Who Was I?

I left him alone; I hadn’t spoken to him for the rest of the day. I didn’t want to upset him further; I had forced him to act angrily. I felt bad, I never wanted to upset him.

I didn’t know what to say, I didn't know how to apologize. Did he even want an apology? Would it mean anything to him? Would it even make him feel any better? I didn’t know, I had no idea how he felt. I never knew what he was thinking. I never knew what anyone was thinking. I hadn’t ever thought of how I truly felt as myself, even though I acted out often... was that truly representative of my thoughts? Had that anything to do with myself? Had that already latched onto my identity?

Who was I?

Was I what I perceived myself as?

Or was I what others perceived?

Could one’s true identity ever be observed? Did it mean anything if it couldn’t? Was one’s true identity just a concept? Did it mean anything?

I was fairly tall, fairly skinny, and fairly fair. I had long dark brown hair, my eyebrows weren’t thick. I had a few moles on my face. I was intelligent, I outperformed my peers. I did well in school, I did well on tests, I read well, I acted well, and I treated teachers well. I had little presence in the room, I didn’t speak, I didn’t object, I didn’t communicate, I was simply there. I kept my place silently; I wouldn’t communicate with those of little intellect. Alone; I participated in my own interests.

Was that who I was? Was I what I saw? Was I what I felt? Was I how I looked? Was I how I act? Was I how I spoke? Was I how I walked? Was I how I sang? Was I how I whispered? Was I how I yelled? Was I how I breathed? Was I what I read? Was I the blood in my body? Was I my skin? Was I my epidermis? Was I my dermis? Was I my pores? Was I my eyes? Was I my pupil? Was I my cornea? Was I my iris? Was I my retina? Was I my sclera? Was I my nose? Was I my nostrils? Was I my sinuses? Was I my mouth? Was I my lips? Was I my gums? Was I my teeth? Was I my tongue? Was I my waist? Was I my feet? Was I my toes? Was I my nails? Was I my hands? Was I my fingers? Was I my veins? Was I my kidneys? Was I my appendix? Was I my liver? Was I my intestines? Was I my lungs? Was I my arteries? Was I my heart? Was I my muscle? Was I my bones? Was I my bone marrow? Who had I been? Who was I now? Was I what I thought? Could I be what I felt? My actions? My voice? My thoughts? My opinions? How I handled things? How I treated others? Others I’ve met? Others I’ve cared for? Others I’ve wanted to be with? Others I’ve been taken away from? Others who were taken from me? Others who took themselves away? Others who left my side? Others who stayed by my side? Others who cared? Others who didn’t? Others who cried for me? Others who cried because of me? Others who hurt me? Others who’ve been hurt by me? Others who’ve attached themselves to me? Others who I’d attached myself to? Others I’ve hated? Others who hate me? Was I what I saw? Was I what saw me?

Was I who I was?

Was I who I wanted to be?

I had never thought of this, I had never lost my ability to think. I was still myself, even with him by my side. Nothing could change that part of myself.

If that couldn’t change, was that what I was? Was I my thoughts? Had I been my thoughts? Had my thoughts defined my being, had they defined myself?

I entered the room he was in, I gazed toward him. He had his head down; no progress had been made on the pile of books in front of him. Was he sleeping? Or couldn’t he focus with any ideas of his anger toward me? He didn’t look up, even with my footsteps looming toward him. I stopped walking forward; I was standing only a foot away from where he sat. Neither of us spoke, we both remained silent. I knew what to say, I had thought about it a great deal. My heart was beating fast, faster than usual. I was nervous. Would I anger him further? Did he even-ever want to see me ever again? I shakily took a breath. I had to try; I couldn’t leave things like this. He meant more to me than a simple argument, I couldn’t let things be dragged out. I had to end the conflict, for us to prosper, I needed him, and he needed me. I couldn't leave him alone. I loved him too much.

“I’m sorry for showing off. I didn’t mean to make you feel less than, I just wanted you to... maybe... be impressed?” My speech was shaky.

Before I knew it, he got up and stood before me. He looked up and straight into my eyes. He also acted in a nervous manner. His lips were shaking as he took shaky breaths.

“Will you help me …? To get better?” His voice quiet; he looked away while he spoke.

I wanted to help him. I wanted him to help me. I wanted our relationship to be worthwhile for the both of us. I wanted us both to be better off than we had been before our meeting.

I wrapped my arms around him, pulling him closer to me. I was happy, so very happy. Any dread I felt dispersed. He wasn’t mad! He didn’t hate me! He needed me! He needed me as much as I needed him!

“Haha... hehe... yes! Of course!” I said happily.