I was, I don't know, sad, when I found out she didn't really take me seriously.

I'm always not sure about my feeling. I'm into boys, well, a lot of boys, whether they are just a fictional character like Leon S. Kennedy or a real life person like Shawn Mendes. But when I'm with her, it felt completely different. It likes a whole other kind of feeling, the one I have never experienced before. A strange, foreign mix of emotions. At first, I thought it was nothing, but then, as time flies, I felt in love with her eyes, with her smile, with her smart mouth, with the fact that she is shorter than me so that I could easily mess with her hair whenever I want. This is when I knew, I love her.

The "she is my girlfriend" thing was just a joke when we started it. It was New Year's Eve, we were both staying at home, having nothing to do, so we decided to Facetime with each other. We talked a lot. I forgot most of the conversation, the last thing I remembered was that I lowered myself on one of my knees, while my sister was holding the phone for me, and I asked her whether she wanted to be my girlfriend or not. Of course, she laughed and said yes. The reason I did that was simple, she was sad after being ignored by her crush, who is a well known tomboy in my school, so I tried my best to cheer her up. She did, which made me really happy.

Ever since the "proposal", we confirmed our relationship and our whole class knew about it, but honestly everyone believed it was only a joke, in fact, it was. But the "girlfriend" title also brought us closer, she became my bestfriend. We talked about many different things in our life, and she iss always there for me, in my high and low, comforts me when I was totally down and about to loosing myself. To be honest, I have many friends, but only when I was with her, I felt free to open my truly self to her, the one with wounds, scars, disorder and sadness. She would come to me and give me a hug, say nice things to me which makes me appreciate her even more.

I have trichotillomania, in other words, hair-pulling disorder. I would reach my hand to my head and start picking my hair, every single imperfect one, for example, the one which is too short or too rough. Sometimes, the disorder went out of control, resulting me with multiple bald spots all over my head. I felt embarrassed, especially when I had to go have a haircut. I told my family members, but no one even considered it as a proper disorder. I don't get the help I needed. And guess what, the only one who cared, understood and helped me was her. She would freak out every times she saw a bunch of hair on the gound, hit me hard when she saw me starting to pick hair on my head. Hurt, but I don't care. She was my reminder, my trusty reminder, never got tired of reminding me, that's why I love her. I needed her, needed her there to balance my overwhelmed life, need her good vibe, also needed her sweetness to make me feel responsible to be strong for her. Be there for her when that tomboy made her sad. Who cares about that handsome cocky girl? She got me, and I swear I'll be ten time better for her. I could make her laugh, tease her, anything that tomboy can do, and even anything that tomboy can't do, as long as she is with me, and maybe, loves me back like how I love her.

But sadly, to her, I'm just a close friend that she enjoys taking care of and being annoyed by.

I knew she still has deep feeling for the other girl.

I know.

I hate how I faked smile and chatted with her about that bloody awesome one of a kind girl.

And I also hate that I can't share this madness to anyone around me. Not even her, not my family. I still can't imagine their reaction if they found out I'm bisexual. I guess, there's nothing to be ashame of, but will my family except it, or will they just think I'm overthinking everything, like the time I told them about my disorder?

I'm lost, totally.