Do you ever just feel cold? Cold all over, in a chilly way, but if you coat yourself in more layers you'd be too hot?
That's how I felt right now. Cold. As if I was just going to have to live with the cold, because there was nothing I could really do to satisfy myself, to regulate my body heat to the perfect temperature. I was cold all the time, and there was no blanket that would warm me. If I had a blanket on, I claimed I was too hot, but I was still shivering. But, I was hot. I was just shivering.
That didn't mean I was cold.
I always thought that was why I always was shivering. Whenever someone touched me, I felt like ice. I remember Josh trying to hold my hand but pulling away quickly because I was so cold. Then he would give me his sweatshirt (because he almost always was wearing a sweatshirt), and try to warm me, but I was still cold. He ended up just dealing with it. I never learned to deal with the cold, just adapt to it.
It was after Josh and I broke up when the cold really caught up with me. It was March, and springtime was clearly being delayed, but that had nothing to do with it. It wasn't anywhere below freezing outside, and that day my class had decided to take a trip to a museum indoors, might I add, with heating. My class was warmed up once we got inside, and the frosty breath died down.
I didn't eat much back then. I was never really hungry, but that week, I had barely eaten anything. I was depressed, all week. To this day I don't really know the exact reason why I was so depressed, but I don't think I'll ever figure it out.
On that particular day at the museum, I hadn't eaten anything.
When we went through the metal detectors, the guard stopped me. He looked me over and his eyes stopped on my bracelet. The one Josh had given me. The one I never took off. He let me through the gate.
I wish he hadn't.
Once I went through that gate, I was in that place for the rest of the day. That day seemed as if it went on forever.
There was a giant statue of a president greeting us about a hundred feet away from the gate. I don't quite remember which president it was, but that's not the important part.
"Split into groups," a chaperone said to us. Everyone did. Except me.
I wish so badly that I would've went with the group of girls that I knew for so long, the group that I knew would accept me and would love me. But instead, I pressured myself into going with another group.
Josh's group.
God, I am such a dumbass. I don't know why I would put myself under that amount of stress when I already knew what I'd been through. But I did. No use in making up excuses for it now. I ruined my own time by choosing that group to be a part of.
The entire day, Josh ignored me. Everything I did. Everywhere I went, he left. He acted as if only a few weeks ago, he hadn't told me he loved me, and would love me, forever.
It was raining. I'm not making this up, it was actually raining, and we were actually kissing, just like in the movies… save for the dumpsters and his best friend watching our backs to make sure we didn't get caught.
He was wearing a hat, and I wasn't, so in the middle of the kiss, I stole it. Some people might consider that try at a sexy move, but I honestly didn't want my hair to get all frizzy. I wouldn't want to kiss someone with an afro like mine when it wasn't tamed.
Anyways.
We were kissing, long, hard, eternally. Like we were attached to each other. He was the one who broke for air.
"I'm going to love you forever. I promise."
I was such an idiot to believe that promise.
Love wasn't just something that happens and then just doesn't happen anymore. It takes time to stop loving your first love, and if you ask me, it's almost impossible. And I know this because even though it's months from when Josh and I broke up, a little part of me will always love him, even when I've moved on. There will always be a little of me in him. And if it was true about me being his first love, I wonder if it's the same for him. I wonder if he still thinks about me, even though we broke up in late January and I'm writing this in early July. I wonder if a little bit of him still loves me like a little of me loves him, until this day. Even though he's been through two other girlfriends and several on and off relationships. I wonder if throwing himself at two of my old best friends was a way to forget about me. I wonder if it worked.
Josh, if you ever happen to read this, no, I am not obsessed with you. I'll admit it, I was. I used to think about you all the time. Now I don't, and sometimes your memory enters my mind.
Back to the museum. I clearly lose focus quickly.
He obviously forgot about me, and everything we went through. How we stayed up late on school nights just to text each other long paragraphs about how much we loved each other. He obviously forgot about that.
The thought of him forgetting about me made me feel even colder. In fact, I was freezing. I was just sitting there on the steps inside the museum, listening to music, waiting for the bus to come like everyone else. Of course, I was a little cold. Well, more than a little. I was really cold. But I'm always cold, so I thought nothing of it.
Until my classmate's grandmother came over to me and asked me if I was okay. I assured her I was fine, and she said she knew I wasn't.
Why? Because I was shaking.
So bad that she called the teacher over, and the teacher called a chaperone over, who called more chaperones over, who called her daughter over, who called more friends over, and pretty soon it felt as if the entire room was just staring at me as I sat there shaking worse than I ever had before. Everyone, but Josh, who, even though he was sitting only a few seats away from me, ignored me.
I didn't want everyone's attention. I wanted his attention, and that's the only thing I wasn't getting.
And that stung more than anything.
Don't read into my words too much. I'm not saying I was shaking to get attention, because I wasn't. I wasn't that type of girl. If anything, I wanted the attention to go away. I wanted the eyes diverted. I just wanted everyone to leave and just let me listen to my music. I only wanted one person to come over to me, but he wouldn't. I knew he wouldn't.
The grandmother, claiming my blood sugar was dangerously low, asked Josh's mom for a lollipop, which she generously gave me. As if that was going to make a difference. But I didn't say anything but thank you.
To make things even worse, Josh's mother asked him to give me his sweatshirt. But he didn't want to. In fact, he protested against it. And at that point, I didn't even want it.
I didn't even want anyone to think I had anything to do with him at that point. All I could think was he knew. He knew why I was shaking so badly. He knew it wasn't the cold. He knew it was something much more than that.
He knew.
But still, nothing.
And that's when I knew. That's when I knew that there was no part of me that could love him the same again, no matter how many times he apologized for what he did that day at the museum (four times), no matter how many times he kissed me while he was going out with my old best friend (twice), no matter how many times he held me and snuggled me and didn't let me go when she wasn't around to see us but everyone else was (so many damn times).
But no one told her. Everyone knew, but no one told her. He cheated on her. With me. He cheated on my old best friend. With me.
And to this day, I'm ashamed. I haven't told her, I don't think I ever will. Everytime I saw her after then, I felt like I ruined someone's life.
For those who have never been cheated on, or cheated with, it hurts. A lot. I'd never been cheated on, but it was almost as if being cheated with was the same thing. It may be a different pain, I won't know and hopefully never will, but it's painful nonetheless.
It was just a kiss. Well, the first time. I think he was testing the waters. He just kissed me and left me. It was that easy, that simple. Just getting what he wanted without any attachments, right?
Wrong. I was always an attachment.
With popularity came rumors, with rumors came popularity. There was truly no way out of the cycle. Being me, I was quite popular. But lately, I wasn't popular in a good way. I mean, if popularity had a good way. But what I mean is, I was popular because everyone was talking about me. Not in the "Wow, she looks so pretty today!" or the "She's so nice!" way, more of the "What a bitch…" or the "Slut much?" way.
Yes, I was now branded as a slut.
Obviously, the fact that I had only kissed and dated one boy didn't matter to the student body. The fact that I was kissed by that boy who was dating someone else at the time, that made me a slut.
No one called her a slut, even though this would be her third boyfriend this school year. But no, I was the slut for being kissed (no, not kissing. Being kissed.) by her boyfriend made me the slut.
In a private school like mine, things got around quickly. Too quickly. By eighth period, everyone knew. Everyone but her. They were stupid, but they weren't dumb. They were careful, precautious, to make sure she hadn't heard a thing. Because even though it seemed as if everyone hated me, no one wanted to see me get killed. To this day, she doesn't suspect a thing.
I hope.
I wonder if Josh knew all of her secrets like he knew all of mine. Of course, I've acquired several brand new, shiny and polished secrets that he has no idea about and never will.
But he did know one secret that I knew would change the way everyone thought of me.
In October, I was diagnosed with social anxiety disorder.
Anxiety?
I know what you're all thinking. It seems like nothing.
But anxiety is just the start of it.
I can't sleep, I can't eat, I can't do anything. And he knows, and he still ignores me.
It gets to a point where I can't control my body temperature from dropping to extremely low degrees. And he just sits back and watches. He knows.
I'll never just be cold.