Texting Anonymous

mistakes made

I take a deep breath, my fingers still lightly hovering over my phone.

This is insane. It's so fucking insane, but I can't stop smiling. Despite everything going wrong lately, despite my mom yelling at me and the chaos at home, this? This feels like the one thing that might actually be right.

I sigh, letting my body sink further into the bed. I should be worried about what's gonna happen next, but for now, I'm too caught up in the fact that I actually have someone. Someone who might care about me, even though I barely know them.

But they know me, in a way. And maybe that's enough for now.

I shut my eyes for a second, the smile still lingering on my lips.

Yeah. This is really happening. And I think I'm okay with it.

As the smile fades from my face, my thoughts start to shift. I lie back on my bed, staring at the ceiling, my mind wandering back to earlier today—when my mom yelled at me, when she saw me throw up in the living room.

She's disappointed in me.

The weight of that thought settles in my chest, heavy and suffocating. She's always been so strict, so protective, and I guess I get it, in some way. She just wants me to be a certain way, to fit into the mold of what she expects of me. But everything I've done lately, everything I've been hiding... it's all been against that.

I can't blame her for being upset, though. I snuck out, I drank, I didn't come home, and I've been secretive about everything. And I know she saw the pictures on my phone. She knows about the pictures.

Her disappointment is almost worse than her anger. I could feel it when she looked at me—like she doesn't recognize me anymore. I'm not who she thought I was, and that's got to hurt.

But... she doesn't get it, does she? She doesn't understand what this feels like. She doesn't know how hard it is to hide a part of yourself for so long, to keep pretending. And maybe that's why I've been so pissed at her. Because in some way, she's still the person who wants me to fit into this perfect little box. But I can't.

I'm not her idea of what I should be.

I roll over onto my side, squeezing my eyes shut, trying to block out the headache slowly creeping in. I know I'm being selfish, but I just can't help it. I want to be me, the real me, and right now, the only place I feel like I can do that is with him. The guy who's out there somewhere, who doesn't judge me.

But my mom... she'll never understand that.

I wish I didn't care so much about what she thinks, but I do. And that sucks. Because no matter what, no matter how hard I try to do my own thing, her disappointment will always follow me.

A soft knock on my door pulls me out of my thoughts. I don't answer at first, just staring at the wall, but then I hear my dad's voice.

"You still alive in there, bud?"

I sigh, rolling onto my back. "Barely."

The door creaks open, and my dad steps inside, hands in his pockets. He looks around like he's expecting my room to be trashed, but all he finds is me lying in bed, feeling like absolute shit. He lets out a small chuckle.

"First hangover, huh?"

I groan. "Yeah."

He nods, walking over and sitting on the edge of my bed. "Yeah, they suck." He pats my leg like it's some kind of reassurance. "You drink water?"

"Some," I mumble.

He gives me a look. "Not enough, clearly."

I don't say anything. I just sink further into my bed, waiting for whatever lecture he's about to give me. But he doesn't start yelling. He doesn't even seem mad. If anything, he looks amused.