They say you can't ever fully die in your dreams before waking up. As I felt the warm blood spill from my gut as my body grew cold, a part of me wondered why that never seemed true for me. I feel my body stiffen. My thoughts, expressed as outer inner monologue, become less and less coherent. I sense a light above me. I don't quite see it, not in the traditionally foggy fake way a brain visualizes things. I feel it, however, a bright warm spread across shades beyond my unconcious simulation. A feeling tickling my mind's eye's inner face. A feeling that slowly wakes me, as the gentle sunlight bleeds through my eyelids, and I walk towards the light.

Ah fuck, my neck. I fell asleep at my desk again last night. I always had problems sleeping at home. I had to take care of my drunken, mess-of-a-mother every night. Make sure she slept on her side, and didn't fall off the couch on a pile of empties glass bottles. I had to make sure my little brother ate well, and got to bed. It has been tough for all of us since the divorce. The thought of something happening in the middle of the night when I can't be there often keeps me up. 

My older brother is around, but he's not much to speak of. Mom favors him greatly, but he leaves the couch less than she does. When he does move once in a blue moon, it's usually to spit in my food and/or buy drugs. The thought of him doing anything to us in the middle of the night, often keeps me up.

Being unable to sleep anyway, much like last night, I tend to spend the time researching mental illness. A form of mental hypochondriasis, I suppose. I don't delude myself into thinking I could diagnose myself. I am far from unbiased, trained, or a professional. I often fear what's mentally wrong with me, however.

Schizotypal personality disorder is likely to be diagnosed if they experience five or more specific symptoms. If one has magical thinking, pervasive beliefs in paranormal forces affecting their life, outside of accepted social norms; If one exhibits a persistent social anxiety stemming from paranoia; If one is generally paranoid, and suspicious; Often described as odd, or eccentric; Thinking and speech that is overly metaphorical elaborate stereotypical or vague; Inappropriate or flat affect; Illusions about one's body; And a lack of close friends excluding immediate family members. If you exclude the part about social anxiety not stemming from negative self judgements, and perceptual illusions outside of illusions of one's body, I seemed to fit the description to a tee. And, I'd argue my overly negative self judgements about my body, greatly constitutes illusion.

I had learned about dysphoria before in my many late night research binges. I guess I might be trans, but the more I think about it, the more I am filled with a deep and endless dread. Things to file away under 'never touch until college'. Speaking of, I was going to be late for school if I didn't leave soon. Luckily I can soliloquize internal monologue at length, while going through the morning's motions. After so long settling in a comfortable groove, I can put on some skinny jeans and an oversized hoodie, without a second thought. Which is convenient for it leaves room for my morning ruminations.

Speaking of, I will have to kill myself after approaching Alyssa in the hall like that the other day. What was I thinking thanking her for the makeup tiktoks? Guys aren't supposed to wear makeup. The world has gotten a bit more accepting of gender nonconformity, but not that much. Sure the morning ritual of applying nude makeup, and the slightest hint of blush every morning is the only thing keeping me from literally killing myself, but that is no excuse. We had hardly ever talked before either. I'm positive I came off like a real creep. With any luck I'll feature in her tiktok series of creepy men who should give women the pleasure of disappearing from the earth, or batting for the other team. As harsh as some of it seems, I have to agree some of her logic makes sense, however. Who in their right mind would want to be a guy? Guy's arent attractive, and from experience I agree it is a pitiful existence. 

Vanessa seems to have very opposite opinions, however. Despite claiming to be a feminist, she seems to be staunchly against anything feminine. She seems extra spiteful of anything feminine on a man especially. As if they are wasting something she wishes she had. I have been following the drama between those two admittedly far too closely. Just the idea of the blossoming social life both women have. It is like a secret insight into the world of popularity I will forever be barred from. I'm just the creepy kid who doesn't trust anyone, and disappears in a room without ever even trying.

Applying the finishing touches, I tie back my hair, throw back on my hood, and leave. No one seemed to notice I wore makeup. No one at home ever mentioned it, especially no one at school. The first time I tried it I was convinced everyone was boring holes into my skin with laser vision. I guess that's the benefit of being a no one though, no one cares. I think I might choose to skip graduation. I won't be going to prom, and no one knows my name. My family isn't coming. I won't be missed. It's really tempting to think about throwing myself into the cars driving by me right here. I need to get into college though. There I can be myself. There I won't have to die being forever remembered as a man.

Idly spending the rest of the walk thinking about death, as one does, I end up at school about half an hour earlier than expected. I've been getting much faster at applying foundation and concealer every morning, I guess. Maybe today I'll actually have time to grab my textbooks from the locker, before trig. Digging through my locker, I hear some girls chatting amongst themselves behind me. They're here often enough I quickly guess it's likely Lee and Steph. The voices get closer, before settling into a gentle buzz, just to the left of me. 

"Hey, Eli, is it?" Alyssa asks, making me wince a little hearing the name. 

Calm down. She probably just forgot you share the locker right next to her again, even though it's been that way for 3 years now. She is definitely not looking for juice to roast you on the internet. Probably. Maybe.

I move out from my hiding place in the locker, and stare at the floor.

"Y-yes Alyssa?" I say, trying to not shrivel under her stare.

"Oh I was wondering if you were taking anyone to prom?" She asks, as I hear one of her friends giggle behind her.

Ha! That was her gambit! I might yet live, not that I have any reputation to speak of on the internet.

"Actually I wasn't going to go." I say with a sense of self satisfaction, closing my locker for emphasis.

"Really? I'm sure a stud like you has had many offers." She says, making me die a little bit more on the inside.

"I really hope you have me mistaken for someone else. Are you on bluetooth?" I say trying to look for an earpiece.

"No cutie, I'm talking about you. Maybe you'd wanna go with me even." She says, twirling her hair absently.

"Look, I'm sorry I tried talking to you yesterday. It's just… nothing, nevermind. I'm not falling for that trick though, just so you can humiliate me on tiktok. Sorry."

"See, that's the problem. Everyone thinks they know the real me, just because they follow my persona on some social media website. Here you think I'm some shallow vapid man hating woman, and you've talked to me in real life like once? You've judged me before you ever even got to know me."

"O-oh. I'm sorry, I didn't think about it like that. I just thought you'd be upset. I didn't mean to–"

"It's okay, cutie. Maybe you can make it up to me though. We have a month, let me show you I'm a lot more than what I seem like online." She says, leaning against the locker on one arm, staring down at me like I'm prey.

"So then, dinner tomorrow, Majordomo asian fusion, 8pm. Do you have a ride?" She asks, very matter of fact.

She can't be trusted. She's smart but vengeful. If there's even a chance that she's as vindictive as she seems online, I can't let this go how she plans it. Maybe if I make it too hard for her she'll quit and move to another target.

"A-actually, on Wednesdays I volunteer at a soup kitchen at 6. If you really wanna prove me wrong, meet me there." I say, and quickly pivot one hundred eighty degrees on my heels and suppress the urge to run as I make my way to class.