how deeply you feel it so. Your life is no one's but your own. You answer to no one, and no one answers to you in the end.

I mean our whole existence is designed around that fact. People die and not all at once. So, one day you'll be the one left behind. And no matter who it is you lose, how much you loved them or how much that love filled your world, time stops for no one. Your existence continues and it fucking hurts.

And I wish I could say that it got easier, stopped hurting and made me stronger. All those lovely bullshit clichés. But it doesn't. It leaves a hole inside you, and you learn to live with it. But there's still a hole inside you. And no one will ever fill that place again. Except maybe their ghost. That is how I filled the void you left. I created a ghost with your eyes and smile. A ghost who still talks to me. A ghost in our invisible little bubble, secret and safe, still answering my demons. Playing devil to my darkest sins.

The only thing it doesn't answer is those what-ifs. The ghost is, after all, only a reflection of my fading memories of you. Memories from a time when we were both very different. It doesn't really have a place in my world now, yet I'm still hunted by it. Relying on it to fill the hollowness that still leaves me as empty as air yet short of breath.

***



This story might not make much sense to you, reader. It was written for him. And in many ways for myself. But I am grateful for your desire to explore our life's tale non the less. It was quite something. I hope you'll get something out of it.

You should be warned, though. It is not some hopeful, powerful love story that will bring you faith and comfort. It doesn't have a happy ending. But as I have come to learn, pain is the best teacher and lessons learned the hard way stay with you the most.

Also, love comes in many forms and ways. And every person holding a place in your heart shapes your life. Even if it doesn't quite work out. And this is very much a story of a love lost, but not forgotten. One that was meant to be great, but not final.



But before I begin, you might need to know a few things about me. My name, well you can call me Nat since we are likely going to be friends at the end of this. I was born three decades ago, with a rare genetic mutation disorder with a very fancy and unimportant name. Because of that little mistake in my genes, I came out unfinished in a way. And because of this, I have been in and out of hospitals most of my life. With doctor after doctor trying to "finish" me. The genetic mutation mostly affects my outsides. So, there's, nothing major or life-threatening wrong with me. I just don't look like most people despite the magic of many surgeons. All they ever really did was leave a lot of scars. Outside and in.

Anyway, at the time of this story, I was, like too many young people, suffering from a lovely mix of different mental disorders. As a result, I was at constant war with myself. I purposely starved to look skinny. I went to extremes to avoid crowds because of severe anxiety, a side effect of very deep-rooted insecurities. In fact, the only thing I felt confident about, was that no one would ever be able to love my very broken body and messed-up soul. Being hospitalised most of your life as a kid, even for small things, does take its toll on you. Especially when it involves professional surgeons constantly looking at you like an imperfect sculpture waiting to be completed only to realise after some painful operations that it's a lost cause and give up. Nobody ever told me that all kids are unfinished. We're all masterpieces in the making and no 'professional' grown-up should try and mess with that process.

I wasn't born broken; they did that to me and somehow made me think it was my fault. Like I had to apologise for my existence. My genetic mutation meant I was a mistake that shouldn't have been born. And I always had to find ways to make up for that. Reasons to not be a mistake.

Only I couldn't.

I mean how do you fight your own DNA without fighting all you are? You can't. It's very much a losing battle. Yet I fought it endlessly all my life.

Now my parents who are two very kind people tried their best to love me as if nothing was wrong. Only the fact that they had to do so was a reminder that something was wrong. And despite their attempt at teaching me, I was 'just perfect as is' they were only two people against a very cruel world. I never believed I was perfect, nor did I want to be. I just wanted to be normal. Average. Like everyone else. Something as hard to be as perfect. Either way, they loved me as best they could, but I always felt like it wasn't as easy to do as if I'd been born 'right'. So, loving me, though very possible, came at a higher price than most. And who the hell am I to be asking for that?

That was the insecurity issue. The root cause of the war.

And me and him. We meet during my hardest fight.

It all started during my first year at college. I was able to get an apartment just off campus rather than a dorm room, through my mother's work in property administration. This was something I chose due to my social anxiety. The extreme privacy of course only nurtured it even more. Maybe I could have learned to live with it had I gotten a more public room with shared facilities instead.

But despite my issues, I loved my college days. The learning, the fun, and the people. It truly was a great time of my life. But it was also my sickest and hardest time.

He'll be proud of me for admitting that.

(Won't you?)

I know it's funny, how that can be. I was sick and struggling but having fun. If you've ever struggled with depression or sickness in general you know, it's not a straight line. Not always bad. Fever can come and go. When it drops you fill a little bit better but you're still sick. Depression is the same, some days you're bordering on being completely fine. But getting there takes a lot more than it should. Being fine doesn't come naturally. With anxiety too. You can still go out, see friends, and enjoy life. But it comes with an effort beyond normal. You must force it because you're always being pulled in the other direction. Going out your own front door is the simplest thing unless you have Anxiety. As if there's some movie narrator and horror suspense music building up everything on the other side of to apocalyptic world-ending events.

Some days you're able to tell yourself it's silly and nothing bad will happen. And some days you're cribbed with fear and such panic your only way to keep a steady breath is to stay put. Most days you're not sure. But unlike everyone else without the Anxious narrator, every day is up for debate and every day is a potential disaster. Also, the not being sure is almost the worst. Cause you never know what to do about it. Are you sick or not? Do you need to be institutionalized or are you getting the hang of it? On the bad days, you know you need help. The good days you know you can do without. But in between? You're just caught in a limbo. Waiting for better or worse. Wasting your life being too sick to live it but not sick enough to give in.

Anyway, I met him the very first semester, both of us being chemistry majors. I should have been proud of the days I did get out then. But Anxiety, no matter how valid, was just another mistake in my DNA. So, I was ashamed and embarrassed by the days I didn't beat the fear. And that shame only fed Anxiety. Beginning a slow downward spiral that probably should have institutionalised me.

If not for him. He kept me in the limbo, for good and bad.